As I get ready to host Christmas this year, I’m reminded of the last time I hosted Christmas. ⁠⁣

2014.

My first time hosting. Just a small gathering – me, Sukhie, my mum, dad and little sister. It was perfect. Organised. Relaxed. No stress. Fun. And precious beyond words.⁠⁣
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Little did I know at the time it would be the first and last time I hosted Christmas for my Dad. ⁠⁣
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So as this years preparations get underway, I keep getting caught off guard. ⁣
💭 I picture my Dad sat on my living room sofa eating his bacon buttie on Christmas morning. ⁣
💭 I see us all sat on the floor next to the Christmas tree taking it in turns to open our presents. ⁣
💭 I picture Dad reaching for his camera to take photo after photo of Christmas at his daughters house. ⁣
💭 I see how proud Dad is that I excelled at doing the Christmas dinner. ⁣
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💭 I see the smile. I hear the laughter. I see the joy. I feel the warmth. ⁠⁣
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Then I am transported back to the here and now. A world without my Dad. Another Christmas without him. I’m feeling the absence. I’ve shed the tears.⁣
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I’ve battled the thoughts in my mind – if I wish to go back to 2014 just to re-live it one more time, Dad would be here, but Simran would not. I stop here. That is a thought I cannot bear. And with that I am catapulted back into the present where I stay until I’m next caught off guard with a memory of Christmas 2014. ⁠⁣