You’ve had quite a haul. There’s a post sitting in draft that is too sad, too negative, but perhaps that’s what you need to hear. Or I need to get off my chest.
You took my music hero very early on. David Bowie. It still catches in my throat when I realise he’s dead; no more new genius. Others you took too. Muhammad Ali, Alan Rickman, Prince, Victoria Wood, Caroline Ahern, Ronnie Corbett, Terry Wogan, Gene Wilder, Leonard Cohen, and recently, Andrew Sachs.
You messed up the political landscape. Made a path for hate and intolerance. Cost Jo Cox her life.
Donald Trump; can’t even go there.
You stole my health for a good chunk of the year. My ribs still ache. My lung is tight.
You put holes in my mother-in-law’s memory; ones that she is falling in to. Her husband, her rock, in hospital. My husband is now away more than he is home caring for them. Our family.
The father of my godson, the husband of one of my oldest, dearest friends, you have handed terminal cancer. He is 48. Today I heard of another that you have your grip around. Motor Neuron Disease taking over a body previously dedicated to yoga, and fun.
You shut me down, 2016. I became less. Did less. Achieved less. Felt less.
But do you know what. 2017 is coming, and may be it won’t take as much. But hear this. I’m not taking any more.
They say that you can’t change others, or anything, but you can change how you respond.
Hear that 2017?
2016, you will soon be history. Just to let you know, I intend to put up a good fight when your successor rolls in.