Last August, in 2022, I wrote a blog post called Death Wish. It’ll help if you have read it, for context on this particular post. (https://orladoherty.com/death-wish/).

If you don’t have time to read it, allow me to summarize. In Death Wish, I talk about what it might be like, if we were afforded the opportunity to have a 20-minute chat with ourselves, once we’re gone. What would we say to ourselves? Would we have far more regrets than appreciations? Would we be more remorseful or more grateful? I shared my own conversation with myself – go on, give it a read, it’s amusing.

I proposed to everyone reading Death Wish, that you try the exercise of imagining you are dead, only you’re NOT. You have the chance to look at your life and make a list of the things you wish you could have done. In this exercise, you are allowed to take that list, step back into life, and do all those things before its your turn to pop off.

Last Thursday, 14 people were brutally murdered in Prague at Charles University. One of my step-daughter’s high school friends is among the dead, and another is in critical condition having received two gun-shot wounds. They are 20 years old.

The sadness and anger that has suffocated us during the last 48 hours is inexplicable. Mixed emotions bubble and explode at random times. There is no rhyme nor reason to why any of us burst into tears, while another has a fit of nervous laughter. Confusion, bewilderment and the lack of being equipped to handle these things are blasting us with an unavoidable gust, so strong, that we have no choice but to let it detonate over our flesh, splaying our skin back like melted butter. There is no wrong way to react to what has happened. There is no right way either. All we can do is allow our bodies to direct us according to how we feel. And we will be okay.

I am miffed.

The atrocities happening in Gaza have consumed us all for the last months. We are all helpless, powerless, despite the prayers and thoughts that get sent out into the world. There are enough tears shed to fill a river, but that doesn’t seem to change anything.

And it’s Christmas. My favourite time of year. It took me four years after my father died, to feel the spirit of Christmas again. He loved Christmas and played a large part in the nostalgia it always brings. His Rudolph tie on Christmas morning, his mischievous grin as I opened a gift he’d carefully selected himself, the sound of his hands wrangling through the Christmas pudding mix late at night, the twinkle in his eye as he watched me play carols on the piano when I was a child. Our lives are shaped by memories and moments.

A few days ago in the heart of one of the most peaceful cities in Europe, we learned that everything can change in a split second. We can’t control it. Today at noon, we stood up on our rooftop in the pouring rain, with umbrellas and candles. As the wind whipped our faces, we listened to every church bell in Prague toll with vigour and profound sadness, echoing across the angry skies. A police siren could be heard in the distance. Another emergency. Life carries on. Life carries on.

I call myself a comedy writer, and it is my sense of humour that gets me through these situations. Admittedly, I’m struggling to find anything funny right now, apart from the fact that I threw our Christmas turkey in my backpack this morning and tripped on the way home from the butchers. Not THAT funny, could have been worse. I will always try to find the positive in every situation, and the turkey stayed in tact rather than landing on my head.

So, it is with immense gratitude that I thank you all for continuing to read my drivel. Tap into the memories you have of loved ones past and present. Cherish each smile, and every tear. Take nothing for granted. Nothing.

Wishing you a very merry Christmas to you and yours.