Hello everyone. It’s Nickie again.
I would like to take a moment to share a fond memory of my mother, my father and I. Funnily enough, it was the day I figured out that Father Christmas doesn’t exist.
I was six years old. My mother and I were staying up late watching a Christmas movie while my father was working. I was so young that I didn’t really consider how late it was or know when to expect him back.
While we were lying on the sofa, her arm wrapped tightly around me, she asked me if I heard something. I was scared at first but after she hushed me, I could just make out the sound of bells jingling coming from outside our front door. Then, there was a knock. She told me to go and answer it, so I did.
Standing in front of me was Father Christmas himself. He told me that he was just stopping by, and not to tell my friends that he did because he was only coming to see the boys and girls who had been extremely good that year. I promised I’d not tell a soul.
He came into the kitchen and my mother offered to get him some cookies and milk. He asked for something a little stronger and they both laughed. While she poured him a whisky, he sat down on a chair and asked me to sit on his lap. When I did, he started telling me all of the reasons that I deserved this special private visit.
He told me that I had been selfless and kind. That I spread joy and laughter wherever I went and to whoever I spoke with. He told me never to lose that.
He let me in on all sorts of secrets about the North Pole and made silly jokes that made me laugh until my cheeks hurt and tears were streaming down my face. It must have been infectious because soon he was unable to tell me any more, his laughter stopping him from getting a single word out.
I told him that I felt like the luckiest girl in the world - to get my very own evening with Father Christmas. He replied that I couldn’t be the luckiest girl in the world because she was standing at the other end of the kitchen - he said that my mother had him beat because there wasn’t a single gift he could give to her that would be more precious than me.
“Speaking of gifts,” he said, “what exactly would you like this Christmas, little miss?”
As he shifted me slightly on his knee, that was when I noticed the wedding ring on his finger. The same one worn by my father. I may have only been six, but I’ve always been perceptive and bright. I didn’t tell him at the time, instead I played along. Maybe I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or maybe I didn’t want the magic of the evening to disappear, I was happy playing make-believe. I don’t know.
I only told him many years later at Christmas time, when we were sharing family stories. I said to him that I wasn’t sure he’d remember it. But he knew, right away, the night I was talking about. He remembered it so vividly. He treasured that evening as much as I did.
So, why am I telling you all of this?
As some of you may know, a couple of days ago I wrote a post about my father. I expressed concern that he had been acting strange lately and that he was making me scared. It turns out that I was overreacting and letting my imagination run wild. My father could never and would never hurt me - as the story I told above would testify to.
There is no need to worry about me, I am happy. My father and I sat down just after I made that original post and we spoke for hours. Had I tried to communicate with him sooner, I feel that all of this fear and upset could have been easily avoided and I certainly didn’t need to post about it online or confide in Katy. Because there was nothing to confide about. Communication has never been my strongest suit and I often find myself jumping to conclusions and closing myself off. This was just another of those instances.
My father knocked on my bedroom door and asked if he could enter. I was apprehensive, due to reasons that by now should be clear. He entered and sat beside me on my bed and apologised for being distant, if I felt that he had been, before explaining that this had been a difficult time for him too.
Of course, I understood that. I explained to him that I had never seen grief take this form before and that it was scary to me. He understood that. He told me that he was going to get help to deal with whatever he was going through and apologised for any odd behaviour recently.
After we spoke, he looked me in the eyes and he said:
“Nickie, I love you. I truly, truly love you. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to your mother and I. No matter what, please know that I love you. Some of the things I do may be confusing or scary some times but through it all, my love never wavers. I’ll be with you again soon.”
I looked back at him and I heard him. I believed him. My father has always been there for me, even when I’ve not been easy to understand or talk to. My whole life, though I might not have always shown it, I’ve known that he loves me and I love him.
There is not much more to this story, I’m afraid. I am grateful to those who have reached out to me to make sure that I was okay. Having said that, I shan’t be posting any further updates. Further to that, I don’t feel that Reddit is a positive outlet for me. Instead of taking the time to think things through logically, there is little to stop me from posting half-formed thoughts and succumbing to hysteria. Therefore, I won’t be active online, so please don’t expect any replies.
Just know that I am safe, I am happy and I am completely and utterly loved.
No matter what.