The Ronettes where
playing on the radio, It was Christmas morning.
The children were
rushing about like they’d had a caffeine injection; excitedly showing off there
new toys while my wife was wrestling a turkey into the oven.
As I sat in my arm
chair sipping my coffee my mind drifted back to the previous week.
The wipers swished
rhythmically as they cleared the lightly beating sleet that was spattering the
windscreen and the heater struggled to demist the inside.
All this was of no
consequence as the car wasn’t actually moving.
It was the last Friday
before Christmas and I was sat in a jam in the evening rush hour.
Half an hour I‘d been
stuck in it and I was still only half a mile from where I worked.
I had time to take in
the colourful and sometimes overly extravagant festive decoration on the houses
which contrasted sharply with the meagre and tired looking display put on by
the local council.
After another half an
hour I reached the main road.
Nothing to see here through
the wet steamy windows except the red tail lights of other frustrated drivers.
Twenty minutes after
that accompanied by some over cheerful DJ on the radio I could see the
roundabout.
The sleety rain was
falling harder now and it was difficult to see through the murkiness.
After crawling to the
roundabout I could just make out a flashing blue light which I suspected had
nothing to do with Christmas.
As I got closer I
could see it was attached to a police car which was blocking my exit.
Without any explanation
the police had closed the road.
So I was faced with a
choice, go back the way I came or take the exit off the roundabout which would
take me in the opposite direction from where I lived.
I did the latter.
By the time I
eventually arrived home I was in a black mood.
I shouted at the kids,
moaned at my wife and tried to kick the cat.
My mood was not
improved when my half cremated dinner was removed from the oven and what had
once been gravy was now only a stain on the plate.
The weekend was spent
doing all the pre Christmas stuff with the family and all too soon it was over.
When I returned to
work on Monday I related my tale of woe to my workmate’s and we all had a big
laugh about it.
Except for Harry, who
lived locally, he just looked down at the ground grave faced.
Later, when we were
alone, he told me the road was closed because a young woman had been knocked
down and killed.
I was dumbstruck, I
had no words just a feeling of shame at my selfishness.
A week before
Christmas, she had died.
While I was cursing at
being inconvenienced, ranting at being stuck in a jam.
A poor young woman lay
dead in the rain soaked street.
Somebody’s wife and
lover, also a daughter and mother and she was mourned by two children, a sister
and a brother.
The sound of church
Bells ringing out brought me back to Christmas morning and my family.
But I still couldn’t
help thinking of other families for whom Christmas morning would be less
joyous.
With the bells still
ringing out I gave thanks for being alive.
Also I vowed to be
more patient, more tolerant and more understanding in the future.
But I probably won’t
keep it.
