Closing Reflection from Dave Evans co founder of and.

I did not write this series to challenge Christmas.
I wrote it because the non-stop marketing campaigns and messaging of Christmas idealisms leave very little room for reality. They tell us what this season should look like. Who should be together and how we should feel. What counts as success.

Day Twelve. For the person who is all alone.

Christmas is described as togetherness.
Tables.
Voices.
Movement.

When you are all alone, the contrast can be sharp.
The quiet is louder.
Time stretches.
Every message and advert and song reminds you of what is supposed to be happening somewhere else.

Being alone is not always the same as being lonely.

Day Eleven.

For the sole family member.

Christmas often leans on the idea of family lineage.

Stories passed down.
Roles repeated.
Someone older and someone younger around the same table.

If you are the sole family member left, that narrative can feel very far away.

There is no one else to remember things with.
No one else to share the weight of the past.
No one else to confirm that what you remember really happened.

Day Ten.

For the emergency worker.

Christmas is often described as a pause.

A break and a moment when everything slows down.

For emergency workers, it does not.

If you are working in emergency services this Christmas, the world depends on you continuing while it celebrates.

Phones still ring and sirens still sound.
People still need help at their worst moments.

For the person who has no time off.

December talks a lot about slowing down.

About rest.
About switching off.
About taking a break.

For some people, that is not an option.

For the estranged child and parent..

Christmas assumes closeness.
It assumes contact.
It assumes shared history that can be returned to without consequence.
For some people, that assumption hurts.

Day Seven

For the parent who has no money and no food.

Christmas is expensive before you even buy anything.
School events.
Expectations.
The quiet comparison that starts early in December and does not stop.

If you are a parent worrying about money and food this Christmas, the pressure is constant.
Not just the numbers.
The meaning attached to them.

Day Six.

For the person who has received terminal news.

December has a strange rhythm.

Calendars fill quickly and. conversations drift toward plans.
People speak easily about next year.

It can feel ordinary on the surface.

Then there is the moment when language changes.
When you or a loved one are presented with terminal news.

Day Five.

For the person who is slowly dying..

There is a kind of time that moves differently.

Not urgent.
Not loud.
Not asking for anything.
Just slower.

When you are slowly dying, the world does not stop.
Christmas still arrives on schedule.

Day Four.

For the loved one in hospital and ill health.

Hospitals change the shape of time and how we experience it, days blur, nights stretch, everything becomes measured by the next doctor’s round or update, waiting and waiting.

Christmas does not pause for this.

The decorations still go up.
The music still plays.
The world keeps moving while you sit beside a bed and hope quietly. People invite you to their Christmas being kind, what do you do?

Day Three.

For the person who needs to cry in the corner when no one is looking.

There is a particular kind of sadness that does not want attention.

It does not want to be asked about.
It does not want fixing.
It wants privacy and permission.

Christmas brings pressure that is rarely spoken about.

Day Two.

For the person who lost someone last Christmas.

Christmas has a memory problem and it acts like time resets on the 1st of December.
Like grief has an expiry date or a pause button. 
Like a new year wipes the slate clean.
And deep personal loss of a loved one does not work like that.

Day One.

For the homeless person.

This time of year Christmas comes as a fire hose. At first it is fantastic to see the perfectly managed perfect Christmas adverts yet soon the marketing, the adverts don’t stop.
We are fed a constant reminder of what Christmas is supposed to look like.