LIVING & GRIEVING

08. the first Christmas

I knew occasions were going to be hard. And the first Christmas without her was expected to be unbearable. It didn't feel how I expected it to though. Probably because we all silently agreed not to acknowledge it at all.

Dad didn't buy us any gifts. He never did though. That was mum's job because she knew what we liked. He wasn't the type of dad who would walk into a shop and pick something out for his daughter. Instead, he was gone when I woke up and had left two stacks of money on the fireplace. One for me and one for Connor. I knew that was his way of showing us he was still trying.

We weren't going to have a Christmas dinner either. It didn't feel right. With Granny not here anymore and the lack of contact we'd had with the rest of our family; we didn't really have anywhere to go anyway. We couldn't cook it ourselves. So, we just opted out completely. It was easier that way. I was happy to pretend this was just another day. That's how we would get through it.

I opened my phone first thing in the morning to multiple texts from friends and classmates, letting me know they'd all be thinking of me. I decided to turn my phone off. I know it was rude but answering those texts today made it feel real. I didn't want to watch everyone on snapchat and Instagram posting how happy and grateful they were for their gifts and families this Christmas.

The day went in pretty slowly. Dad arrived back home around dinner time with a Chinese. I don't know how he managed to find anywhere open on Christmas day. We had become such regulars in the Chinese though, that I wouldn't be surprised if they did it especially for us. I never asked him, to find out. He apologised for the lack of gifts and that he didn't get us cards. He said he didn't want to have to write it without mum. It wouldn't feel right.

Shortly after dinner time, the doorbell rang and the Hale family let themselves wander in. Angela in front, with Martin and Quinn tailing behind her. It was obvious this was her idea and she had dragged her family along. I immediately embraced her while dad and Connor watched cautiously.

"You seriously thought I'd let you all be depressing alone today?"

"Angela, we aren't celebrating anything," my dad shook his head.

"I know that. Which is why we're only here to have a drink with our neighbours on a random Tuesday night. We're happy to pretend it's not the occasion that it is, too. Isn't that right boys?" she turned to her family for support.

"Absolutely," Mr. Archer joined in, "Come on Alex, I brought beer."

My dad relaxed and followed him into the kitchen. Connor and Quinn not far behind them, probably hoping to share some beer too. It was just me and Angela left in the living room.

"I bought you a gift," she smiled. "You don't have to open it now. Just whenever you're ready."

I was so thankful for this woman. She was always like a second mum to me. She knew the right things to say, at the right time. I smiled politely at her, thanking her and went to leave the small gift bag in my room. I knew whatever it was would make me emotional, so I would do as she said and open it another time, when I was ready.

Heading back downstairs, everyone else was in the kitchen. I settled on the two-seat sofa in our living room and brought our dog Charlie up. He cuddled into my lap. Charlie was a 12-year-old cockapoo and our mums' pride and joy. I used to sneak him onto her temporary hospital bed in the living room when dad was at work. He was always scared he would get excited and accidentally hurt her. But he never did. Dogs have a weird way of understanding what's going on. I think Charlie knew she was dying too.

My family and the Hale's all shortly wandered in, drinks and snacks in hand. Quinn surprisingly slid in beside me and held out a drink for me. "Vodka and lemonade, your dad said it was alright."