Christmas can be a tough time for many of us, a season of supposed joy and togetherness that often highlights our deepest loneliness. As someone who has experienced the darkest corners of isolation, I know firsthand how challenging it can be to navigate this time of year. 

The newspapers had touted it as a ‘Christmas party’ – a festive celebration for inmates like me. But the reality was far from it. For 21 hours, I was locked in my cell, the weight of my sentence crushing me. The ‘party’ was a fleeting hour, a Christmas dinner that did little to alleviate the crushing loneliness. But it wasn’t just me who suffered – my wife, alone and battling everything on her own, had to put on a brave face for our kids and grandkids. The guilt of putting them through this is a feeling I’ll carry forever. 

The trauma of that Christmas still lingers, a painful reminder of the toll it took on my mental health. And the worst part? My family didn’t deserve to be punished. They were collateral damage, caught in the crossfire of a system that often forgets the human cost of its actions. People might say I deserved my punishment, but my family didn’t. They didn’t deserve the pain and hardship that came with it. 

This time last year, I was still adjusting to life outside of prison, trying to reconnect with my loved ones. Mum and Dad came over for Christmas, but it was clear something was amiss. Mum, the matriarch, the heart of our family, wasn’t herself. We thought it was just the weight of caring for her, but looking back, we know now it was the dementia taking hold. Family and Christmas were her lifeblood, and it broke her heart to be unable to participate fully in them. 

This year will be the first without her, and it will be tough, but I know it’ll be even harder for Dad. He’s struggling, trying to navigate this new reality without the love of his life. And as I think about how he’ll cope, I’m reminded of the pressure I feel to put on a brave face for the kids and grandkids. To make sure they don’t worry, to make sure they think everything’sokay. It’s a delicate balance, one that I’m getting more confident in managing, but it’s still a challenge. 

Dad’s not alone in this struggle, though. I’ve seen firsthand how loneliness can creep in, how it can consume you if you let it. As I think about my own journey, from the isolation of prison to finding my footing again, I’m reminded that there’s hope. It’s a fragile, flickering flame, but it’s there. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what I’ll tell Dad this Christmas – that it’s okay to not be okay, but we’re in this together, and there’s always hope. 

Mental health is a battle we all fight, often in silence. The stigma surrounding it can be suffocating, making it harder to speak out, to ask for help. But I’m living proof that it’s possible to break free from the chains of loneliness to find a way forward even in the darkest times. 

As we approach this Christmas, I want to remind you that you’re not alone. Your struggles, your pain, your fears – they’re valid. And there’s hope. It might be hard to see right now, but it’s there, waiting for you. 

Poem: A Christmas Without You 

mum’s chair, still warm 

your absence, a chasm 

I try to fill it, but it’s vast 

like the love I have for you, endless 

dad’s eyes, red, worn 

I see the pain, the struggle 

to keep going, to be strong 

but it’s okay to break, to grieve 

I remember Christmas, our last 

you smiled, though pain showed 

I didn’t know, didn’t see 

the dementia, stealing you 

this year, a quiet Christmas 

just dad, Vanessa, and me 

we’ll gather round, try to laugh 

but the silence will be loud 

I’ll think of you, wonder what you’d say 

“Abide with me”, you used to love, your favourite hymn 

I’ll hold on to those words 

and hope they’ll bring me peace 

I miss you, mum 

I wish you were here 

but I know you’re not alone 

you’re looking down on me with that loving presence I’ll never forget. 


written by Darren Parker

blogger @poemstellium