Christmas Memories

My dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in February. By Christmas Dad was pretty poorly, but managed to make it to Christmas round ours. He knew, we all knew it would be his last Christmas, but we were so pleased that he was able to enjoy it even if it was only for a short visit. He was soon asleep in the front room with a paper hat on. And then he went home, that was it, no fanfares, no great shakes, just Dad round for his last Christmas. He died two weeks later.

My dad was such a hard-working man, he had his own removals company and worked hard to keep the money coming in. My mum worked too, so we had a busy house where we all had our part to play. My Dad always took time out to take me and my little sister in to town to buy something special for mum for Christmas – and he’d let us choose. Sometimes what we chose was awful, but he appreciated what mum did for us all, and how important it was for us to show that. I loved those little trips to town.

Granny absolutely loved Christmas, and one of our beloved traditions was decorating the Christmas tree together. As we unwrapped each decoration, she would tell stories about the ornaments. Every item on that tree held decades of history, with some decorations being over 60 years old. Each year, as we hang them on the tree, we take a moment to raise a glass in her memory, keeping her love for Christmas and her stories alive.

My grandmother was Scottish. My Christmas memories of her are filled with the smell of shortbread baking in the oven. When she died, my mum told me that I would see her in pink clouds in the sky. I still look for her in the pink clouds and I can still smell the shortbread baking.

As a child I lived six hours away from my beloved Grandparents in Newcastle. The drive itself was magical, as the anticipation of seeing them got closer and closer: My brother and I in the backseat counting Christmas trees to pass the time, their fairy lights twinkling, as the night got darker. My Grandma would be watching for us at the window, peeping from behind her 80s net curtain, as excited as we were. We could barely contain ourselves, knowing the house would be so warm and welcoming, decorated just for us, and our favourite people and treats waiting. And finally after what seemed like an eternity, when we walked through their door to the biggest hugs imaginable, that was when Christmas really started.

My sister Emily has a life limiting brain illness and is supported by Dorothy House. Every year Christmas is incredibly special as it may be our last with her as a family. Christmas is the one day of escapism where we can break the rules. It doesn’t matter if her meds are 5 minutes late because we’re having too much fun. We are fairly certain this will be our last Christmas with her and therefore are going to make it the best.

In memory of our nephew’s wife Becky who passed April 2022 in Dorothy House. Lovely memories of boxing day parties spent with their super family. She will always be in our hearts.