Looking For The Christmas Spirit

Looking For The Christmas Spirit

 

This is by far the hardest Christmas for me.  It is my first Christmas without Dad. 

 

Every year, the extended family would gather at my home on Christmas Eve where I would fill it with a beautiful tree, buntings, lights, candles, and all manner of Christmas decoration that was extensive enough to start my own trim shop.  Conversations peppered with laughter would surround the dinner table laid out with a huge spread of roast Turkey, a baked ham, rosemary-roasted baby potatoes, brussel sprouts, parsnips and home-made cranberry sauce lovingly cooked by David and our housekeeper, Evelyn.

 

This year, I could not even bring myself to go tree-hunting with the family, like I usually would.  The decorations at the trim shops out there were more confusing than mesmerizing.  I could not step into the grocery store to shop for ingredients for our Christmas Eve dinner. I forgot to make time to take my Mum Christmas shopping like I did every year.   I just could not feel the Christmas spirit in me.

 

Managing The Grief

 

 

I know this was part of the grieving process but I did not think Christmas would ever be the same again.  Christmas was about family.  How was this season about family when an important member of my family had been cruelly plucked from my life?

 

I recognized that the grieving process did take time and it would never get easier.  At this time of the year, it actually got even worse.  However, I tried to be gentle to myself and gave myself permission to take some time out of the preparations for the Christmas Eve dinner.  I allowed David, Evelyn and Mom to take over the kitchen this Christmas Eve.  I still would not allow a tree in the house.  If Dad could not be here to gawk happily at my Christmas tree like he had done so every year, then, why have a tree right?

 

The Christmas Spirit Came Looking For Me

 

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I knew my emotions would be diving through a tsunami, threatening to drown me under my efforts to strike a balance between a turbulent wave of grief and my façade of focused determination as I threw myself into long work days.  However Christmas kept catching up with me.

 

Our company sponsored the Christmas Wonderland at Gardens by the Bay.  That meant I could not avoid the endless rounds of Christmas parties organized at the Spiegeltent, the countless selfies and wefies taken with the luminaire lights and festive displays plastered across social media and worst of all, I had to think of fun contests and campaigns to promote the Christmas Wonderland. As much as I thought that I had to do it all with emotional detachment, the truth was that, I rather enjoyed working with my team on the project. It made my heart swell with pride when I watched them working very hard on the sponsorship activation plans, yet genuinely enjoying every minute of it.  I did not realize this till I looked back at the photos we took of ourselves riding the carousel, and clowning about around the gardens as a team.  I really did enjoy these moments with them. 

 

Christmas was not very far from me after all.

 

I looked forward to weekends, when David was busy with his sports photography assignments.  This provided me with some “Me-time” to wallow in grief at some coffee shop somewhere where I could salve the pain with a huge slice of cake.  However, I would come across a pop-up store or a festive push-cart nearby selling a shiny bracelet, or a pretty trinket that immediately called out one of my staff’s name.  So that was how I did my Christmas shopping for the girls at work. 

 

Christmas was not very far from me after all.

 

In the midst of this depression, Joel embarked on his new life in the army.  The start of his 2-year stint at national service meant that I could only see him on certain weekends.  I thought that was a good opportunity to avoid the pesky questions from Joel about my state of mind and I really did not want to pull him down with my depression particularly when he was embracing army life with such enthusiasm.  However, as fate would have it, he came home most weekends, and accompanied me to Church every Sunday morning, where we would have breakfast at the Church canteen after mass.  The boy brought me sunshine  as he joked about his experiences with his platoon mates, the friends he made, the drills, the exercises and the food at the army camp. He admitted to me that through it all, the hardest thing for him was to balance his time between his army mates, his girlfriend and I.  I was grateful for time spent with him, and even more grateful for the light he had brought back to me when I was feeling down.

 

Christmas was not very far from me after all.

