this post was submitted on 23 Dec 2024
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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.

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[–] [email protected] 2 points 5 months ago* (last edited 5 months ago)

Traumatic events have a really powerful way of poisoning things for us sometimes. It's okay to struggle with Christmas. It wreaks havok on my emotional well-being also, but for different reasons. Its okay to not relate to it the way others do and to find pain, rather than joy in what's supposed to be celebration

🫂 sending love from my corner of the world to yours

[–] [email protected] 1 points 5 months ago

I'm with you on this as well. I go to Mexico every year and hide in the tropics to ignore the holiday.

[–] [email protected] 1 points 5 months ago

I'm so sorry.

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