Such is my fate – feeling lonely and sad during Christmas and New Year
I have a friend named George. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We went to the same school, and although life later took us in different directions, we have remained in touch.
George is a reserved man. He dislikes large gatherings, rarely visits others, and never invites anyone over.
Year after year, as the holidays approach, I ask him to join us for Christmas dinner, to raise a glass as the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve. Yet, he always politely declines.
— They’re not my holidays, — he says. — I don’t find any joy in them.
It was hard for me to understand how someone could not love the New Year – a time of wonder, gifts, laughter, and gatherings with loved ones.
But one day, after years of silence, he shared the truth with me.
A truth he had been trying to drown out for many years.
A Childhood Shadowed by Fear and Alcohol
As a child, George never experienced cozy family celebrations.
His father drank.
Not just a man who occasionally had a drink in the evening. He was an alcoholic, someone who spent all his money on alcohol, coming home late and, whether it was an ordinary Tuesday or Christmas Eve, would start tormenting his family.
Every night turned into a nightmare.
— Stand up! — he would command, entering the house. — You must watch the head of the house dine!
George and his mother had to stand by while his father, with an air of importance, ate his dinner.
Then would come his favorite rant:
— Money is dust! They’re for pleasure! What new shoes?! What books?! You already go to school, we don’t need to waste money on unnecessary things!
He spent everything down to the last penny.
When nothing was left, he moved on to the next phase:
— Hand it over, what are you hiding? I know you have something!
George’s mother tried to save money – for his notebooks, for food, for a small New Year’s gift.
But he took it all.
He drank until he spent the very last penny.
Christmas without Magic, New Year without Hope
Every holiday at George’s house looked the same.
On the table – a few dried apples, some sandwiches, a jar of pickled cucumbers.
Mother and son sat in silence.
They waited.
Hoped that maybe, this time, their father would come home sober.
That maybe he would bring something for the holiday table.
That maybe he’d say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy New Year.”
But he always came home late.
Always drunk.
Always reeking of alcohol.
Always with empty pockets.
The entire Christmas bonus envelope was left at the pub.
This went on year after year.
And when he passed away, nothing changed.
A Lonely Man with a Heavy Heart
After George’s father died, his mother lived for a few more years.
And then she too passed away.
He was left alone.
And realized he didn’t want a family.
Didn’t want celebrations.
Didn’t want any merriment.
He didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Didn’t want to become a person who would ruin someone else’s life.
Every year, when everyone was setting tables, bringing out glasses, exchanging gifts, George would leave.
He’d buy a ticket to another city, rent a hotel room and sit alone.
Or he traveled to the hills, where he could listen to the crackling wood in the fireplace and watch the fire.
There, by the fire, he found a warmth he never knew as a child.
There, in solitude, he felt somewhat free.
Only there could he breathe.