 

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to take Mum shopping finally as Joel had to get back to camp and David had to trawl across the grocery stores for ingredients he had not yet bought to prepare for the Christmas Eve dinner. Mum and I traipsed down the entire Orchard Road zipping in and out of malls, looking for colorful clothes that were worthy of the season, trying them on at fitting rooms fit for 2 people so that we could both laugh out loud  at each other when we happened to try on a dress or blouse that looked like we had just put on a tea cozy or a granny’s table cloth.  We ended our day by having dinner with my brother Jerome and my sister-in-law Ely.  As I glanced around the dinner table at the family, I truly felt blessed.  I was surrounded by the people who mattered most. I spent the day with the people I loved and who meant the world to me.

 

Christmas was not very far from me after all.

 

Late last night, I went to the refrigerator to get myself a drink when I saw that it was stocked from top to bottom with brussel sprouts, parnips, cranberries, carrots, fresh herbs,  jars of different kinds of sauces, marinades and tapenades, Prosecco, and wine.  The freezer had a large bird waiting to be the main attraction at Christmas Eve.  The kitchen counter top was like a merchandising display corner of a Crate and Barrel store. Carving knives, roasting trays, roasting racks, pie dishes were lined up neatly in a row.  I realized I had nothing to worry about because I spent weeks fretting about whether or not I should call in the caterers.  I had already pre-arranged plans at the gym with my personal trainer followed by a cup of tea with some friends down town on Christmas Eve.  I was planning to just show up at my own Christmas Eve dinner party.  I felt very proud that David and Evelyn had stepped up to take care of the Christmas Eve dinner.  I knew I could count on them to whip up the perfect Christmas Eve dinner.  Actually, there was nothing new to this.  Every year, they did it anyway.  I was always pretty useless in the kitchen. I was better at opening wine bottles and popping the champagne cork.  Each year, as they both prepared for the annual Christmas Eve dinner, I was like the “a spare foreskin at a Bar Mitzvah” as David would describe me.  So, I was really glad that I had a good reason to stay out of the kitchen and left them to be in charge of all that Christmas fare.

 

Christmas was not very far from me after all.

 

 

Celebrating Christmas With Dad Anyway

 

This morning, it suddenly dawned on me that the only reason Dad loved coming to my Christmas Eve dinner party every year, gawked at my pretty Christmas tree, and drank way too much red wine, was because he enjoyed being surrounded by family.  Family meant the world to Dad, the way it did to me.  This Christmas spirit, was not about presents, tree, turkey and champagne.  It was about family. 

 

I knew that if the family is with me, whether at my Christmas Eve dinner party, or at a scrumptious Laksa lunch cooked by Mum on the occasional Sunday or at the malls along Orchard Road, or at the Christmas Wonderland at Gardens By the Bay, my Dad would be with us.

 

The Christmas Spirit is the Spirit of the Family, an unbreakable bond, and a circle of love.

 

About The Writer

The writer of this blog post is a Marketing and PR professional for over 20 years.  Due to her love for Mixed Martial Arts (MMA), she is also a freelance sports writer on the side, contributing MMA-related articles to several sports media.  She works in partnership with her husband, David Ash, who is an avid sports photographer from www.singaporemaven.com.  She is passionate about Boxing and nurtures a dream to fight competitively one day when her coach stops making fun of her.  She is also a psychic intuitive by birth and runs a consultancy that does tarot and numerology readings under her brand, Sun Goddess Tarot.  This blog is affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" as she is married to one, although she has not yet explained to THE Ang Mo that when translated, he has been labeled  “the bloke with ginger hair”.  

 

 

I Believe In The Magic Of Christmas

I do believe in the magic of Christmas after all.  It was nothing short of a miracle that Dad could be discharged just in time to come home for Christmas.  

When he suffered that stroke last Thursday, he looked so frail and he could not lift his left arm and leg.  An MRI later revealed that he had quite a few blockages and the situation could have been disastrous if Mum had not taken him to the hospital in time.  From what the doctors and nurses had been telling us, it looked like he would be hospitalized for at least a week to two weeks, maybe more.   It did not help that from time to time, Dad's frustrations at being 'confined' had made him defiant and not willing to cooperate with the therapist when it came to his rehabilitative exercises.

