Nineteen Years

Nineteen years


and counting,

he still doesn’t


the holidays.

Even before, they had lost

their holiness

for him, which was

all he had cared

about over and

against his

late wife and


objections. They

called him Scrooge.

Now, with grief

pretty much

under control, abated

even, he

hears the

ubiquitous carols,

and doesn’t even

have the energy to

fight against the

secularization of

Christmas. He chooses

not to listen. He

just doesn’t care


Instead, he thinks

about how it isn’t

the most wonderful

time of the year along


the pressure to be

happy. It feels like

being confronted


someone (maybe the


who says,

“Come on. Come on.

Let’s have a little smile

there. Come on. Hey,

it’s Christmas so

cheer up.”


Perhaps if there

were two things for

him to like

about the holidays,

it’s listening to “Have

Yourself a Merry Little

Christmas,” one of

the saddest songs

ever written.

It’s the only song

that comforts him

in the other-wise sacred


and he bets the

lyricist knew loss,


1 thought on “Nineteen Years

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s