Goodbye and Hello
Taking a moment...
Hi and Welcome to A Nomadic Rose! If you’ve found your way here but are not yet subscribed, you can do so HERE. You will never miss a letter, and I’ll be eternally grateful for your support.
Now on to this week’s musings…
December has been a month of greetings and farewells. Leaving Australia at the start of month meant leaving not just a country that feels like home but family I adore. Arriving back in England meant returning to a country that feels like home and family I adore. .
Goodbye.
Hello.
My last days in Australia were filled with moments of holding my family as close as I could. Small, everyday moments: a quiet brunch, a little Xmas shopping, Saturday morning market, a walk in the bush. A handstand in an art gallery, beloved faces around the dinner table, a birthday cake. These are the moments I miss out on living on the other side of the world. And these are the moments I wanted desperately to carry home with me.
As always, saying farewell on the doorstep and at the airport felt like I was tearing myself apart. It is a feeling I have experience with. I have spent a lifetime saying goodbye to these very people. But this time felt different somehow, the familiar feeling changed by a year of final farewells and deep grief. Leaving Australia and my family wasn’t really goodbye, it was “see you soon”, and for the first time in my life I feel like I have some control over when that soon will be.
Many (many) hours later I got to say the first in a joyous series of hellos – this one to Lauren. Dinner at her gorgeous table, stories on her sofa, hugs in the morning before I headed to Paddington station. There is no better journey home than one that includes a night with my dearest friend and chosen sister.
The rest of the hellos, the welcome homes, the hugs and greetings came thick and fast. Mum. Gem Dog and my beloved cats. The beaches and woods of Cornwall. Friends and colleagues. Then finally, a little over a week after returning home, Kim and Nick.
Family and country much missed, finally returned to.
With Kim and Nick (and Pat-the-Dogs) arrival to Cornwall, the festivals of light were upon us.
Christmas
Solstice
Hanukkah
All three mean something important to us. All three have family history and personal belief tied up in them. My little family unit in Cornwall celebrated early this year, with our personal days of festivity carved out of a mishmash of these seasonal festivals of light and made special by being together rather than a particular date on the calendar.
Our days together were made more poignant by the heart wrenching reminder of how fragile these moments are. On the 14th of December two armed men opened fire on the Hanukkah gathering at Bondi beach killing 15 people in ten minutes. One of them was a ten-year-old child. Two were Rabbi’s. One was a holocaust survivor. One had the same name as my grandmother.
It was an act of unbearable violence, of cruel antisemitism. It was met by heroism. Boris and Sofia Gurman died trying to stop one of the shooters. Ahmed al Ahmed tackled one of the shooters, wresting the gun from his hands, and saving countless people. Sydney’s police forced responded with instant action and bravery. Bondi’s famed lifeguards ran towards the gunfire to provide first aid and get people to safety.
In a horrific moment of human hatred, love and light somehow found its way through.
I had stood on Bondi Beach two weeks to the day before the shooting. It is a place of joy. Sydney is where my family fled after surviving the holocaust. They made a home there. My great grandparents and great-great parents are buried there. As a city it took them in and gave them a new life. New hope after surviving the very worst of humanity.
Somehow that makes the shock of the attack so much worse, and the bravery of responses that much more comforting.
Even in the darkest moment, the world wasn’t entirely dark.
Being with Mum, Kim, and Nick, eating doughnuts, blintzes and latkes alongside roast and Yorkshire puddings, lighting the menorah as well as decorating the Xmas tree, celebrate solstice and the coming of the sun, felt like the perfect way of honouring an impossibly painful and complex year.
During 2025 I have navigated a storm of personal loss, making it through thanks to the grace and love of my family. Managed to find laughter and joy in the company of loved ones. We have taken the time needed to look after ourselves and each other. Despite the losses, or perhaps because of them, 2025 has been a year in which I have felt truly rich in family love. A fact I am truly grateful for.
Still, I am more than happy to say a final farewell this December, this one to 2025 itself. And thrilled to offer my first greeting to 2026.
I wish you all a year of light, love, laughter, and family in all its forms.
For myself, I intend to build a year of strength, abundance, and verdant creativity.
I am looking forward to sharing it with you.
Happy New Year.
