The tubes today are bristling with seasonal commentary. As real news slows to a trickle, writers everywhere turn their words toward the holidaze, the season that brings us the shortest day of the year. No longer in touch with planetary time, many of us slip past the winter solstice with barely a nod. Eyes set on the Christian replacement five days later, we are well armed with electricity and candles, having no need to fear this darkest and longest of nights.
Yet some do fear that night. My homeless friend Ruth fears it, even as she lugs her cart through the tidy streets of Chapel Hill, looking for food and a warm place to sleep. Distrustful of shelters, she plods to the strange beat of a drum that only she can hear. There but for the grace of god go I.
My own life has been colored by the dull scrape of depression for as long as I can remember. Raised in a quiet Southern Baptist family, fear, not fun, was the flavor of my early days. That storyline carried through to my father's suicide, a life taken sadly on the eve of the holidays 18 years ago. Though I have no scientific evidence to back my claim, I'm sure depression is a genetic thread that runs deep inside my family. My siblings live quiet, god-fearing lives, slowly treading just outside the halo of happiness that others seem to have.
Having tried almost every drug to combat the family curse, I have settled into a rhythm of acceptance that mostly works. Exercise helps. As does writing. Both give me the chance to step outside my darkest self and find those slivers of light that others take for granted. I live with a woman whose genes are perpetually joyous, making the contrast all the more present every moment of every day.
Yet I know how lucky I am. I have a job. I have children who love me, and I manage to put on a happy face no matter how dark some days might feel. In the words of an old therapist, fake it 'til you make it.
So on this prelude to the holidays, let us not forget those for whom the longest of nights will bring nothing but pain and suffering. They are our brothers and sisters.