It's hard to 'hold the nerve' when we are worried The Covid is here to ruin Christmas

As we limp towards Christmas - a finish line that seems to hold more meaning in the achievement than the actual celebration this year, it’s difficult to muster enthusiasm and cheer

I find myself pining for the connection of those I have not seen or hugged for so long

“Yes, it is very serious. There is a huge amount of it around.” 

On the phone to my children’s school principal earlier, explaining to him that while the boys had headaches and coughs, they were Covid negative. I wasn’t comfortable sending them to school though, on the off chance that I was sending little coronavirus pacmen into the school to spread It everywhere.

Because we are all hanging on by a thread, aren’t we? Hedging our bets and cutting our contacts in the hope that we can save Christmas.

It feels like there is a spectre hanging over our heads - a hangover from last Christmas when we did what Micheál said and had a ‘meaningful’ Christmas and then ended up in the worst lockdown so far.

“It really is everywhere!” 

I was lying, trapped, on a beautician’s bed on Saturday as she ripped hair and an actual layer of skin from my eyebrows. So consumed with The Virus was she, that she couldn’t stop her hand from shaking as she applied the wax. She just wanted to get to Christmas, she told me. Just to Christmas. Then it could have her.

“Ping, ping, ping. Every time I hear my phone I think it’s here.” 

A friend is telling me about how she is convinced that The Covid is causing her even more distress by its threat than the actual thing itself. As WhatsApp swells with cases and stories and symptoms and travelling into other counties for PCR tests, so too does anxiety. My friend just wants to be able to have her parents over for Christmas. She couldn’t last year, because her Mum got Covid.

And now Micheál says we have to hold our nerve. And we are all thinking about the work we have to wrap up before Christmas and wondering if we need to find things to occupy the kids in case the schools close early. 

"We're just weary, aren't we?"

I am exhausted. Wrung dry, burned out, fully cooked. And I know I’m not alone. As we limp towards Christmas - a finish line that seems to hold more meaning in the achievement than the actual celebration this year, it’s hard to muster enthusiasm and cheer. A colleague spoke about attending a carol service in a meeting today and I realised that the last big gathering I was at was my children’s Christmas play in 2019.

Two years ago, when we had the last normal Christmas. A Christmas where we weren’t looking at everyone drinking out of our glasses like they were super spreading germ machines. A Christmas where we hugged everyone – some too much and some just not enough. My sister was about to give birth to her first baby and we were so excited. New life, new promise and a new year ahead – it felt hopeful.

This year, the baby is now a toddler whose favourite word is “MINE,” and we’ll celebrate together of course, but not without the scars that the pandemic has placed on our shoulders. Anxiety, loneliness, loss, fear.

Seen and unseen, we are all battle-scarred and weary and it feels too much to anticipate another wave of It when what we really need is respite and touch and connection.

It feels meaningful to be this tired. It feels meaningful to see little joy in the excess of Christmas, but rather to pine for the connection of those I have not seen or hugged for so long. It feels meaningful to want to keep my children out of school to preserve a few days together as a family eating too much and arguing over what to watch on the television.

I was stocking up on essentials in Lidl yesterday and I was shocked with that pandemic jolt that I get every so often. It sneaks up on me – mostly in the most normal of circumstances. An electric current running from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head, shrieking ‘how the f*ck did we get here? How did we find ourselves with a trolley full of satsumas and antigen tests?'

To do this properly, to be able to have a meaningful Christmas, we’ll have to try to put The Covid somewhere he can’t steal our cheer. When we are shopping, we'll wear our masks and we’ll be socially distant but we’ll emote festive joy with our eyes at each other. We’ll wiggle our eyebrows in time with the crap carols in the supermarket. We’ll make like the kids in the Christmas ads, stringing up enough lights to cause a power outage (sorry neighbours) so Santa doesn’t get lost.

And we’ll believe in Christmas. We’ll light the candle in the window and ask The Covid to move on, please. He's not welcome here. Not this Christmas.