I know an horrible real story :
On Christmas morning, the 25th, near Orléans, France, a family awakes. The little kids want to go see under the Christmas tree to find out what Santa brought them!
They find the presents but the father is not in the house. They check the whole house. No dad. They found his body hanged to the tree, in the garden, in the mist of the morning. He committed suicide in the night.
Since I heard this story, which is a true one, I always think about these kids when it’s Christmas. About their devastation, and then, along life, about their mood when Christmas comes.
Less gross, I have this pattern in my head, always :
When it’s party day, I can’t not think about people who dislike it. Christmas can be a day of mourning or loneliness, and Saint Valentine’s day can be a terrible thing for people who are alone, who lost someone, because of bereavement or break-up.
There are also people who just dislike it. For years I hated the oceans of sweetness, colors and musics of Xmas… until I got my kids.
Personally, I won’t queue with my fiancée in restaurants among billions of other couples because “it’s the day I should do it”. I’ll cook, instead. We both prefer that. Nobody’s obliged, right? It’s just that I feel the business around…
I offer flowers in other days.
Thanks for reading!
Cut flowers are dying.
A bunch of tulips is an agony.