The best Christmases

All of the Christmases of the childhood are remembered through a shimmering golden light. Mum worked hard to make every single one of them happy – and she succeeded. There was a pattern to them: I would wake at stupid o’clock (probably when my mum put the stocking on my bed full of little things to keep my brother and me occupied until it was a more reasonable time to get up), I would go into my brother’s room to see what was in his stocking (they were mostly identical). At a more reasonable hour, when my parents had got up, we would all head downstairs to see a mountain of gifts swamping the Christmas tree. I remember some Christmases shaking in excitement.

Towards late morning, my nan would come over. She never stayed over Christmas eve because she was the sacristan at the church and had midnight mass and the Christmas morning services to prepare for. She brought another batch of gifts.

Nan would sit on a stool in the kitchen while mum prepared the dinner. I think nan had a more supervisory role. Mum did all the work.

Christmas dinner would be at about three and was “traditional” turkey, roast potatoes, parsnips, sprouts, and boiled potatoes (which I hated). There was bread sauce (why?) and cranberry sauce. Crackers, bad jokes, and hats.

Christmas pudding was always soaked in alcohol and set on fire by my dad.

The evening was charades and games.

I am so lucky to have those memories.

Most of my adult Christmases have also been wonderful. Whether alone with just my husband and me, or having my parent’s over for Christmas dinner, most have been wonderfully peaceful times.

There have been several where my husband’s illness made Christmas more difficult. I would prepare Christmas dinner anyway. We would do presents (and another Christmas dinner) when he was feeling better.

The worst Christmas

In 2019, my mum was finally diagnosed with Cancer. This was fifteen years after surviving her first encounter with Cancer (2004).

That summer, we thought – we expected – her to recover.

The start of December 2019 dad told us that mum was not going to get better, although she may be able to take some medication to extend her life.

The Friday before Christmas I was at work and I received a call from my dad “you need to come to the hospital: the time has come”. I got a colleague to drive me home. I threw a few things into a back of the car and drove to Bristol.

Mum was just starting the morphine protocol that would ease her passing.

Over the the first few days, she drifted in and out of consciousness. We’d talk a little, but she was tired. She was hungry. She was thirsty. She was slowly dying of starvation because she could no longer eat. She was so thin.

By Christmas day, she was not waking up any more.

I didn’t sleep for the first few days – I was afraid that she would die and I wouldn’t be there for her.

My dad, my brother, and I went to the hospital restaurant and brought a Christmas dinner down to the hospital room where mum was and ate dinner while we watched telly. It was surreal. We acted as though this situation was normal.

After dinner, I narrated the Strictly Christmas special to mum. She wasn’t awake, but I talked to her like she was.

By Boxing Day, we were exhausted – waiting for somebody you love to die is a horrendous business.

On mum’s chart was a butterfly. The Butterfly is the logo for the hospital’s palliative care department. Her ward had a about two dozen private rooms – approximately half of them had butterflies against the name: each butterfly was a family about to lose a loved one at Christmas.

Mum eventually died at about 7pm on the 27th December. My dad, brother, and I were there and holding her hands. I was glad that we were all there.

She was peaceful and no longer in pain.

Do not think that this was a beautiful scene. It was simply the least worst outcome.

Christmas since

I cannot let Christmas be ruined. Mum would hate for that – she was Mrs Christmas. Each year I make it something small but special.

Christmas is more of an effort.

Sadly, the family has never again been together on Christmas. Its not what my dad wants, and my brother’s lads are too young and too likely to be overstimulated for Christmas at his house to happen yet.

Twenty years ago

When mum survived her first cancer, I started decided that I wanted to run the Bristol Half Marathon to raise money for the hospital that saved her life. I was very nervous because I wasn’t somebody who ever did exercise. I didn’t know if I could do it.

In the end, I did finish the Bristol Half Marathon and I raised about £400 for the hospital.

I also started a twenty year love affair with running: 2025 will be twenty years since that first half marathon.

I have decided to run the Bristol Half Marathon again, this time to raise money for Cancer Research UK: remembering the ward with so many people dying and their broken-hearted families.

This will be the first race since I became a eunuch!

If you would like to support me, here is my fund-raising page:

https://ajbellgreatbristolrun2025.enthuse.com/pf/a-j-skingsley-ross