A three-generation day of festivity and feasting, of warmth, laughter and companionship.

I think about other Christmas days I have known.
The one after my father died and my mother stayed in bed with flu and misery and we ate boiled eggs. 
The one I spent serving turkey and all the trimmings in a pub  and the staff sat down at 4pm to eat the same meal after the guests had gone.
The one  I worked at a children's home,  knee-deep in unsold sweets and cakes that had been 'generously' donated along with impersonal presents for 'boy' or 'girl'.
The one when I took the Christmas day psychiatric  assessment shift evaluating the mental health of people who had self-harmed the day before and who might or might not remain suicidal.

And I think of the refugees, the unhoused, the lonely, the impoverished, and those suffering the effects or consequences of the pandemic.

And I  feel incredibly fortunate.

I have backblipped the previous two days.

Sign in or get an account to comment.