Sunday, 16 December 2012

An Apology

December has been a weird, weird month for me, and with so much going on, I've sort of had to abandon Christmas. 

I was already super busy with writing, and enjoying working on The Accidental Mistress... but I still hoped to source some presents, and send out some cards - albeit probably ecards - and generally enjoy the festive spirit and try and spread some of it around to those I love and care about. I don't do a big Christmas thing, but I was planning to do some stuff, because I do love Christmas and I always hope that everyone will have a good one... 

But then Alice got ill. And when that happened, I couldn't think about Christmas at all. All I could think about was her, and the professional commitments I had. Writing helped, because I had to throw myself into it, and for a brief while, I was in the world of my story, and my mind was distracted from worrying about her. 

Sadly, the recovery I hoped for her wasn't possible, and on Wednesday, we had to have her put to sleep... and now, there's no time, and I have no heart for Christmas. Plus, I have revisions to do for another book, as well as the main book I'm on a deadline for...

So, there's no Christmas to speak of here. I feel bad for not sending cards and presents. I feel mean and like Scrooge... but it's not really that way. I do wish everyone well, and I would love to have spread happy Christmas spirit around, either in tangible terms, or just the emotion of it... but for Christmas 2012, that's just not to be. 

But hopefully, next year things will be different. With any luck, we'll have new cats to love by then, even if we still remember and honour Alice. And I hope that also, things might not be so crazy on the writing front, so I've time to embrace and enjoy the pleasures of Christmas and to spread them around. Hopefully, I'll be able to reach out and connect with the people who think I've forgotten about them, and that I don't care about them... and share the fun and joy of this special time.

So please, dear friends, do have a wonderful Merry Christmas and accept my good wishes for the festive season and for the year of 2013.



ps. I'll probably still be around on Twitter, and possibly on Facebook, so if I see you there, I'll say hello.


Madeline Moore said...

I am in exactly the same state of mind. Felix and I are spending Christmas together. No turkey. No tree. We'll do what we feel like doing when the day arrives.

I cry every night for Leo. He was a member of our household. He died unexpectedly and far before his time.
See my blog post, Portia, for my "Eulogy for a Cat."

Is it awful for me to say that the depth of your suffering makes me feel less afraid? Because my heart is broken at the loss of my pet and I've never been through this before.

I can't do Christmas. I'm not happy and I can't pretend to be for longer than, maybe, an hour. There would be no point in anyone coming to spend time with me.

Also, on my post under my own name, I notice who among my so called real friends and family (!) have not expressed condolences and I feel that I never want to see them again. Because they don't care.

Madeline Moore's friends, not one of which I've ever met, care more. I guess writers understand writers? We're a sensitive bunch.

I cry every night.
My heart is broken.

I'm so sorry for your loss. You are not alone.

xoxo Mad

val said...

It's only during the course of this last year that I've been able to make a tribute wall to my lost lovelies, the first of whom were lost in 1991. The pain is huge.

I wish you comfort.

hotcha12 said...


Lisabet Sarai said...

Portia, dear,

Alice is so lovely. I know the pain you're suffering, having been through it myself (like many of your other visitors). Don't force yourself to pretend merriment if you're grieving. We are all sending you love and light.

With sympathy,

Lindsay Townsend said...

I'm so sorry for your loss, Portia, and for yours, Madeline. I feel really bad that I didn't know until yesterday - I'm afraid I've not been on twitter properly these past few days.