Ghosts of Christmas Past 

The apparitions grow fainter with each passing year, but the ghosts still appear  to me in fleeting visions as we near the dead of Winter. The skies darken and  rain begins to tap at the windowpane, yet this little room of stone walls and  oak furniture keeps us sheltered.  

A decorated tree sits in one corner, the candles hung upon its branches painting the room a soft gold as they burn. A spread of home-cooked food is almost  spilling off the edges of the table in front of us, so warm that a thin mist hangs  in the air around it. Familiar smells of capon, rosemary potatoes, and date rolls fill the air, and familiar faces smile brightly at us from across the table as we take our seats among them. 

I cannot remember the words we shared, yet I still feel now how they made me  feel then. With naïve, child-like enthusiasm, we shared our hopes for the coming new year as the rain fell heavier still outside, and we laughed with each  other loud enough to drown out the wind howling through the cracks in the door. 

Even the smallest joys grew tenfold when I shared them with you, and in this  little room aglow with candlelight, we were home.  

I open my eyes, and suddenly that moment feels as if it happened a lifetime  ago. This unfamiliar room is cold and empty, and I realise I’ve forgotten what  you look like.  Ghosts of Christmas Past is an illustration about those celebrating Christmas  under difficult family circumstances.