This is my first Christmas without my Dad, and I really miss him with all my heart.
Christmas was special to him, he try to make it special to all his family and friends who came round. For instance, everyone who spent the night had a stocking in the morning.
I miss the annoying carols and classical music as we woke up, yes not awake yet, but must be cheerful.
I miss that so much, for even as I remember being grumpy, grumpiness comes from a place of love and safety.
Dad give me back Christmas.
In my heart, I always had space for Christmas. A space for love that is given, a love that will be received. A space for quiet moments thinking on small wonders in life.
A space for joy with hope. A space to be a child inside my heart. A space to be free enough to not be alert.
Yes, Christmas had been enough taken from.
Nearly when my stepdad would finger me every Christmas, sending his tongue down my throat.
Nearly during the years I was prostituted, I had no choice but to choose to not know Christmas.
Nearly as for many Christmases, I would get drunk, get fucked, take speed, cut my arms, smash my head into a wall or just lay in bed almost dead.
I could not know Christmas – I though Christmas had abandoned me.
But my Dad slowly give me Christmas back.
Now, I love the traditional. I love Midnight Service, I love Christmas food and booze, I love giving and receiving, I love TV.
But more I love that it can be some innocence, some joy, some quiet, some time to think, some reminder that I matter.
So, I wish you all Merry Christmas, and to thanks you all.