PAULINE BARCLAY

This is my Christmas story for 2010, I'm sure we have all said things we wished we hadn't, but for Sue her Christmas table remided her of words that could not be taken back.

I checked and triple checked and if I had my eyes closed I would know exactly where I had placed everything on our festive table. From the corner of my eye I could see John talking to our youngest son and his wife. They’d purposely kept out of my way because I’d snapped at them just once to often. It was Christmas day and despite it being a day of celebration, we were not as festive as we should be. The table didn’t look complete without all the places set, but this year I knew it would remain incomplete and this saddened me more than I could bear. What had brought us to this point now seemed not only sad, but heartbreaking. And despite my family putting on a brave face, I knew they were hurting too. Misunderstanding, ignorance and shock had created the division, and as a mother, I felt I should shoulder most of the blame: I should have tried to understand more.

The day that was to turn our happy family into a family divided had begun several months earlier. Ben our eldest son, a bit of a loner, though very clever had made one of his rare visits and to our surprise and delight he’d told us he was seeing someone. This news lifted my spirits no end, as I’d come to despair he would ever find someone, but before my pleasure could be enjoyed, he added that the person he was seeing was another male. It was clear, from his tone and his posture he was uncomfortable about his announcement, but if he thought it was difficult to tell us, he had no idea just how impossible it was for us to understand what we were hearing. Nothing prepared us for Ben’s announcement. The shock had all of use saying, and sometimes shouting words we should never have voiced and worse, none could be taken back or forgotten. In the end Ben, in a rage, left the house vowing he would never return.

During the months since that black day, we have tried to come to terms with our son’s choice of life, it hasn’t been easy. And just when we thought we might be able to cope with meeting his partner, he announced that he was leaving for the States. It turned out he had been offered a contract to work there for nine months, his partner would be going with him. It all happened at such speed that before we had time to comprehend what was happening, he was on the plane and away. We spoke very briefly on the phone the day he flew, our words guarded and so much left unsaid. As Ben left the UK my heart broke all over again because I knew had I coped better with his announcement then maybe he would not have left to work away. Or at least, we would have parted on better terms.

Now as I try and pull myself together, I know I have my family, be it a little smaller to look after and try to ensure we have a happy Christmas. And as I stand here wallowing in my self pity, I can hear them chatting and clinking glasses, they have poured a drink for me I see, I reach over to take it, but the piecing ringing of the oven timer shrieks our for my attention.

Just as I have my head half way into the oven to check the turkey, which is far too big for such a small gathering, I hear the phone ring. Listening, I hear John, my husband answer the call, but no sooner have I closed the oven door, then he calls out. ‘Sue it’s for you.’ He doesn’t add who is calling, but holds the phone until I take it out of his hand. He smiles as I take it from him. ‘Hello,’ I say my voice brighter than I feel; after all it is Christmas day. And to my surprise and delight, I hear Ben on the other end of the line. ‘I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas mum,’ he cries cheerfully down the line. My lip trembles at hearing his voice and just as I manage to open my mouth to speak, the door bell rings. I don’t want to know who is at the door I want to talk to my son. ‘Hello Ben, hello Ben are you still there?’ I call as I hear the front door open, but he doesn’t answer and I feel warm tears slip down my face. I cry into the silent phone, ‘I’m sorry Ben, so sorry,’ but I know there is no one there to hear me. And so with tears splashing down, I place the phone back on to its cradle. I try to wipe away the tears as I go and see who had rung our door bell and had unintentionally halted my call with my lost son. But as I turn, my breath is taken away and the tears flow all over again as two visitors step in to our home. ‘Merry Christmas again mum.’