Warning: This post may make even the most romantic person sick.
Last Christmas eve, I was in my apartment alone, as Andy was with his family, and I was working too early on Christmas Day to go home and see my own. I sat on my balcony with a cup of tea and felt utterly miserable and alone. And I went to bed.
This year, surprisingly, I felt the same. I was in a house full of people, but my 4am shift on Christmas Day had forced me to bed early, and I was missing out on the Christmas Eve togetherness that was happening downstairs. And I really, really missed Dave.
You see, while I am totally grateful for the lovely things my friends and family have bestowed on me this year (from homemade calendars from Sarah-Rose and my sister, to a photo keyring from my sister’s in-laws, to House S4 from Ma, to Dave’s thoughtful wee bag of gifts), I only had one real wish, and that was to have my Dave.
He was feeling it, too, on the phone. It seemed strange and foreign to me, and yet completely insane, as I have had 24 Christmases without him so far. How can a year of having someone in your life change everything?
But the idea that next year, I will be with him for Christmas, (with hopefully our respective families), in our own flat, is an exciting thought.
Add to that the fact that I won’t have to feel this feeling anymore: this constant empty feeling like something important is missing; that sinking feeling of sadness when I wake up without him.
That is the best Christmas present I could ask for.