Last Christmas, 2022, our spirits were battered and bruised from all the storms of the year gone by. It was our first time without close family and the Ex. The Child and I were devastated at how hollow and empty and silent it was. We had little to celebrate, and couldn’t bear to do anything, feasting was not even remotely on the list. I can’t recall what we did, except try not to choke on sadness and tears. We had been betrayed, forgotten and summarily ignored by almost everyone we considered home.

This year just HAD TO be different.

I was well-advised by close friends to MAKE NEW MEMORIES in old places, and create new pockets of light and joy: glimmers- moments of joy that would build our path onwards into the New Year, wiping away the burdens and loss we still clung to. Trust me, nobody else was mourning our loss, and we were alone yet again, no more part of the large Clan to which we had  belonged to. It was so hard, but we decided to square our shoulders and stop feeling sorry for ourselves.

Our home was now filled with four diverse women, and a menagerie of dogs, cats and free birds. Mama, my house help (now firmly family), my young adult daughter, and me, on the cusp of fifty. No, we were not alone. At the very least we had one another.

We had learned to do with less, do without, and not celebrate. Diwali, which we always, always celebrated came and went without a diya to light, or an invitation from old friends in sight. We were socially irrelevant or maybe we were realising who our real friends were. 

But the words continued to echo in my head: I had to set traditions of my own, create new memories, celebrate life and living.

We had to move on.

My help snorted that we were still in mourning for my husband who had left with barely a backward glance, and it had been two years since the house had come alive.

I realised I was ready to step out on my own now, I had begun to feel that life really wasn’t grey any more. And while we missed him horribly, and were angry and sad about the whole depressing saga, we wanted to find warmth and love within, and yes, make our own happy memories.

One of my ways of recreating a home and family tradition was a firm Christmas celebration which we had lost the year before: no family evenings and singsongs with the extended clan. No delicious Christmas morning breakfasts with carols blasting, the aroma of bacon and eggs and pancakes filling the air. No cats on a mission to destroy the old Christmas tree hung with our carefully collected baubles over two decades; no crib with candles. No Christmas lunch with family, a spread to fill our tummies for the year ahead, and the best stuffing, a bowl just for me because I loved it so much.

Everything past was just a memory or a teary, blurry one. We wouldn’t share in our little niece’s first Christmas, there was no room for us after 15+ years at the table.

It was sad but choices had been made, and we were excluded from everything. It sucks to be an embarrassment, to be cellophane and have years of familial love forgotten. Bile stuck in my gullet as I mulled over my broken marriage and family and the whole “blood is always thicker than water” phrase, how true that is and how transient life can be, how easily people could be discarded and forgotten. And worse, replaced.

Never again, I vowed.

And so we celebrated, sombrely and hesitantly. But with joy.

There were no presents, no extravagant celebrations, and perhaps just the spirit of Christmas that hovered at the table, reminding us of real family and humble beginnings.

I did two things.

I impulsively decided to roast chickens on order, and was flooded with requests from friends, especially older neighbours with family visiting. It was very gratifying to cook for them, and I had so much fun making mash potatoes for three days, while the smells from the kitchen had the dogs drooling all the while. Huge success, but the kind messages of appreciation truly made all the effort worth it.

Two: we had a small and very closed Christmas lunch, and proceeded to ignore the festivities that we were no longer a part of, with only a fleeting pang of sorrow. It was our turn and we were determined to have our own wonderful Christmas lunch with just three dear friends and us. We pulled out my best linen table cloth from Talinn, the best white crockery and napkins, new cutlery, wine glasses, wreaths and candles, spirits and my signature roast ham with, you guessed it, mash potatoes. Dessert was my signature Pavlova, smothered in strawberries and cream, all gooey and marshmallow-y. We also had this divine flour less chocolate and fresh orange torte, homemade.

It was a strange company that gathered around the table, but we soon broke the ice, chatting away merrily. We were each of us  alone in some way, but together we were not. It was perfect.

It was just simply perfect.

Joy came in jokes and sighs, full bellies and missing people we loved. My guests were the nicest there could be and it was heartwarming and soul satisfying to be together and celebrate the holy day.

The afternoon ended with espressos and Carols on the piano, singing and sharing stories.

And just like that….we have new memories.