Mercy

 As Christmas Day fast approaches, I find myself experiencing all sorts of emotions. 

My oldest and much adored son will be moving to another capital city imminently and he will take, naturally enough, his son, due very soon to enter this world.  Covid provided me the luxury of plans being put off for almost a year, so the idea of not seeing him regularly was also put off into the backburner of my mind.

A few days ago I had framed an official photograph of his football team as Premiers of our AFL football league for 2009. (We always come close but haven't achieved glory since then.) It seemed a nice reminder of the city he loves whilst he was living in a warmer clime. I was doing fine until in conversation with the framer and it suddenly hit me why I was doing this task, and I got teary. 

Of course we will travel to them regularly but it's the first time one of my chickens has gone to live somewhere else permanently. It's only an hour's travel in the plane so it's not dire, but just a bit of a shock to the system. The saving grace, let me assure you, is that there is nowhere better to live than right here, so I know he will be back when he can (might have to get super senior in his company and insist because the market there is bigger than here). And, I know he'll want his son to go to his old school. There are forces behind the move back.

All in all, it's a lovely time of the year for me. It's the first time my grandsons will be at the beach, and we will all be there, so that's grand.

And yet, my mind returns, each and every day to a friend suffering with addiction 10,000 miles away. It's been without question the most rugged few months of his life. For a time, I had access to his sister, so while he was too ill to get me a message he was alive, I had her. But, he objected to the email interactions between us. I think, and I can't blame him, he felt we were colluding.

The point being, that having had a one liner email saying that he wasn't doing very well at all, and since then silence, I check my emails each day and due to the silence from him, I wonder if he is alive or dead.

Trust me when I say I have wracked my brain to think of something to do that is useful. Initially, I did all I could to get the people in his life to organize an intervention and get him to a long rehab situation where his body and mind had a chance to re-calibrate. I also aimed for time in a monastery. He needs a lot of silence; rest and peace. There simply wasn't the force behind the intention.

To my knowledge, he is alone at Christmas time in a vast city at a time of year he usually adores. In spite of my best efforts, my mind pulls back to that thought, and to all the people suffering right now.

I am filled with gratitude for what I have in my life but the best Christmas gift of all would be a note to say that he is being taken care of with people who know how to do that, and that in the end he will be all right. I don't think that note will come.

And so, I use this platform to urge you to be not just grateful but merciful this season.

Happy Holidays.