This Christmas, we’ll be one down at the table. My uncle died very suddenly. And it’s hard to descibe all the feelings going on in my head. Still too raw, I guess. But, the show must go on, as they say. Boy is upset, but (fortunately) nothing dampens his enthusiasm for Christmas. (He has set himself the challenge of creating a record-breaking paper chain. The contents of my recycle bin, reformed, now snakes through the house and into the barn).
And, however surreal, it feels flitting from the hospital to the tinsel-decked aisles of the local supermarket, it is also a time of new beginnings. Just before my Uncle was admitted to hospital, I bumped into him, looking for Christmas puddings in Asda. He showed me his swollen leg. Unbeknown, a few days later, another clot would kill him.
With feelings still raw, it may seem trite to talk about #magicmoments. Yet they are, ultimately, the bedrock of what really matters.
As the hospital bus dropped me off at Asda, I watched the sun set over the emptying carpark. Bitter sweet, doesn’t come close. But I couldn’t deny its unexpected ethereal beauty.
Perhaps that’s an image I’ll hold in my head, rather than a cold hospital bed.
And, in the future, when I’m at Asda, I’ll refrain from cursing Boy for “borrowing” my shopping trolley pound, or moaning about other people’s parking. Instead, I’ll try and find that still, silent, moment of quiet. And remember my Uncle.
Joining with Oliver’s Madhouse #magicmoments to kick off my week with some feel good factor.