Christmas – how fraught it is with the expectations of others, listening to people describe their perfect family get-togethers complete with charades and great-uncle George’s Christmas cracker hat catching fire. The truth is that this is a difficult time of year for many people. Memories of how life has changed, political arguments, straitened circumstances, children who can’t or won’t join in the gathering, empty spaces where loved ones used to be. 

Divorce is a brutal harbinger of change, like a knife it severs the joy and satisfaction of annual traditions, and any attempt to instil something new always feel a little, well, thin. 

The attempt to hang on to some of our traditions was perhaps the reason we decided to have, yet again, another Christmas together. The five of us still call ourselves a family, although that may be a slightly desperate attempt to provide a firm bedrock to entwined lives that started in Canada and France, then spread from Costa Rica to Cayman to England, then the girls on their own went further afield to the Antarctic and Chicago, back to Costa Rica, over to Hawaii and a return to England. And now my own wanderings through North and Central America. The girls and I continue to discuss the concept of home which perhaps many people take for granted. I spent years trying, mostly successfully, to create homes for my girls in the assortment of places that we lived in London. But the transplanting and the rooting of a home can’t be completed if the family doesn’t embrace it as a whole.

I loved having the three girls together, always somewhat amazed at how different they are. As I was staying with them in their rooms, it was very relaxed and easy. We swapped opinions as we brushed teeth together, told stories of pets long gone as we cuddled on the bed with Fiona’s dog Squid and teased each other about past exploits. Watching my girls grow into such interesting and articulate young women gives me a sense of pride that is unmeasurable, and working with Justine on her various law school applications just underscores what a variety of fascinating endeavours she’s undertaken. Exactly what one should be doing at that age. 

Highlights? An impromptu musical evening involving guitar and piano, with Fiona singing. A Dungeons and Dragons game with Mads narrating the plot. A collapsing gingerbread pyramid. Tree decorating. Christmas morning beach breakfast. Dips in the sea. Champagne. Surfing (not me). Thoughtful presents. Crazy storms. Port and cribbage (ouch). Traditions again, with a bittersweet tinge as I ponder when I will have the three of them together again.

But this Christmas, the third out of the last five spent in Cayman, finally put the Caribbean chapter of my life to bed. There’s a piece that always wants to live on, optimistically, thinking if only, or what if, until one day you realise those aren’t the questions. I looked around the island, enjoying the warmth, the ocean, my friends. It was less sad than expected. In fact, it wasn’t sad at all. There is nothing I need from Cayman other than for my daughters to have a good relationship with their father. And that’s not in my remit. 

In this time of resolutions and veganuary, I turn my face into the oncoming wind, knowing that I am strong enough to steer my ship on my own. My girls are somewhat nearby, writing their own, endlessly fascinating stories and I’m moving into my new place in Santa Ana next week. This seems an excellent start to 2023.

Happy New Year, my friends. Thank you for being part of my journey.