I wrote, a couple of years ago, about Christmas hiraeth: a longing for Christmases past, which had gone and were never to return. I thought with the foolishness of one who had never actually been tested that the years of separation and safety of Covid were enough to prod me into the feeling of hiraeth.

What a fool I was.

Looking back and longing has to involve loss: loss of youth, ability, innocence or…. for me this year…. physical loss of a person. Whoever that person is, however you lose them, if the loss is irrevocable, unredeemable, then Christmas will never be the same. I’m ready this year for Christmas to be a split personality of a feast: I’m ready to smile and laugh and enjoy the company, the activities, the hygge…. and yet, at the same time, to know that it can never be the same again. There is now a definite empty space at the table.

There’s a part in A Christmas Carol, in the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, where the Cratchit family gather round to support each other after the death of Tiny Tim (spoilers, I know) and Bob looks at his crew and says “But however and when ever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim — shall we — or this first parting that there was among us.” That’s how I feel. Mum’s death was the first real loss my children experienced. It’s the closest relative I have lost: it brings me a step nearer to my mortality. And losing her also has catapulted me into a nostalgia for my childhood. A very ordinary, plain, seventies and eighties childhood. But it was mine.

I usually do a series for Christmas. Okay, let’s be honest, I usually plan to do a series and get waylaid by the season, the effort, the lack of time. I am not aiming for anything this year, no carefully set out and coordinated posts that link up, or contain great effort. But I do feel a need to mark this year out as different. The best and the worst of times. A season to celebrate (still) with a great watermark of grief running through it.

So, with apologies, I’m channelling the hiraeth again. You’ll get my memories, a Child’s Christmas in St Helens. Not in order, not carefully curated or caught or compiled with links and music, but just…. trapped. The mosquito of memory preserved forever in amber.

And in every line, love for my Mum and Dad, for the family we were, for the times we shared. For the lost past that I can never return to.

I dreamt last night and woke up mid-dream to realise I had been talking to Mum. Just sitting, in a room, watching the world and chatting ordinary life just as if she were still here and not gone for good. On the cusp of waking, I found myself trying to force my eyes closed, to push myself back into the dream, just to have the chance to kiss her and say Bye Mum once more. I didn’t get a chance to hear her say her usual parting shot to me: “Be Good, and if you can’t be good… be careful”.

I’m functioning today. At work, ready to go on to whatever I have planned this evening. But for one brief, wispy mist of a moment this morning, I wished to be elsewhere.

How to Hygge the British Way is my gift to the world. I don’t get paid for writing it, I’m not in it for the kudos, financial rewards, to become an influencer, work with brands or otherwise make any money from the blog. That’s why there are no ads, and any products I mention and recommend have either been gifted to me or bought by me with my everyday wages or donations from supporters. Every book I review has been bought and read by me, unless stated otherwise.

I do get a couple of pennies each time someone buys from the Amazon links on my page, as an Amazon Affiliate, but otherwise if you’d like to support me, I like to give something back in return. That’s why I write books. It always feels good if you get a book back in return for some money. You can find a full list of my books at my Author’s Page on Amazon, but especially recommended for this time of year are:

Cosy Happy Hygge: Setting up a rhythm to life and rituals to enjoy it to make for a more balanced life that handles waves and storms better. Lent is a season of rituals and resets. The book has small and easy ways to make your life flow with grace and happiness, which lead to more hygge.

Happier: Probably my most personal book, it’s the story of how I used hygge and the little things in life to help boost my happiness. I still go back and reread to remind myself what I need to do to be a happy human. And it’s always the little things.

IMy Christmas books are always available: Have Yourself a Happy Hygge Christmas is a good place to start, on how to make the season cosier, happier. 

Celebrating a Contagious Christmas was written during covid year, but has useful advice on celebrating when times are hard anyway and Enjoying a Self-Care Christmas is a short e-book on keeping Christmas simpler, easier and better for you, your waistline and your budget. It even includes 25+ suggestions for self-care activities over Christmas, as simple as sipping tea, keeping a list journal or lighting a candle. Bigger is not always better for Christmas.

I’m currently working on two book projects: I have a hankering to rewrite 50 Ways to Hygge the British Way, so it’s not available at the moment, but even dearer to my heart and my next stated aim is to finish and publish my next book, Simple Plus Cosy = Hygge. It will be about homemaking and how the home we create shapes the hygge we have. Hopefully it will be finished by the end of summer 2025.

If you’d like to support me, but don’t want to buy a book, I have a Paypal.Me account as Hygge Jem. Every little helps, so even a few pence goes towards the books, goods and courses I use and recommend on the site. I’m grateful for every little bit that brings me closer to my dream of full-time writing, and I know I couldn’t still be writing if it weren’t for the support of many readers and friends out there. Thank you all for every little bit of support, emotional, physical and financial, you give me.

If you’ve enjoyed this article, don’t forget to share it or save it so others can enjoy reading, thinking about and living hygge as well.

The photo between post and promotions is the completed picture from a Sip and Paint session I attended a couple of weeks ago. I love these sessions: you go with a blank canvas and usually end up with something that, left to your own devices, you might never have figured out how to do. This painting used only five colours and it was how we combined and blended them that made the difference. I’m a very unconfident painter, so this is paradise to me. Call it Fox and Snow, or perhaps The Fox of Delights in honour of one of my favourite Christmas TV programmes.