Whispers of Auld Lang Synes long since sung echoed through our home last night as we added another round, surrounded by ghosts from past Hogmanays. Our home was once a hall that held dances during the war and meetings for local groups like The British Legion, the Plymouth Brethren and the Band of Hope. How many lost voices joined our rendition of Burns' immortal words? Would some of those po faced Presbyterians have cast aside their disapproval for a moment at our whisky fuelled revelry, seeing my children and my husband cast aside their disabilities and debilitating health issues to link arms and jump as they sang. I remember my father, in his mid eighties and diagnosed with inoperable cancer, fighting back the tears as he sang with us several years ago, all too aware that this was probably his last new year. He relished every word and savoured every moment and the memory of it remains.
The New Year may be an artificial construct but it is good to pause, to capture a moment in time for future memories, to shed old demons and welcome change. With the help of a counsellor from CRUSE I have shed a skin and left it in 2012. The new shiny me finally feels ready, after fifty years of faffing about, to face the future. Bring it on.