It’s the last month of 2021, a year which, for the most part, seemed a repeat of 2020: Pandemic. Virus. Isolation. PCR tests. Vaccinations. Fighting the system. Not getting services and help. Rinse and repeat.

But, December is a happy month for me. Well, in normal times, that is. I like it.

My birthday is in 12 days and I will be 56 years old. I still can’t believe I am “that” old, but the way I look at it is this: It’s far better than the alternative! Many across the world didn’t live to see another year. I am truly grateful and blessed to still be here, no matter how surreal our world, our lives, have become.

And, Christmas is just 24 days away. I still get excited and feel great joy at the season, all it holds, and all it means. Declan is beaming with excitement, too, anxious to open the presents under the tree. I will cherish this excitement in him while he still holds it in his youth. It’s beautiful.

Finally, New Year. What will 2022 bring for us? We have some plans, and definitely have many hopes, but alas, the pandemic will determine which of those can come to fruition. Hopefully all of them will, because God knows we could use it after the last two years.

It’s been a very, very hard two years.

I know in my heart that if some things don’t change this year, I may not make it in one piece to see next Christmas. That’s the cold, hard truth. The exhaustion of caring has now left me with more health concerns which need explored and treated. I’m waiting – like so many others in this country – for appointments with consultants. I’m actually still waiting for a x-ray of my lungs to happen and it’s been over a month. So, yes, there are some aspects of my family’s life that must change as we hang on by our fingertips, struggling in too many ways.

I’m going to desperately try and hold on to that inkling of hope I feel simply from it being Christmastime. At this point, it’s all I can do.

May December be good to us all.