A season of preparation

I'm not quite sure where the year has gone - I think I've literally slept through a large part of it! - but here we are in Advent again. We've had the wonderful Advent Carol Service at church, got out the advent calendar at home, and have now decorated the Christmas tree which beautifully illuminates its corner of the living room. For the past six years, this has been a particularly reflective time for me - not only in the ways the church intends, but also in a very personal way. Every time we get out the box of decorations, I'm reminded of that horrifically frightening and dreadful season in 2019 when we feared that we were preparing for my last Christmas. And yet, here I am six years later, less scared and more resigned to the curtailed future we expect me to have.

This year, while decorating the tree, I've paid more conscious attention than usual to the origin of many of our ornaments. We still have around half of the initial box of baubles we bought the first year of our marriage; every year since we've bought another few baubles or trinkets for the tree, and of course have received some beautiful ones as gifts through the years. While getting them out this time, I've held each of them for a moment, recalling where we lived when we bought or received it, savouring the memories of past friends and places.

Strangely, I've also been more aware this year of the future that my family will at some point have without me. I'm not sure if that's because Eldest Offspring now has their own grown-up life several hours away from here, and will come to visit briefly at Christmas, but in a very different way from when they were still at university. And the Chaos Gremlin is studying abroad this year and won't be coming back to the UK at all until next summer. So I'm very conscious that without me to keep him on his toes, my Beloved would probably be facing a very quiet Christmas, and of course I worry about that. Will he still put up a tree and decorate it? Will he feel able to decorate it according to his own preferences without feeling disloyal since they're different to mine? Will he still have the Muppets Christmas Carol on if he does do the tree? What will his Christmas look like if both our offspring are doing their own thing at the far end of the country, or in another land altogether?

So, for all that I said in my Autumn post a few weeks ago that this spiritual autumn which I'm experiencing at the moment is not in preparation for winter death, but rather part of a cycle which will lead to a future spring, death is very much on my mind. Not because my cancer is back, or growing, or any more active than it's been for the past three years - the medication I'm on is doing a great job of keeping it at bay - but simply because I've been living with the shadow for six years. And amidst all the excitement and anticipation of Good Things to Come which is all around, from TV adverts to choir practices, to sending and receiving cards and annual updates from friends and family, I am always acutely aware that this really could be the last time I experience this, and the last time my family celebrates without my spectre lurking there in my place.

And yet, I hide my head in the sand, avoid making the preparations which I know will be helpful - sorting out my will, my pensions, all that sort of thing. I've been meaning to get them done all year, but here we are in December and not a single step closer. It seems that some preparations are just Too Real to be faced quite yet.

However, when we take a spare tree and a box of decorations up to Eldest Offspring at the weekend, I want to make sure we take the time together to talk about when and where they got them - who gave it to us for them as a tiny baby, or when they chose it as their new decoration for that year. Not for the sake of #MakingMemories (and oh how I HATE that that phrase is always ready to pop out at special moments!), but to treasure the time and the memories that we have together, to remind them that they are deeply loved not just by us but by many other people too, and maybe to pass on the idea that decorating the tree can be a time to reflect on and rejoice in that.

And maybe, just maybe, once we've done that, I might manage to face up to at least making a start on the less fun preparations. Not for my own sake, but for the sake of those I love. Perhaps focussing on them as the reason will make it easier to deal with these tasks. And knowing that I've done what I can to help them in that dreadful time when it comes will maybe ease the burden of dread ever so slightly in these before times, so that we can enjoy the Now, knowing that we've done what we can to prepare for the coming Then.