December 10th 2021
At this time of year, the shadow of Christmas looms large. This will be our fifth without Felix. I want to create Christmas for him at the Green Hill. In the past we have taken him a small Christmas tree in a pot. But it often starts looking quite bedraggled.
I decide I will make him a wreath. I head to the plateau at the top of Hembury Woods, where the trees stand in groups with clearings in between. This is where, four and half years ago, I gathered flowers and foliage for his coffin. Then, it was spring, and I picked primroses. Now, the trees are bare, apart from the holly and the ivy. I look for fallen mosses and lichens, and notice many fallen branches lying on the ground, festooned with lichen. I come home with a bag full of greenery, and place it on a willow circle, ready to take to Felix.
At the burial ground, the rising sun is casting a warm radiance. The graves have long shadows. A herd of cattle in the neighbouring field glow orange around their outlines like the kids in the Ready Brek ad that I remember from my childhood in the 1970s.
December is always a tricky month. There’s such a build-up to Christmas. I dread Christmas, as it just emphasises the huge gap in our lives. Felix is missing and he will never return. We’ve developed rituals to get through it. And that always includes coming here, to the Green Hill, on Christmas morning, where we light a candle and leave it burning in a lantern for Felix. Of course, we will do this again this year.
I remove the herbs from last month’s visit, and clean up the headstone a little. I place the wreath on it.
The Green Hill 