Day after Christmas. I am in a funeral.
As we wait for the coffin to be loaded, I look up to these clouds, hopeful, thinking of how Christmas was for me.
This year it was all about pain, love and forgiveness and how difficult it is to be caught in the middle.
I tried to be brave, I didn’t see it coming. I Tried to hold on.
I tried to help despite the pain. I tried to be a friend because I thought I was ready. At least I tried.
I tried to hold back the tears. Humbled by my misgivings that probably will never be forgotten yet again and reminded by how love doesn’t just get lost in memory, I finally let go.
This year’s Christmas was most peculiar. It wasn’t just about the happiness of being with my family and friends, it was also about the melancholic, yet liberating joy of forgiving myself and others, of reminding myself that in forgiveness I knew I loved and loved well. That though I may be a far cry from a perfect loving person I know that slowly I am understanding what love is, how it affects people, how it crushes and tears you while at the same time teaching you how to love better.
There is still a part of me that wonders of the whatifs should things have worked out, but I know I did my flawed best and I couldn’t have done better at that time. What I know is I can do better should I choose to love again.
Christmas isn’t just about birth amd beginnings; it’s also about death and endings amd how all these and the in-betweens constitute love.