Christmas is a tough time for
many people. Vulnerabilities are
highlighted, like loss, grief, unfulfilled
desires or disappointments about love, relationships, accomplishment or finances. Even those who believe in the joy and promise
of the arrival of Jesus, who know they should feel grateful for all they have,
may be challenged to see the ‘glass half full’ at Christmas.
Personally I was dreading
the season this year. No matter what I
did or thought in preceding weeks I was dreading being reminded of 2011 when a
precious brother was facing the most brutal battle with cancer. We were desperate to believe it wouldn’t end
badly but our family seemed to be disintegrating under the pressure. Then when we felt it couldn’t get any worse another
brother was given a similar diagnosis; albeit with a different type of
cancer. 2011 was horrific on so many
levels we limped into 2012 barely on automatic pilot.
2012 brought positive
things, most important of which was my brother Sean’s recovery and our dear
Mum’s successful operation for a new hip, but not before we had struggled through the funeral for the
brother known affectionately as “the number one son” and flown back to
Australia to celebrate his life with all the people who
knew him before he launched his successful life and career in France and then
San Diego.
So I guess you could say my
family was battle scarred in 2012. I had
other challenges too, like leaving behind Australia
and Italy to move to the UK Australia
The real thing hanging over
me, however, was a consciousness that I hadn’t yet found the courage to look
through all the messages, tributes and photos left for my brother Rohan on his
funeral website. Nor had I looked at the
video footage loaded on another site by his devoted work colleagues. I didn’t look in January or February as
everything was far too raw, and then I put it off and off and off until I found
myself in December approaching his first anniversary on the 29th
with the knowledge these sites were only going to remain accessible until then.
Every time I thought of it I felt
sick. I was afraid, I guess, that
reading pages and pages of loving messages about Rohan’s beautiful life and
character would not only make me cry (that was a given) but undo me. I knew he would be gentle enough to say “Jules,
if you can’t look, don’t, it’s cool”… but I felt I owed it to him. I didn't want to regret not doing it.
But here’s the happy part of
the story: I was having a conversation with a new friend about my need to put
aside a few hours to do this thing, and out-of-the-blue he offered to come over
and do it with me. I was surprised. I hadn’t thought to ask anyone – but in the
moment he offered, I realised that was exactly what I wanted. I did not want to go to that vulnerable place alone, I wanted to share it with someone caring, so I wouldn't feel such an acute sense of
separation.
And just like that he
offered. And just like that we set a
date. And just like that he came over on
the 21st December and we drank wine, cooked dinner, and I introduced
him, via the internet, to my wonderful brother.
And the strangest part: I cried before I had the site open, and a little
after, but not at all while I was reading and sharing and remembering. All I felt then was love and closeness, and
the privilege of having such an incredible brother, who people the world over adored
and admired. It was revelatory. I had reached a point in my grieving where I
was going to be able to begin (however slowly) to reframe my feelings – taking
more consciously from my brother’s life and example the things which could
sustain me, which I could hang on to for strength and guidance. The loss could begin in 2013 to be channelled
as nourishment, as comfort that I had been extraordinarily lucky to have been
so close to someone so special. That
won’t stop me desperately missing him of course, or wishing it could have been
different, but with my friend’s support, generously holding my hand and
speaking about my brother as if he was also present to him, some of the
isolation and pain of that loss vanished.
It was such a warm act of kindness; like the friends who offered support in Rohan’s
last months and who gathered for his funeral and memorial, fortifying us to
face the ordeal. It was something Rohan would have done.
And I felt him smiling.
Fresh from this experience I
went out the following day with another friend, who had invited me to see a
film in The Old Vic Tunnels underneath Waterloo Station. The film and the timing were so perfect for
the continuation of my pre-Christmas tuning - tuning of the spiritual and
mental variety - that I can’t help but suspect a little divine intervention. It’s a
Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart is a spectacular story, brilliantly
written, conceived, acted and produced.
So to see it in such an atmospheric setting (the tunnels leaking like
the old house in the movie) surrounded by Christmas trees, tinsel, candles,
mulled-wine, and a hundred people sufficiently in the mood for nostalgia and sentiment
that there was not a soul without a handkerchief, was a special experience. When the lights came up we were all smiling with
glistening eyes - the essence of the film’s message, simple but crucial to
remember:
à
Life is a gift.
à
Don’t be
discouraged by material disappointments but remember what is really important.
à
You may never
fully know the extent of the contribution you are making to the world, but at
the end of the day you will be remembered and valued most by the way you touch,
interact, help and care for people.
à
And no man or
woman is a failure if he/she has friends.
My experience was that I
came out feeling reaffirmed and inspired.
I had a sense of being rich in friendship, rich in
connections which are meaningful, rich in experience and opportunity, and, if I allow myself the
time to focus and reflect, rich in Faith.
I was less worried about things which haven’t yet added up.
I feel sure my brother,
Rohan, had a wonderful life.
I feel renewed confidence in
the belief that it’s a wonderful life when we love and give honestly of
ourselves, conducting our lives in the way which is uniquely authentic and true
for us, honouring our personal integrity.
So when Christmas arrived I went
to carol services, where I variously sang, played piano and trumpet, I went to Mass,
had the company and care of a couple of old friends (and their friends/family),
ate to excess, and went to the Sisters in Ladbroke Grove to feed the homeless,
only to see reflected in their eyes a longing for connectedness which contrasted with my Blessings.
It was then I remembered
what my girlfriend had so lovingly said to me after It’s a Wonderful Life, as we sat beneath old London town mulling over the meaning of
life : “Julie,
be content… be content with who you are and where you are … whatever else is
going on… whatever else hasn’t come together yet… for your true friends love
you just as you are… and none of us will love you one jot more or less whatever
you do or don’t do, achieve or don’t achieve…”.
Now that’s a
Guardian Angel. That’s the love of God. That’s the warmth of real love and friendship.
It’s what got me through 2011
and 2012. And it’s how all of us
navigate from the day-to-day to the years which make up a wonderful life.
Merry Christmas and a very
happy and peaceful 2013.
