First Christmas without you...

Musical curve-ball on the South Bank

First Christmas without a loved one? Here were my thoughts a few months after Dad died. It does get a bit easier, with time. But the key's thinking about the memories and real gifts loved ones leave you. Anyway....five years on...hope this helps.


I knew I`d hear it sooner or later.

And there it was. Pumping out of a crackly speaker from one of the festive stalls on the South Bank in London. "Have yourself a merry little Christmas"--Dad`s favourite song. It's seven months since he died; and so we're heading fast towards the first Christmas without him. He used to shed a tear when he heard it. And even though Alzheimer's caught him; changed him; challenged him to remember even his daughters' names, he'd still smile when he recognised that tune.

Still; hearing it was a bit of a punch in the heart, and so, at lunchtime, in the middle of the Millennium Bridge, I found myself in tears. Luckily, the keen winter wind was leaving everyone with smarting eyes and runny noses.... so I guess I got away with it.

But maybe you've felt it too? The first anniversary, birthday, New Year celebration without someone you've loved so much...someone who's been such a central part of your life? I've found myself smiling at cards he might have liked; touching soft, warm jumpers that would have kept him cosy.

High in the Himalayas

I decided I could wallow in sadness, linger longer over my loss this Christmas, think about gifts unexchanged. Or focus on the gifts that will always be there. We've just cleared his house, so there are plenty of reminders. Detailed travel itineraries for royal trips to Tonga, San Francisco,the Congo, Mustique,Tasmania, Nepal. Just the mention of those faraway places excited me as a small child; filled me with wonder about what he'd find. And so my hunger for travel was born.

Then there are books...everywhere. Boxes and boxes have gone to charities across Kent. Yet there are still piles of the ones I couldn't part with on the stairs, under tables, on top of groaning bookshelves. The classics. More

travel. Grammar. Quotations. And poetry. Wordsworth, Masefield, a collection of Burns with a lock of blonde hair between two pages. The joy of learning, and, for the young man who'd left school and gone down the mines at 14, a hunger to read; nurtured as soon as my sister and I could turn a page. Another gift forever. Letters talk of his kindness; his selflessness. Press cuttings report his bravery at 24. More valuable traits to treasure.

Harrow and Wealdstone hero

Oh.....and the hats. How we laughed as Dad--the 'inconspicuous' royalty protection officer in a top hat-- made it to the middle of the shot on a Telegraph front page. And he laughed at himself too--always a good thing to be able to do. But was fiercely proud of his job, and its responsibilities. Check. And check.

Top hat and gun. *Blending in*

Anyway, just as I'd got over the London tears, the song came galloping back last night, at a Christmas concert. Thoughts of Dad filled my head. They insisted we all joined in. And so I sang along.....smiling, this time, at sweet memories of a big, strong, brave man, and the incredibly precious gifts he left us with. Including, as I fumbled for a 'just in case' tissue,being in touch with your 'softie' side. Which was OK for him. And is OK for his daughters :)

Happy Christmas xx

Travelling: the next generation. Avec hat...

PS: And yep; I got to Tonga. And San Francisco. And more. Read about life, four years later, on 2emptynesters.com

Ian Sheppard retweeted you

21m:

First Christmas without you http://www.lovemymondays.blogspot.co.uk  #Alzheimers #London #ChristmasSongs @getyourwigleon #bereavement

2. Geoff Rodgers ‏@ge0_ff  9m9 minutes ago

   @janemcintyre12 Nicely written blog young lady. In some traditions one is "allowed" to grieve for a year, so that all annual events 1/2

   Geoff Rodgers ‏@ge0_ff  7m7 minutes ago

   @janemcintyre12 are passed & reviewed for the future with the significance of the involvement of the deceased, holding onto the good!

Tarahoulford ‏@Tarahoulford  15m15 minutes ago

@janemcintyre12 A Very touching read.We have our first year Anniversary tomorrow. X

Helen Burnop retweeted you

Jonathan and Doreen favorited your Tweet#MusicDrUK and 3 others retweeted you

Carla Boulton ‏@naughtymutt  4h4 hours ago

@janemcintyre12 @alzheimersuk @getyourwigleon aah that's lovely x Onwards with great memories

   

Lexie Rogers, Diana Newnham and Rich Smith retweeted you.

Lexie Rogers ‏@lexierogers  42m42 minutes ago

@janemcintyre12 <3 jane="" p="" said="" well="" xx="">

Diana Newnham ‏@DiNewnham  44m44 minutes agoSouth West, England

@janemcintyre12 you have done him justice xx

Rich Smith ‏@ReCycledRich  2h2 hours ago

@janemcintyre12 Beautifully written. And will chime with so many.

Nonny James ‏@nonny_james  2h2 hours ago

@janemcintyre12 For obvious reasons I have not read it...yet

Sharon McGuinness ‏@SharonMcG1971  2h2 hours ago

@janemcintyre12 It may be hormones or incipient cold but you’ve just made me cry. And I mean that in the nicest possible way! *hugs*

We'll have to muddle through somehow...

How many Christmas days are you having this year?

We had a sneaky one on Saturday morning before Juliet flew out to America.

And then another at Dad's house on Sunday before I headed home.

He's 85 now, with advanced dementia, and spends all his time in bed. I tried to stir up some festive family memories. 'Have yourself a merry little Christmas' was always his favourite song - one that would make this big, brave man's eyes glisten, year after year. It's always been special to our family.

I tried a singing few lines, wobbling a bit when I had to negotiate 'next year... all our troubles will be out of sight...'

Nothing.

So I remembered the laughs we'd had as children, singing 'We wish you a merry Christmas' with him. We'd always end up giggling over the mention of 'figgy pudding...' and then defiantly shouting out the 'won't go until we've got some' verse.

Furrowed brow.

OK... I'd try a present. It's hard to know what to buy the man who had everything, but has forgotten most of it.

So I'd  got a 'John McIntyre's Memory Book' made up. There are press cuttings of various proud and heroic career moments. A picture from the fifties of him marrying mum. Beach shots from sunny holidays on Hayling Island. And more recent views of his pretty garden, his partner Phyllis, Dad's new hat, my sister and me, and our three children. All with simple, printed captions.

He flicked through, not really registering. I'd steeled myself for that, vowing to bite my lip if he clearly didn't recognise my mugshot, even though I'd be standing right beside him. I was, and he didn't.

And then he turned to the very oldest picture of them all. A now sepia shot of him as a bonny blond toddler in his mother's arms.

'That's my mum,' he said. 'My mummy'.

Seven words, shining like a beacon through the now dense fog of his dementia.

One picture, from more than eighty years ago,stirring instant recognition in a man who struggles to name people he's seen five minutes before.

I gulped a bit, then smiled. As 'Memory Books' go - this one had done its job. As for the rest of it?

Yes, Dad. We'll 'have to muddle through, somehow...' And we will.

Happy Christmas xx

Note: Our lovely dad died in May 2014. I will never be able to hear that song again, without shedding a tear. Sometimes in sadness....but mostly with fond and happy memories of a wonderful man