However, Mum and I were at the hospital daily to comfort him, kept him company and persuaded him to focus on recovery.  I was determined that Dad did not give up,  So I spent that time talking about his days as a politically detainee and searched for photographs of his old friends who were fellow ex-detainees on my iPad so that it could trigger his memory.  I gave the other patients around him names too.  I named them after his old friends just because some of them resembled his old cronies, and that made him laugh a lot. To help bring back strength to his left hand, I persuaded him to "ring the door bell and run away". So, he rang the buzzer to call for the nurse, and when the nurse turned up by his bedside, he said "I don't need anything."  That annoyed the nurses, but both of us had such a good laugh.

Perhaps, the laughter, the old stories, the company, and just knowing that his family loved and supported him, was enough to motivate Dad to recover enough to get discharged earlier than expected.  

So while we cancelled every Christmas party, my parents' 45th wedding anniversary party and several other social engagements, I went ahead to host our annual family Christmas Eve dinner.  Dad gamely showed up at my home for that dinner, the day he got discharged.  Understandably, he still looked frail, but noticeably happy.  And he had a glass of wine too to celebrate Christmas with us.

When I looked at my entire extended family happily chatting around Dad, I was a-washed with bliss.  I felt so much gratitude for the prayers for Dad from my friends in Singapore and all over the world.  When mum and I were feeling so down because of Dad's hospitalization, the only reason we had hope was because of the prayers of everyone who supported us.  So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for helping me BELIEVE in the magic of Christmas.

About the writer:

The writer of this blog post is a 44 year old mother of one, who spreads her time between her day job as a Marketing and PR professional at a financial institution, her hobby as a Certified Professional Tarot Reader and Numerologist, and her family which includes a 20 year old son and 3 dogs with personality disorders.  She's married to a Scot who has been affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" and prays that he does not find out that the colloquail term when translated, has labeled him as a "Ginger Head".   Together, we create a home made up with more nuts than a fruitcake but filled with plenty of love.

I truly do

Dad  - Blending in with the sofa.  He looked tired but happy

Mum and I having a good laugh at
the antics Dad and I got up to at the hospital

The antics never cease.  Grandma did not realise that I clipped a wee Santa's hat on her head.  She went home looking like that.

Our roast turkey with figs and chestnut stuffing.
It was the best turkey yet.

David cooked these.  Roasted potatoes with rosemary,
roasted parsnips with honey, roasted carrots with orange juice and brussels sprouts with wasabi glaze

David, the exhausted chef

An Indomitable Spirit

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from indomitable will." ~ Mahatma Ghandi

A Change of Plans For Christmas 

We had big plans for the year-end merry-making.  Mum was preparing to whip up a big lunch the weekend before Christmas, to celebrate the Winter Solstice.   I was going to be hosting our annual family Christmas Eve dinner.  On 27th December, Mum organized a big dinner party to celebrate my parents' 45th wedding anniversary. Dotted in between these, we have got several invitations to join our friends in their Christmas celebrations.

However, these plans had to change.

Dad Is not Well

Dad was suddenly hit with a stroke and  taken to the hospital where he was also diagnosed for Parkinson's disease and dementia.  That meant he will need to be religious about his long term rehabilitative program after he got discharged.   In fact, Dad was diagnosed with a silent stroke a few years back and the neurosurgeon did advise that he should do his rehabilitative exercises regularly.  Of course, Dad was stubborn and would rather continue eating and living well in his own way than to spend time in and out of the rehabilitative cente. Even when his mobility deteriorated to the point where Mum had to assist him with basic activities like bathing, eating and walking, he would make an effort to shuffle from the bedroom to the living room, holding onto furniture for support along the way.  We were not thrilled by this because we were worried about him falling at some point but we could not stop him.

