I don’t know why but Christmas always seems to bring forward such grief, particularly on Christmas Eve, for that was our special time when all rancour was forgotten and she reigned supreme. What a shining woman she was. And she has some of her, certainly. I miss it all and yet I wasn’t always safe or indeed happy.
We walked and he showed me his old village hall. He comes alive in his past. And I like to share it with him. He knows all the names, the houses they lived in. It was a complete time for him and he lives it still.
We lit candles for his parents though the wind was determined.
Christmas Day was better and I thrilled to share other peoples’ Christmases, all that splendour and chaos and familial joy. He and I were quiet and I like that too. Very much.
I dreamt of him downstairs. He was clean, white and I handed him a large candle. He tried to call his mobile. Has he gone?
