Hi folks!

I'm surviving remarkably well, apart from a couple of glitches.
The run up to the day was worse than the day itself, I found. Part of this was due to my habit of always anticipating the worst scenario! I got back from church on Christmas Eve just before midnight, and sat for a while on my own after Ruth went to bed - and cried. Ian never went to church, but I always returned home (or to the pub) to be with him.
The following morning, which I was dreading, as nobody opened presents until Ian was ready, turned out ok. Eleanor and her husband arrived, and then we found out she'd left the giblet bag in the turkey. This had been in the oven about 30 mins. So I drove her home to remedy this, then just as we had got back here and settled down for the opening session, Alex skyped from New Zealand, where he now lives. By the time we eventually started, it was with one eye on the clock. The meal was over at Eleanor's with her in-laws, and was one big happy squeeze. Being different to what we're used to, it was good. Then we went back here, the neighbours came round for the evening, and we played board games.
On Boxing day, Ruth and I went down to Farnsfield as usual, to the Red Lion session. This was a bit weird, without Ian, but I was ok until somebody sang Fiddler's Green, then I went off kilter in front of the whole pub. (This was sung after some of Ian and Jim McCaffery was scattered in the sea at Whitby). Apart from that the day went ok, even after going to our friends' house as normal after the session. (We hadn't met up since the funeral).

As Mrs Duck has mentioned, the party was on as usual. We had a good number of people come, too. I had got an almost life sized upper half cardboard cut-out of Ian made, and he stood guard over the barrel all night, just as he used to do, in the midst of his drinking buddies. As I write this, I am still not dressed, and have a fair amount of clearing up to do when I can be bothered. I also have a bit of a headache, and I only had a small beer - such is the way my body reacts to alcohol.

Christmas will always be the hardest one for me, because it was the only time I could absolutely guarantee he'd be around. Other times of year were likely on a fairly regular basis, but not always, depending on his work pattern. Most days I tick along quite normally, because, in one sense, things are still the same. Then every now and then I get a reality check, and it really hurts.

Enough about my sadness. There are many others for whom the grief is newer, and much more raw. Bereavement is happening to somebody, somewhere all the time, and death takes no account of what time of year it is, and who else gets affected.
However, I am expecting my first grandchild, out in NZ, on or about the anniversary of Ian's death. That would make the day very poignant. I pointed this out to my son, who just replied, "Circle of life, mum". Ian's gone, and nothing will bring him back. Yet somehow, a little bit of him is going to be reborn in March!

Andrea