Finding the Christmas Spirit in the face of tragedy

This morning I was going to write about how stressful the lead-up to Christmas has been, but the front page of The Age stopped me in my tracks. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the horrific school shooting in Newtown, Connecticut by now, and despite being shocked by all the information, it was the photos of those beautiful children that really kicked me in the guts. This was the first time I’d seen images of the children who were killed.

Front page of The Age today…

Unimaginable sadness…

It changes the colour of Christmas, doesn’t it? Christmas IS all about kids – their joy, anticipation and innocence gives the festive season some meaning. Forevermore Christmas will now be a time of mourning for those families who lost their babies. And the six adults. Knowing so many families’ lives have been devastated by this tragedy, of course, makes our troubles seem pathetic.

The only positive to come from this is to hug our own children all the more tightly and cherish each day we have with them. Put aside trivial concerns about messy bedrooms, the unpacked dishwasher, sibling squabbles and marital spats to remember how precious and fleeting life is.

I feel guilty now about what I was going to write. About how Christmas can be a burden – especially for women, who often bear the brunt of present shopping and food preparation. I was also going to whinge about how I’m finding it hard to match the enthusiastic festive spirit of my daughter, and now I feel I deserve a huge slap in the face. So here’s a new version of what I wanted to tell you.

It started when I had friends over for drinks at the weekend and felt I couldn’t even begin to tidy the house because it is crammed with Christmas junk. And it’s Veronica’s fault. Because of our daughter, our house is swamped with Christmas chaos. Littered with STUFF from floor to ceiling. Her brother groans as we start pulling STUFF out of boxes each year. ‘Oh no, not again,’ he moans. ‘Crap everywhere, AGAIN.’ In a way, I know how he feels. I sigh inwardly as Christmas approaches, knowing I’m going to have to heave umpteen boxes out of the attic and down the stairs to help Veronica create her Christmas heaven.

Our Christmas tree