Christmas for the Brokenhearted
Christmas trees are a personal thing. I never realized until I didn’t have own of my own. When it isn’t yours, the lights seem to blink out of sync and don’t shine quite as bright. I spent hours looking for feeling in ornaments that have no meaning. Perhaps worse is knowing that the presents are empty boxes, made to look real. There is also Christmas for the homeless, though it doesn’t feel the same. Bear in mind that this is only one story; mine. It probably isn’t the same for everyone that has spent the holidays without a home, but it also isn’t what someone who hasn’t might imagine. It was especially cold that year and as the wind blew across the snow that had already fallen, I quickly became aware of the blessing of just having a bed to sleep in at night. It was something I lost three days before. A week had passed by Christmas Eve and in that time, I learned how to hold in my feelings. I was never particularly comfortable with strangers to begin with, and though we were mostly veterans that lived there, it was still disheartening not knowing how their stories differed from mine. My roommate was a sailor, and seemed a decent guy but we were far from friends. He had a job that he went to at night, so I was able to sleep alone. During the day I was somewhat forced to stay in the common areas or out in the community during the day, so he could sleep, but I digress. The floor we lived on was full, but there were no gatherings. There was a dinner cooked by one of us every night but for the most part the kitchen was open, so we could eat whenever we wanted. Going to dinner was more a thing for the guys who couldn’t cook than it was a bonding experience. There were no prayers that night or any visible hope for the future, and despite a midnight curfew everyone was in early. Morning came in the usual way and despite it being Christmas I just laid in my bed for a while. If I didn’t need to go to the staff office for my medication, I might not have gotten out of bed at all. Sometime during the night the staff, or Santa, if you prefer, placed gift bags outside of the doors for each of us. They were large bags with our names on them and were filled with various items. It was my assumption that they had been donated to the archdiocese that ran the shelter. My bag contained a pair of gloves, sweatshirt, a jacket and long underwear. In addition, there were things like, shampoo, soap, a toothbrush and pens & paper. The gifts were an unexpected and welcomed surprise, but more than that, they were also a sad reminder of everything missing. None of the gifts was what I wanted, and only a few of the clothes actually fit. In that moment, it became obvious that in spite of my feeling that Christmas was overly commercial, I still took the day for granted. There is more to the day than just getting something. It’s realizing that someone put time and thought into you, specifically. It is a very different feeling that receiving because of your situation. You don’t get angry, and you don’t fail to appreciate to gesture but you do understand that there is such a thing as a sad present. By that afternoon, the lounge area became a type of informal exchange. Items were left by the tables near the tree. There were left by others that got something that wasn’t quite right. Present were being left and taken from there for the next few days. There was no family dinner that day. I can’t actually remember eating at all. Most of the city was closed so there wasn’t anywhere for us to go. I spent the day writing and trying not to wonder if anyone even noticed I was missing.
