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.
I feel you.
To date, I’ve lost five people within two days of Christmas. Another two within a week.
You get enough shit built up around any holiday and it starts to grind away at any joy of it. But Christmas? It’s so much worse because there’s the holiday.
So, losing someone on Christmas eve? That is fucking horrible. It just fucks the entire idea of Christmas right out.
And people always seem so surprised about it. Like, how the fuck are you supposed to just forget and enjoy it?