Before you go... //h.s

Read all About It, Pt. III

^^ illness warning

Christmas was a sombre affair in the Burrows household this year.

There was no enormous roast diner where everyone stuffed themselves until they were sick, no heaps of presents underneath a tree, no festive spirit filling the house with holly and mistletoe. The only things that remotely reminded anyone that it was Christmas was the chill in the air that forecast snow and the sorry looking Christmas tree in our living room.

Nearly all the needles had fallen off the Christmas tree so now it just sat there. Reminding us all of Dad's last-ditch attempt to make Mum's inevitably last Christmas a happy one.

She hadn't even seen the tree though; she hadn't moved from her bed in two weeks. She only shifted when she needed the loo, and even then, it was my Dad picking her up Bridal style and setting her down gently on the loo seat before moving her back to their bed.

But this time, bridal style wasn't the delighted sense of two newly weds intoxicated with each other but the much more painfully ironic sombre sense of a woman who couldn't walk on her own, who'd lost all of her independence.

No-one said it, no-one went there, but we all knew it was only a matter of time now.

She weighed nothing; my Dad didn't even have to tense when he picked her up. Even with the thousands of jumpers we piled on her to keep the eternal chill from her fragile bones, you could still how thin was underneath them.

It wasn't a surprise considering that she could hardly manage to swallow a spoonful of soup before whispering she was full, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

The very worst thing that cracked my heart more than anything was that Christmas had always been a joyful time in our house before this, with my mum bustling around baking mince pies and burning Christmas pudding so we didn't have to eat it because we all hated it but felt we should have it there for tradition.

Previously, smiles had filled our faces with fail all December as we prepared for our favourite celebration.

But from now on, Christmas would be tainted with this memory forever.

I'd received uncountable numbers of dm's and comments on Instagram as people desperately tried to find out whether Harry's songs were about me. I still hadn't listened to the album, so I had no idea, but with each new comment, the curiosity grew and so I knew it was only a matter of time until I caved.

But for right now, all I needed to focus on was my Mum.

She slept nearly all day, she was exhausted all the time, her eyelids fluttering closed constantly even when she tried to stop them. Her voice was cracked, raspy and nothing like her usual cheery, lilting tone.

She could hardly manage five minutes of conversation before she had to pull the blankets around her and fall asleep again.

So, Christmas consisted of a normal day for us. We woke up at a normal time, waiting until Mum woke up to creep into her room and quietly wish her a merry Christmas, trying to fake our most sincere smiles as she looked at us, her expression happy but underlying with the pain of sadness.

We didn't have Christmas diner of any sort – my Dad opting instead for sausage rolls that he could put in the oven without any hassle. No carols rang with festive cheer through our house, instead the haunting tune of Read All About It quietly played on the one radio station not playing sickeningly cheery Christmas songs.

None of us wanted to celebrate. We had nothing to be happy about.

We'd spent a while discussing whether to go on like it was a normal Christmas, knowing our mum would have wanted us to do that, to continue living happily. But we couldn't force ourselves to do it when it just wasn't a normal Christmas.