Is the magic forever gone?

Or is it a temporary set back?

I imagined that it was.  Temporary, that is.  Not that I expected to get over our loss, forget our first son, and party on.  But I guess I did expect that the magic that I remember as a kid would come back, somewhere, somehow.  So why do I have to feel bah humbug for my second son's first Christmas, and our first with him.  Because of course, he does make it a million, zillion times worth getting through.  In actualy fact though, if we didn't have Toby, I reckon that Shane and I would have canned this one for sure.

It's a bit silly really, when you analyse it all.  What we are going through this year is financially motivated (or demotivated as the case may be).  It's material.  It's a job and a house.  I'm not saying they aren't important, and God knows that financial stability is in my core, as the bank manager of the family.  What I am saying though is that we have each other, we have Toby, we have our health, we have family, we have friends.  Need I go on.  What we don't have, for the fourth year in a row, is Ciaran.  That is immaterial.

But still the house thing is dominating our Christmas this year, and it doesn't matter how many times we hear from others (or indeed say to each other) how it could be worse.  We know it could be.  Absolutely.  But it doesn't make the looming unknown, the possible material loss, and the big fat question mark feel any less pressurising.

:::

In all of this thinking, I was revisiting old memories today, of Christmas as a little Bir.

I remember Christmas as a whir of social events, which is kind of funny as my family, my parents, aren't exactly the partying bunch.  But I guess in those days my dad was involved in things.

I remember he was in the fire brigade, and for some reason there were always two fire brigade Christmas parties.  For one, the fire truck used to drive around town and pick us kids up to take to the fire shed for the evening "do".  We would wait outside the house.  It was always a warm summer's evening (in my mind anyway), with the sun going or gone down.  We would hear them coming.  They would put the siren on from time to time, so we could hear them getting closer.  We would pile on with all of the other kids and off we go.  I guess they couldn't do that anymore, with insurance changes these days.  Pity.

When they had us all we would drive around the town looking for Santa.  We had to sing Jingle Bells at the top of our lungs.  He was always in a different place, and eventually we would find him.  He'd be ho ho hoing, and ringing his bell, carrying a big red sack of exciting presents, and climb aboard, and we'd Jingle Bells our way to the fire shed.

Funnily enough I don't remember all that much about the rest of the night.  I do remember the smell of fresh pine needles.  I remember our names being called out by santa and receiving a gift.  Of course we didn't know that our parents had given it to them earlier.  To us it really came from Santa, even if we had sussed out that this Santa was someone we knew - he was only giving the real one a hand after all!

And then there was the other fire brigade "do" which was the xmas picnic.  It was out of town, on a farm, in a shearing shed.  Again it was always a balmy summer's evening.  I remember snippets of these ones.  I remember lolly scrambles.  The best thing for me about these ones were that we were able to ride the horses.  I was obviously a little older with these memories, but it was before I owned my own horse, so it was so fab!  We would take it in turns of getting on one, and galloping out of control to the top of the hill, and then jog back down again.  What an insurance nightmare.  I don't even know how my parents allowed me to, given that we had no saddles or helmets, and I was never allowed to ride without a helmet.

We also had another social do for something my dad was involved in.  I don't remember much about this one, except once more... the magic.

There were bbq's too.  There is the smell of the evening.  Walking home in the dark as a family.  Seeing the xmas lights in the windows because that was before the days of decorating your house.

There was just simply magic everywhere.  It's still there in the memories.  But is it still in our lives?  Will we get to see it in our children?  Child?  Hmmm.  My bad (no "children" (plural) here...).  I hope that I do one day.

:::

But I also got to wondering then... how were our parents feeling, while we were experiencing that magic?  What did they have going on in their lives, that might have meant they put on a brave face for us.

I do remember one Christmas... Christmas Eve actually.  Playing with my brother in our lounge room.  I was six.  Mum came in and told us that our grandpa had died.  We stopped playing, but I remember us just kind of sitting there, unsure what to do, but obviously "getting" that playing was inappropriate. 

I don't remember Christmas though.  Perhaps, as kids, we had "forgotten", or at least not understand the fact that my father's father had died.

I guess what I'm saying is that all of a sudden I have a new appreciation for things that my parents, as adults might have had going on, while we were feeling the magic. 

I hope that Toby can always feel the magic.

:::

I've been wrapping the family's Christmas presents today.  Thankfully they were all bought before Shane's job went kapoot.  I don't know what might have been if they hadn't. 

But as I was writing the cards, each one stabbed me in the heart.

"with love Bir, Shane and Toby".

Where is my first son?  Why was I not writing Ciaran?  Should I?  Can I?  Would I?  I questioned myself with each time I wrote it.  I rationalised it to myself, saying that these are only the gift cards, and that Ciaran was remembered on our Christmas cards.  But it still didn't feel right. 

And really, the only reason I can admit to is that putting Ciaran's name felt too hard for other people to understand.  So, I didn't put his name.  For them.  Not for me, but for their own comfort.  And I actually have amazing family, so go figure.

Every single one tugged at my heart though, as I felt guilty.  As if by being able to now sign Toby's name to things, I can "move on" and even "forget" about our first son, Ciaran.  Obviously, that is very much not true, and I know that nobody (close to us) would expect that.  But that's just the way the cards rumbled.

It never seems straight forward.