A bizarre Christmas, but then, how could it have been anything else? And, honestly, not so different from many others. Our presents to each other were just about right – not so trivial as to seem mean, but nothing so extravagant and personal as to cause awkwardness in the weeks to come. His card to me – and he has a history of giving me ‘for my wonderful wife’ type cards with long mawkish verses about how I’m the centre of his universe and dee dah dee dah – was a simple picture of a cat (what else?) on the front, and inside, ‘Merry Christmas’ and his name with three kisses. Mine to him was a humorous cartoon, with just my name inside – no kisses, no customary ‘All my love’. The morning passed without incident, everyone was relatively relaxed, except that Laura and her boyfriend had to leave early to see his parents before her shift at the pub started. We had dinner when they got back at 5, which was rather a strange time to eat, but it passed OK. In between, hubby took control of the cooking, as he usually does, I helped out as needed, mostly we went our separate ways.
Laura and her boyfriend were planning to stay here again last night, but at 9 his mum rang to say that the dog, who has a tumour, couldn’t stand up, and they were trying to decide whether to call the vet out then or leave it till this morning. Laura took the call, then told me in a whisper. ‘I don’t want to go, but I’ll have to for him’. I hugged her. The death of a dog doesn’t mean much on the scale of things, but when you’re 19, it is another part of childhood to let go of. Like the flawed fantasy of Christmas.
The other fracas I’ve been involved in still rumbles on. My attempt at reconciliation was accepted briefly then rejected again. So be it. I tried reviewing, honestly my part in the whole thing, and though I don’t claim to be perfect, I can’t really see what I did to invoke such venom.
Over the years, I have occasionally attracted the attention of strong personalities who offered friendship but then attempted to control me – the result, I guess, of the ‘little me’-dom to which I can be prone. Such people have given me a lot of grief in the past, but I’m tougher than I look. I remember a toy from my childhood, inflatable child size plastic figures which were weighted in the bottom with sand, so that they could be used as punch bags. Push me too hard and I’ll bounce back and put your eye out. Well, no, I wouldn’t do that, I try not to. But I won’t roll over for you to walk on me either.
I know that people who try to use others in those ways are also victims, and in the end they hurt only themselves because the rest of us can shrug them off and move on. A friendship which can be so easily broken has only shallow roots.
I reached out in a small way to another friend, a genuine friend, last night. I know the dark places, I’ve been there enough times, sometimes they can be very dark, at others just a little gloomy, but they pass. Everything passes.
And I got through the whole of Christmas Day without a single tear. Now, that’s an achievement.