Why does the longest night come at this time of year? It’s a ridiculous question, I know, but bear with me.
Most of the people who are homeless or who have been homeless hate Christmas. It is a time to get through, a time to avoid thinking about what other people are doing, a time to not think about family, or gathering together or partying in a warm and cosy, celebratory home.
Last week, I was talking to one of our team who is nearly ten years away from his homelessness, and he was saying how depressed he felt just thinking about Christmas, not because he doesn’t have family or presents or food (he has all those things now) but because everything about the build-up takes him back to his time on the street when he watched and was reminded of the family he didn’t have contact with, and emptiness of Christmas day, and the ... Well, that’s the point, the dark and the cold and the wet that goes with this time of year.
Long nights and short days are tough. Waking up and going to work in the dark, finishing and going home in the dark. It can feel relentless. Imagine enduring that persistent dark and cold without the respite of home. Being on the street, having a room in a bed and breakfast, or a hotel which feels empty of opportunity and joy whilst the world harks on about presents, parties and the requisite laughter that comes with both.
I write as someone who doesn’t mind winter and who enjoys starry nights with a touch of frost in the air, but only because I can associate them with walking into a warm home and sitting cosily with a hot drink and the company and laughter of a close family. The memories of shared fun over games, the retelling of family stories that make us all laugh, and the reminder of a deep, endearing love from brothers, sisters, children, mum, dad and many more are the gifts I would love to make to others.
There is hope. At the Archer Project Carol Service in Sheffield Cathedral last week, a woman who had just got her own flat asked me if the project would buy her a Christmas tree. The flat is relatively bare, she told me. Next to us, as we spoke, was a woman who had been at the service, and she interjected to say that she would love to buy that Christmas Tree. So, on the shortest day, as the night draws in, one person who was homeless just weeks ago will have a decorated, lit Christmas Tree and some feeling of warmth at being able to participate in Christmas in a way she hasn’t done for several years. I hope it’s more than the tree that shines for her.
