On December 24th, 2008 I was almost 21 and drinking wine at my Grandma’s house with my family. We were having a good time. I don’t really talk to that side of the family anymore though. I got a phone call from my best friend, Kyle. I joking let my uncle answer. Kyle asked to talk to me. He sounded angry.
The next few words he said were like a a fucking nuclear bomb that seared my fucking brain for life. He said, “NineMileTower, Steve died (in Iraq). A bridge gave out, his hummer flipped, and he drowned.”
That was in 2008. I’m 37 now. I have two beautiful girls and an amazing wife. I think of Steve all the time. I ask myself, “Why do I deserve these amazing kids, wife and life, and he had to die?”
I fucking hate Christmas. I hate the stupid music. I hate fake bullshit decorations. I hate that I’m supposed to pretend that every Christmas it doesn’t fucking kill me that he isn’t here. I’m here enjoying my kids and their holiday and he’s dead.
I fucking hate Christmas.
You’ve got the right to hate it all. Absolutely. There is no deserving anything.
But you’ve got what you’ve got. There is no sense to any of it. Christmas will come at you again and again and again for the rest of your life.
I hope that you make some peace with it for Steve. Give Steve all the best Christmas that you can every year. Give a faire holiday to your family. Give them to your friends. Give them to strangers.
And eventually I hope that you can give yourself a fine and cozy Christmas, too.
We are at the darkest time of our year together. I hope that someday you can find some light for a Merry Christmas.