Christmas Time, Mistletoe and Whine

Ah, Christmas. Not the best of time for adult orphans. Or for anyone who’s lost anyone for that matter. What was once a season to be jolly, cosy and family-focused can feel like a farcical pantomime. But it won’t be like that forever. If you can get through the formative years of your adult orphanhood, whine shall turn to wine again.

Here’s a thought space you might find your mind wandering into, especially on your first Christmas sans parents.

'I am so done with Christmas. I literally cannot take another rendition of All I Want For Christmas. Please just let me attempt my non-Christmassy shopping in peace!'

It took a good few years before I could honestly look forward to the festive period again. Even now the mood is a precariously balanced tipping scale, wavering between merry and mournful. Mostly merry with a wee bit of mournful in those moments when everythinggoeswrong.

Christmas to me now is a chaotic scramble of visiting various friends and relatives. You see, distraction is very useful tool indeed. If you have close family (such as a partner, children or siblings) you may find that the familiar cosiness of that circle helps you through The Stages a bit quicker. Or not. I know an adult orphan or two who choose to leave the country most Christmases, as they’d rather forgo the festivities altogether and experience something unforgettable in their time off.

Growing up in a siblingless, single parent family, I spent each Christmas with my mum. When I was younger, some would be spent with extended relatives too, and once older, with my then-partner’s family. It didn’t matter what mix of company we took, there was always the constant of Mum and I in some way, shape or form. Even though, bless her, one or two Christmases before she died she spent Christmas Day at her church serving dinner to people who needed a good square meal and some company. (Note to self: must do that one year.)

Christmas to me was choosing a present each to open on Christmas Eve, surrounded by piles of tiny, non-expensive but thoughtful presents from each other. Or playing Scattergories, frantically trying to beat the deafening timer.

We always had a simple Christmas, but the most important thing is that we were together. So what do you do when that ‘togetherness’ is gone?

'If tradition is broken, remember that it can still only be what you make it.'

I'm grateful to say that I have never been without invitation to spend Christmas with a friend, family member or partner, though my experience of spending it with someone else’s family is a hard one to define. Always welcomed with open arms, and stuffed with excessive quantities of food, games and gifts, but as an adult orphan, I have tried very hard not to bring other people’s Christmases down. As the years have passed by, false smiles have thankfully melted into genuine grins.

To be honest, Christmas Day has always been fine. Even the first without her. However, I would wake up on Boxing Day morning giving myself a little ‘I did it!’ pat on the back and then... BOOM! Meltdown. An issue would arise when I sat back and quietly observed, giving the family of choice a bit of breathing space to ‘be a family at Christmas’. Those scenes brought my world crashing down with a familiar thump. Which sucks, because I’m not a jealous person and I want nothing but happiness for the people I love. But beware – loss can make you a tad bitter and pretty self-pitying at times.

One year, suddenly ‘finding’ myself at someone else’s Christmas, jealous and reclusive thoughts came crashing in: 'I am an intruder at this family’s Christmas. I don’t belong here.'

I then struggled to enjoy the rest of the day, focusing only on how alone in the world I was and deciding to carve out the rest of my Christmas period with a severe slice of solitude. I took myself off down to the graveyard and whined. Nay good.

Or was it? Actually, I found that the hour’s headspace did me wonders. It created a break in the whirlwind of negative thoughts and gave me a chance to pay my Christmassy respects to Mum in private. I returned to that same family scene in a much better mood.

My take home message to you as Christmas Eve Eve approaches is to not be afraid of the emotions that will come and go over these next few days. Let them breathe, and most importantly give yourself space to breathe if you need it. Take part and accept the acceptance of others.

If tradition is broken, remember that it can still only be what you make it. It's still Christmas, it just looks different. Eat well, drink deep and don't place excessive importance on it just because the rest of society demands it. Christmas accounts for less than one per cent of the year, so you know what? If it doesn't quite work out for you this year, it's ok.