I don't even really like Christmas11:59 am
I think there are things I do like about Christmas.
I like making decorations, and hanging them. I like making and choosing gifts for people I love, and I like being home with my family.
Our second Christmas without Florence. She would be 17 months old today. Maybe she'd have a few little curls at the nape of her neck, and maybe those curls would still have the hint of red I thought I saw when she was born. Would she have green eyes like me? We glimpsed a sliver of blue once, but her colouring was more like mine, so maybe by now they'd be green or hazel like Eden's.
Maybe, I'd have picked out a little dress for her, and tights and shiney shoes...
The sobs choke me, out of nowhere, and then Ernest smiles and he's so irresistably squishable, and my heart aches and melts, the tears of joy and sorrow burn my cheeks.
There's a Florence shaped hole deep inside, and no amount of chocolate or mince pies can fill it, believe me, I've tried. (And that's a post for another day)