Guilt

Tonight I should be eating dinner with my work colleagues. I like them and don’t get to see them very often as we’re spread over a number of venues. I should be laughing and joking with them. This year, details of the evening out were only passed to me on Tuesday after being finalised at a late stage and that was my excuse for not going.

I couldn’t say exactly what has prevented me from going though. I didn’t do any Christmas parties last year because it felt disrespectful to Al to be going out enjoying myself when he lay cold in the ground. And regardless of whether it was disrespectful, I just wasn’t in the mood for fun. I resented others having fun – and resented me for resenting them doing what they should be doing so I stayed out of the way.

This year, I’m tired. I don’t know whether it’s a matter of the constant grind of having to present a façade of normality, the fact that we’ve had some upheavals at work that have added to the workload enormously, or that my iron and calcium levels have dropped much lower than my GP would like. I suspect it’s a mish-mash of all three.

And of course, there's the little matter of the guilt connected to enjoying myself when my son is dead. It just seems plain wrong right now. Ironically, and intellectually, I know that guilt is neither necessary nor reasonable but I feel it nonetheless.

So instead I shall get changed into something suitable, put on an apron, and decorate some Christmas cakes for friends. At least I shall be doing something creative and useful. Doing things for others, as opposed to doing them for me, feels OK. Indulging myself feels wrong right now. As if pleasure is something I’m not allowed. I’ve had fun on several occasions since losing Al, but this week it seems wrong somehow.

Christmas is a time for family – and mine has been decimated. I can pretend to be OK for my daughter’s sake. I can produce all kinds of fun activities. But if it were just about me, I’d much rather lie on the settee, cover myself with a duvet, and sleep until it’s time to go back to work in January. In fact, I’d rather stay like that until I felt I could face the world again.