Thinking of my father; he would arise, and head in to greet each of us in turn with a warm New Year embrace, a hug and good wishes (we were all in different rooms - Mother watching TV, me with a Glass of Something and my music in the study, my father with his wine or whisky in the kitchen) once the New Year clocked in, - first, to my mother, his primary life, love and loyalty - then me, and then, return to his drink in the kitchen, finish it, and then, sometime later, check that we were fine, and proceed to head off, satisfied, to his warm and waiting bed.
Bless him.
I took this ritual for granted for years; now, I'd give anything to be able to replicate it.
Happy New Year everyone.