Well, this time round it certainly was not a silent one.  His left arm and leg got impacted, his speech slurred more, and he looked confused.  I had seen Dad become increasingly frail over the years, but I have never seen Dad looking completely lost and feeling helpless.  My heart broke when I saw him being wheeled through the doors to get to his MRI session.  His even frailer form looked so broken.  However, no matter how ill or weak he was, I detected fire in his eyes.

He Still Has Fire In His Belly

His frail frame disguised the fire in his belly.

When the therapist came along to ask how old he was, he slurred defiantly, "..as old as the hills...and older than you."  When the therapist asked him to point to his eye with his finger, and then to point to his tummy next, he slurred even more defiantly, "You are asking me to do such a simple thing?"   I had a good laugh as I thought, "That was not a question honey, my Dad wants you to stop insulting his intelligence."  He struggled to get out of his bed and told me as he pointed to the nurses, "Come on, let's go.  They are preparing for us to leave."    The nurse told him that he was not going to be able to go home just yet.  So he looked squarely at her and challenged, " That is what you say."   For once, I was thankful that he was not mobile enough to put himself in any danger.  I was however impressed that in spite of his frailty, that indomitable spirit never waned.

I grew up watching and learning from that indomitable spirit. Just before he was incarcerated without trial for his "off-center" political views in 1978,  I remembered the moments when the lackeys of the Establishment marched Dad, in handcuffs, into our home while I was having Mandarin lessons with the tutor.  I saw  how frail and helpless Dad looked then ( like he did just now as he was wheeled out of the ward for his MRI session)  surrounded by a bunch of burley men hiding behind dark glasses, walkie-talkies and cheap plastic name tags.   Yet, at that point, he tried to be stoic and promised Mum and I  that all was going to be fine.  I was however, mortified that these strangers could barge into my home to disturb the peace of a once happy family.  I was extremely angry that they handcuffed a man with alternative political views when that handcuff should be reserved for common criminals. I was even more aghast at the thought that Dad was going to be taken away from us, without trial, without any ability to defend himself.  I rushed towards Dad  shouting " Let him go, you bastards.  He is not a criminal."   Dad shot them a very angry look.  It took me years to realize the anger was not at what had happend to him, but at the terrible way in which they handled the issue in front of his family that included an 8 year old.   His indomitable spirit never waned even then, as he just wanted to protect his family.

Bringing Christmas To Dad

Dad's condition will not get better.  That is the fact about stroke.  It is a condition that should be managed, but it will never get better.  As the doctors put him through tests after tests here at the hospital, he said, " They are wasting my time."  I agree.  They are.  I felt his frustrations.  I am sure somewhere in these tests, they are doing something productive to help him get better but I am not seeing it just yet.  His lack of rest at the hospital is not helping.   I wished I could take him home with me now and we could all have a fabulous Christmas celebration together as a family.  But I know that is not possible.  So, like Dad, with his indomitable spirit, if he cannot join me for our annual family Christmas Eve dinner, I will bring the Christmas revelry to him at the hospital on Christmas Day. 

Joel, please chill the wine already.

About the writer:

The writer of this blog post is a 44 year old mother of one, who spreads her time between her day job as a Marketing and PR professional at a financial institution, her hobby as a Certified Professional Tarot Reader and Numerologist, and her family which includes a 20 year old son and 3 dogs with personality disorders.  She's married to a Scot who has been affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" and prays that he does not find out that the colloquail term when translated, has labeled him as a "Ginger Head".   Together, we create a home made up with more nuts than a fruitcake but filled with plenty of love.

This is Dad when he was younger.  Wasn't exactly David Hasselhoff..more like an Asian Che Guevera eh? This picture was taken during a family vacation at Desaru Beach in Malaysia. I remembered he lost his glasses in the waves.

The Daddy Heroes In My Life - Happy Fathers' Day

What Dad Taught Me

As we honor our Fathers this weekend on Fathers’ Day, I had decided to write this blog post to honor the most important men in my life whom I think are possibly the best Dads in the world.

