Last year, Ailish decided it was time to host Christmas at our place. We had bought our house about sixteen months before, and had recently got married. Ailish decided this officially made us adults, and adults hosted Christmas.

So we went out and bought a tree. An artificial tree, because none of the real trees looked very impressive. And we bought Christmas lights. Ailish wanted to decorate the whole house with Christmas lights, but we eventually settled on the two posts outside our door. The tree shed sparkles, but she accepted this unexpected issue with grumbling annoyance. The house looked beautiful and even smelled Christmassy (though this was probably from the pine-scented floor cleaner we used).

On Christmas Day, we had my Canadian family over to visit. We had prepared stockings to hand out to everyone, and had a ready supply of beer to share. My sister announced her engagement. We exchanged gifts. We talked to relatives in England and in Medicine Hat. We cooked Christmas dinner. It was a wonderful day.

This year, I’m having a hard time. Last year was so magical. This year, the artificial tree has remained in its box. I don’t even know where the Christmas lights are. I’ve avoided people as much as I can. Tomorrow, Christmas Day, I will stop off at the cemetery as I do about once a week. And I will cry.