Christmas in a Coma.

I’m sure there’s never been a year in my life when I was so unaware of Christmas as I’ve been this year. I went for a walk at lunchtime, and as I passed the village school I noticed that it was obviously closed. I wondered why, and it was only after I’d worked out the date that I remembered that today is Christmas Eve.

When I was a kid, Christmas Eve was the most magical day of the year, even more so than Christmas Day. It was almost agonisingly swamped with excitement and anticipation, and the feelings were re-lived when my daughter was a little girl. Now I don’t even remember what day it is until something prompts me.

So why is this? I’ve been increasingly lacking in Christmas spirit for some years now, but never as much as this year. Is this the latest manifestation of an ongoing process? Is it simply a matter of ageing? Is it to do with becoming increasingly distant from the culture and its habits? Is it the increasing incidence of dark tunnels on my personal road? Is it the strange and stifling atmosphere engendered by Covid?

I don’t know, but only remembering Christmas Eve after being prompted half way through the day still came as a surprise. And given my enhanced awareness of mortality since the cancer issue, I wonder whether I will have the chance to find out what my response to Christmas will be next year.