This article was so nice,funny and burtally honest, I almost felt bad it was already a published work rather than a one-off somebody drummed up for Salon. I especially enjoyed the maelstrom of conflicting sentiments in terms of attachments, longings, tradition and family. Also the deep undercurrent that all of this was funny only because the author made it so was pretty hard to miss. If you can joke about it, it can't be that bad?

PS: the mice scared the shit out of me.

My best friend committed suicide right before the holidays when I was 28. The year before, she told me how much the holidays sucked, being Jewish and having a mother whose bipolar issues were so extreme as to render the entire family insane. Later on, I was diagnosed myself with "Borderline Personality Disorder" which mostly expressed itself in helpless empty depressions which lasted for years after the suicide, and I surmise pretty gnarly codependency issues before. The world broke when Lynn offed herself. I don't know how else to put it. One day it made sense in a cocky, going my way kind of way, and the next I was forever caught trying to stop something that had already happened. It was like going crazy every minute.

The year before, I had tried to tell Lynn how fun the holidays were in fact, with special meals and occasions and a glow about everything. In my own way I tried to be nice I am sure, yet the truth is I am still basically a selfish person who has lived a selfish life. That same year she helped me move from the tiny detached apartment that we called "The Hobbit House." It was old, covered with vines, and whoever built it had scaled everything for a short person; ceilings, counter heights, room sizes, it's the only time these things "fit" me and the house had a magic where art and impromptu parties and silly things happened. Anyway, one of the last times I saw her, I asked her to help me move. I took pictures of her sitting in the yard waiting for me, the last pictures of her that I have. I was so disorganized, I just wanted somone to keep me company so I would actually sling stuff into cars and get going. I remember her shaking her head and saying, "I forgot who I was dealing with;" she had thought she could just show up and help with a carload or two like a normal person. In her always nice way, she resigned herself to help me and made it OK.

These kind of memories seared my soul afterwards. I had no sense of proportion; every selfish memory was part of the reason she did it. She did not leave an explanation, only a request to donate the organs and cremate the remains, and that was how I learned you can't harvest dead organs. It broke my heart and melted the pieces down that was all she thought she was worth. A lot of what people had to say then was just completely unbearable, her neighbor cooed, "oh, she can't have her last wish," like that kind of wish to dispose of yourself had any kind of dearness to tsk over.

Faced with my own selfishness, the only solution I had for being so codependent and a real pain in the ass for people who cared about me, was to give them a break and stay out of the picture until I could become self sufficient and not demand fixes for my neediness from people. This strategy took on a life of its own; I did seem to enact a Christmas doom scenario for years, lost jobs or car accidents or my house broken into or just in general marooned in dread, floundering gloomily as the season came on and avoiding people. Simple things becoming incredibly complicated, mail piling for years unopened, crowds...

I am more whole now, I have learned some things; I owe my family at least a hundred unselfish acts before I even start counting. I will get moving on all that as soon as I stop feeling completely inadequate. Even the gifts I pick out seem to suck so I can't bring myself to send them. Last years' are still wrapped up. I still have friends amazingly, wonderful people who have invited me to their dinners and parties. I try not to feel like I am imposing; that's how it feels, I don't deserve it. I try to get into things and be fun and have fun, I DON'T talk about the black cloud that descends at the holidays. I try to ignore it while I am with other people so they don't have to deal. It's past my turn to throw some kind of bash but I'm afraid it will suck.

I had a mood for about a week, but today I woke up and said thanks. It is time for me to give back. I just need to take a little trouble. In the meantime, good music and family emails and IM-ing well wishes with the neighbor seems about the right speed today. I enjoy the light of a clearer mind, produced over the years by combinations of caring enlightened friends, an Irish Buddhist teacher with a dark sense of humor, a week at the Meadows compliments of other dear friends, some good philosophy and even some bracing self improvement courses.

I am glad the clouds dissipate on their own now. I do believe that whatever your beliefs about Christ, the Christ principle is the birth of redemption in this world and that anything and anyone can be redeemed. I know this. And that is the gift that Christmas brings to me finally, and a gift I would wish for you all. God Bless.

Ann Patchett's story was perfect. After staggering through my own screwy, disfunctional Christmas, reading her story the day after was such a joy. You should repeat it every year.

Eric Smith

St. Paul, MN