Dad is truly my hero.  Everything that I am today, I owe it to him.  Dad held 2 things closest to his heart – his family and his political beliefs.  So I grew up with the notion that life offered me only 2 things worth fighting for – my family and my right to an opinion. 

My tenacity and never-say-die attitude were all aspects of Dad that I grew up with.  My conviction to always stand up for what I believed in and to not be afraid to lend a voice to these beliefs, were all nurtured by Dad.  When Dad was incarcerated for his political beliefs that fell outside the approved pantone code of that whitewash dished out by the establishment, he taught me that oppression was the worst form of abuse that should never be tolerated.   When I saw him being led away by the clipboard-toting establishment lackeys when I was 8 years old, not because he was a criminal but because he did not share the same political convictions,  I “found my voice” that day by telling these lackeys how wrong they were to label an ideological difference as a crime. I was then just 8 years old.  Ever since, I never stopped lending my voice to a cause I am passionate about. 

I Found My Dad In My Hubby

David will deny this vehemently.  However, he is somewhat like Dad.  A typical Scot steeped in traditional family values, David is extremely protective of the family and will do anything to ensure we are not in want of anything.  Even though Joel is his step-son, that term was never used in or outside the home.  To David, Joel is his son.  In his paternal role, be it the disciplinarian, the counselor, the best friend, or the teacher, David was first and foremost Joel’s “Pops”.  David was the one who taught him to swim, the one who taught him to ride his first bike, the one who comforted him when he failed his exams, the one who counseled him when he had girlfriend issues, the one who taught him how to shave, the one who gave him money so he could go repair his bicycle tire, and the one who baked him a cake for one of his birthday parties.   My Dad did all that for me and it was heartwarming to see the world’s best stepdad doing that for my son. 

Just like Dad was feisty and tenacious, David is the same.  He stands up for what he believes in and his ego never gets in the way of what he needs to do when he believes in it.  When Dad did not approve of our marriage many years ago, David visited Dad 4 times with the aim of convincing him about how serious he was about me.  Each time, Dad would chase him out of the office and told him to leave.  David never gave up and was very persistent.  He told Dad, “I don’t care if you dislike me, but I want you to stand behind your daughter because she deserves the love and support of the most important man in her life.”  I will never forget that because that tenacity had since been nurtured in Joel.

When Joel had to navigate his "Gaylord Focker complex" a year ago, when he was allocated to a nursing course which was not his first choice, it was his tenacity that turned that complex to a situation where he found his aspiration.  He said, " Mum, I am going to be a Nursing Director at the hospital and when I have saved enough, I will one day open my own private nursing care business." I am so proud that David taught my son to have guts.

Dads Are Heroes

Joel and I feel very blessed to have Dad and David in our lives.  

I am at the stage of my life when I am juggling multiple commitments, managing mounting workload, leading a team and running my Tarot consultancy.   This is the time I need these men in my life most to hold my hand as I walk along this journey to find my bliss.  

Joel is at the age now where he needs a Dad most.  He is managing the intense workload at nursing school braving days of grueling training at the hospital as well as doing projects at campus. While doing so, he is at the age of discovering strong friendships and developing a relationship.  Dad carried me through the challenges of my varsity days, when I discovered boyfriends and when I had to maneuver through the challenges of a divorce and a second marriage.  So likewise, David is carrying Joel through his challenges too.

Indeed, Dad and David are our heroes.  I grew up with so much of Dad in me.  I am certain that Joel, having grown up with so much of David in him, will one day, be the best father ever too…..BUT NOT TOO SOON PLEASE, JOEL.


About the writer:

The writer of this blog post is a 43 year old mother of one, who spreads her time between her day job as a marketeer at a financial institution, her hobby as a certified professional tarot reader and numerologist, and her family which includes a 19 year old son.  She's married to a Scot who has been affectionately called "The Crazy AngMo" and prays that he does not find out that the term when translated, has labeled him as a "Ginger Head".