Memories Wrapped In Warmth

"It's freezing!"

These are the words I hear every time I look into the warm glow of a fire burning brightly in the hearth at Christmas time.

"Get the kettle on love!" You would tell my mum after a long day at work.

When the snow falls silently outside, it chills my body, mind, and spirit to the bone.

The silence and cold only serve to remind me of that fateful boxing day when I was told of your passing.

We never had a proper fire hearth at home, but I had a friend who had one. Her dad used to come home from work on a cold winter's night and rub his hands, repeating your words.

The warm glow of a fire burning in a hearth can bring comfort to the sadness that the chill of winter brings, no matter where it is burning.

I still remember the smell of oil on your work overalls, and my mum saying,

"Take those filthy boots off before you go into the living room!"

You would grumble, but you'd soon take them off.

Every night, my mum would make you are warm meal which you always appreciated though you showed the biggest gratitude for your Christmas dinner, which was always welcomed by you since you worked long hours on the road.

Christmas was full of cheer in our house, even through our darkest moments.

We lost people who we loved at Christmas, and though we struggled we got through it with love in the way that a family should.

I remember my friend's mum Lynne had an old hearth. She decorated it with stockings every Christmas, and my friend would make jokes about asking Santa to fill your stocking with signs that said 'No More Work For You!' on them because you hated taking time away from work for anything.

We used to sit by that hearth after going out in the freezing snow and talk about you. We would laugh at your jokes, especially that one question you asked me when we were on holiday, and I complained the sea was cold.

"What do you want me to do? Ask them to turn the immersion-heater on?" you asked me, sarcastically.

I was only young, and I fell for your joke.

Every time me and my friend sat by that hearth, we joked about that statement with fondness.

You and my mum would play a lot of Christmas songs by Elvis Presley at Christmas, and me and my friend would sing those songs while we drank a mug of steaming hot cocoa that my friend's mum had made while warming our hands in the fire.

Those were the days before I became more fearful of fire due to trauma.

I and you would fight a lot when we were young, but when a child's parent leaves and a step-parent takes over, it can be a very difficult situation for a child to adjust to.

Though I want to add, you, were the best dad a child could have wished for, regardless of what we went through.

My friend passed away in 2022 because of illness, and her lovely mum passed away the year before due to cancer.

You too passed away from that horrible disease, and I found out on Boxing Day.

In my type of housing which is council housing, we are not allowed to have fires in hearths anymore.

However, the smell of Christmas dinner and the crackle and glow of a warm Christmas fire remind me of the good times we shared, which gets me through the fire trauma.

It induces fear mixed in with good memories of Christmases past when we would have parties, share jokes, and sing until we could sing no more.

When I come back home after being out in cold, frosty, rainy, or snowy weather, my heart warms with happy times of you, my friend, and my friend's mum; and should I see the warm glow of a fire in a hearth inside a house, my heart is comforted by the images re-created in its soft, warm, orange glow.

These are memories wrapped in warmth, and these memories help me in times of comfort when I am faced with fire trauma.