I have come to realise that there are those for whom celebration comes naturally; and there are those for whom celebration is downright hard. Before I explain why I fall into the latter category, I would like to talk about some natural-born celebrators.
Take my father – a true celebrator if ever there was one; a man whom one might be attempted to describe as something of a celebration addict. A serial celebrator if you will.
Facing immanent death from terminal cancer in his late 60s, my father’s incessant desire to hold parties and dinner gatherings only grew more intense; and culminated in a 70th birthday event that was lavish even by his standards.
With a large marquee erected in the garden, he invited family and scores of friends to hear speeches, drink wine, hear live music, watch a firework display. The painkillers helped; but at the end of the day nothing was going to prevent him fully embracing the moment in the company of those he loved. Not a soul who attended that party would disagree with this statement: John was in his element.
Then there is my dear friend Martin, who a short while ago celebrated his 50th in a style that my father would have approved of: family, scores of friends, a romantic location and copious amounts of food and drink. Martin’s sons – talented musicians – deejayed, played instruments and sang songs; whilst messages of goodwill, as well as photographs, were projected onto the walls.
And some of the most striking and moving photographs to be seen on that wonderful evening: Martin’s beautiful, former wife who had tragically succumbed to breast cancer some years before. Here we all were, thanks in large part to Martin’s new partner who had organised much of what we were witnessing.
Finally, consider the musician, actor and poet Nick Cave. Cave somehow managed to articulate, in the aftermath of the appalling, untimely loss his teenage son, that he and his wife would pursue happiness – celebrate life – as “an act of revenge, of defiance”.
Cave’s statement – for reasons which will become apparent – hit me like a punch to the stomach. Furthermore, it caused me to wonder if my friend Martin and my father weren’t perhaps exacting their own forms of revenge, of defiance. Because in addition to acknowledging our shared history and place on this planet, celebrations – implicitly or explicitly, consciously or unconsciously – speak to our shared sense of vulnerability and our desire for distraction/relief from life’s hardships.
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Now, it’s December 19th and I have yet to dig out the Christmas decorations. I know this is unusual, because in the homes surrounding mine, there is not a single one, which does not exhibit some kind of festive display and/or light-show in a window or two, or three, or more…
But consistent with every year since the tragic loss of my own teenage son (ten years ago this year), I find myself procrastinating. Even more than being about family gatherings, the modern Christmas celebration is surely about children. Hence for me, Christmases (in addition to certain birthdays) are actually confrontations with an unconscionable truth that I continue to – on some level – reject.
Whilst this may also be described as a form of defiance, the defiance exhibited by Cave, my father and friend embraces the fullness of their circumstances. In contrast, my “defiance” is simply hiding from the truth.
I know what I must do because my wife (who was no less affected than I) sometimes gently reminds me: I must learn to celebrate the precious thirteen plus years my son and I had together. I must learn to find joy in this memory. In fact, I owe it to my son’s memory, to my wife, my daughter and perhaps – dare I admit it? – to myself.
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With this annual meditation fresh and raw in my mind once again I gaze at the ladder and up towards the attic. An artificial Christmas tree, lights and decorations await. We still have a few days to make things nice.
This healing/grieving process may be long and arduous, but I am determined to get there in the end. My father, my friend, and a rock star have shown me the way. Perhaps it’s simply a question of placing a foot on the ladder, literally and figuratively taking it one step at a time. No matter what, a celebration is now in order.
Written By Wilhelm O
Wilhelm O, is a husband to a beautiful wife and a father to a beautiful daughter. He will be forever grateful for this fact.
Week 52, December ’20
