christmas day, 2012.

Christmas day, 2012. 

Our Christmas’ were the ones people wrote about, the ones they portrayed in movies and the ones people who “don’t do Christmas” secretly envied. Sun shining, wine, beers, ciders and Kahlua & milk flowing, everyone on different jobs, walking past and reaching around each other in a sort of natural movement. Not a moment of silence, should it be the kids playing with their new toys or the adults telling a dirty joke, Michael Buble singing in the background or just simply the sound of happiness. Putting shit on each other, secretly feeding the dogs under the table and, typically, the tiff between siblings that was easily resolved by a dumb joke told by another family member. 

It was our last Christmas together. 

I remember a moment, where I looked around at the happy faces of the people I loved so much, the people I will adore until the very end of time, my people; and I let the distressing thought come in: what if this is the last one altogether? 

I pushed the thought as far back as I could, refusing to believe it, though I think it made me appreciate that day even more than I would have. 

Christmas was (and will be again) my favourite time of year. Mum had this particular magic about her all year round, but it was strongest in December. She thrived on the love we shared. 

Christmas day, 2012. 

I had just graduated school and I was beginning University in two months time. Life scared the shit out of me. I thought it would be the last Christmas where I was really, just a kid. I was right, but for all the wrong reasons. My biggest problem was a boy who didn’t like me back and a friend who was flirting with me more so than usual. On that day, though, it didn’t matter. 

I had my people. 

Whether I wouldn’t solve things with this boy, whether I’d make silly decisions with the other one, whether I’d tank at university or whether I’d come to lose friends now that I wasn’t to see them every day. It didn’t matter. 

I had my people. 

Our next Christmas still had the magic, but it was a new kind of magic. It was a family bonding magic that we never had to deal with before. It was, hey, 2013 was a piece of fucking shit, but look at us all. Here. Together. Stronger than ever. And then we lost him, our ridiculously funny, inapproriate, favourite Uncle. 

It hurts my heart that Christmas doesn’t have the same magic anymore. It’s a day I love with all my heart because I get to spend it with people who hold my heart in their hands, but it’s not the same anymore, and it never will be. 

The magic of Christmas still sits in my heart. And I can feel it, pushing with all its might, ready to come out and sprinkle over everyone near me. Everyone I hold close.  

Christmas day, 2012. 

It is the fondest memory I have of my family to date. It is the magic that is sitting in my heart, it is the love I keep for those near and those up in the stars. I will never attempt to recreate it, but over time I will learn to make it magic in its own way.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

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Categories: Rackers

rackers

25 year old writer, just trying to find her way through the world through words.

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