‘Loved ones’ and those we miss at Christmas…

I have always disliked the term ‘loved ones’ ever since I started working as a Social Worker. The term to me makes a whole world of assumptions about the relationships that surround – and also seemingly support – the people we work with. Even in our own personal world, all the training in the world does not mean we fully know the type of relationship people may have and whether it is supportive or not.

I always try to be wary of assumptions and often it is not until I have been working with a person for some time that they reveal the inner lives that the outside world may not know. For me, as a retired social worker, I was always careful about what I revealed about my own personal life. I might say that I had children and grandchildren, or I might say that in our family there had been people with long term chronic conditions. This made me relatable, without disclosing precise detail.

Now that I am just a person in the community, with no professional restrictions I am still careful how much I reveal of myself and my family. I have to build trust and a relationship with people before I reveal the ‘big stuff’ such as my diagnosis. If it is useful to me to disclose then I may, but only as much as I determine is necessary.

Christmas is a time when we think of family, and it is also a time to take care not to assume that everyone is going to have a happy Christmas. Indeed, it may be that their circumstances are such that they are not safe and/or have the luxury to be able to celebrate Christmas, or whether it will be just another day.

As I think of our Christmas, in two days’ time it is the anniversary of my diagnosis. A day in my history where my life and to varying degrees the lives of those I love, have been changed forever. I was diagnosed on 15 December 2020 and although I had strong suspicions I had Parkinson’s – as the daughter of a Mum and Dad who both had the condition – it still hit me like a sledgehammer when the Neurologist confirmed that I was a person living with Parkinson’s. Add to that, that my eldest son Adam passed away two months before, unexpectedly on 4 October 2020 and you will no doubt be aware that there will always be a gaping hole in my life. A hole that will never heal and a sadness that even in the happiest of times will always be there when he is not here to share happy days like Christmas. We can only be there for each other and acknowledge his absence and our love for him.

Today I was waiting in the car while my husband loaded in the groceries and through the window I saw a young man with a beard and a similar physique and my heart skipped a beat as he reminded me of my son. I find myself seeing young men around his age and with similar physical characteristics and that grief that is hiding just below the surface bubbles up and a sudden sadness comes on me. It will always be so and I find for me it is important to acknowledge that grief, lest in trying to deny it I make it worse.

In the lead up to Christmas, I hope that you are able to share some time with people that you truly love and who love you, that you are safe and remember those who have gone before and the fond memories they left behind.