I have just been doing a bit of sewing. A little something for me- Merry Christmas Josephine. I let myself do it. Around lunchtime I gave myself full permission to do whatever I wanted with the rest of today; stuff especially for me. I left the wet washing in the machine. I had a cuppa with a fancy mince pie and put Georgy Girl on the telly. I quickly realised it is one of those films that should be left in the sixties with the door firmly closed- the only life lesson in it is not to watch it- it is bad. I might remind myself how it ends though.
This morning I ventured in to work for the first time since it all happened. I was glad I did. The timing was spot on. School was quiet; winding down for the Christmas break and the end of what will have been a complex old time in education. The building is like a comfortable shoe. I was glad to be there and see that the universe hadn’t altered so much that I had lost my place. January will be okay. I can see myself there; getting on with things, being helpful. It makes me feel good.
I have been thinking about the idea of allowing myself to do what I want to do. Not just that, but also the way in which people in general seek permission to do things. I remember when LP was born, being given the space to sleep was priceless. I did not relent easily. With grief there is less chance to fight the urge to rest- sometimes I am asleep without deciding to be.
My friends and I distribute little enabling comments between ourselves so regularly. We seek clearance to eat the thing we want and enjoy it without feeling rotten and it’s the same with drink. We want to be told that it is okay for our children to have unstructured time and for their appetites to be sated by a clown. We need encouragement to go for that role at work or to leave somewhere where we can’t get on. We need a cheer squad for our aerobic endeavours, complete with half time orange. We want a space to talk about our partners, or lack of- how our relationships work and the things that we don’t feel we are responsible for. We want to know that the way we treat our parents and siblings and how they treat us is in line with what is acceptable. We need reminding of how far we’ve come and what we mean to each other and how even if we do things differently that is okay too. The bonds we form are so important. I’m not just talking about women here. The same exists with the men in my life too, although the dialogue is different. Why do we need another person to give us credence? Possibly because we want to be part of a well functioning society and to know the rules and boundaries. We want to make sure what we are doing isn’t harmful or cruel; to ourselves and in our little universes. These exchanges have become ever more vital of late.
When it comes to grief and Christmas, I have thought how the festive season is like a meal that you have taken hours to prepare and set out beautifully. Everything on the plate is delicious and you want it all; but your appetite has disappeared. It may as well be a plate of coal. As much as I know I thoroughly deserve to have the time that I want to have with the things in it that I want and need; I still need the green light for the feasting to begin.
One of the things that has really assisted this month is deciding to set up new routines. Our Christmas tree is pink with a riot of tinsel and lights rather than the traditional real tree we once favoured. The seasonal china and glasses haven’t left their loft dwelling. The handstitched stockings and quilts are packed away too. I have sewn new things and will keep doing so. Yesterday I wrapped LP’s gifts to a soundtrack of power ballads, sometimes I can’t handle the standard jingle hits. I sang every word I knew and messaged my girlfriends- no shame allowed. I’m not alone.