"It wore a tunic of the purest white, and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible...'Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me.' asked Scrooge.
'I am.' The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.
'Who, and what are you.' Scrooge demanded.
'I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.'
'Long Past.' inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.
'No. Your past.'"
- A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens
Long ago I couldn't understand people who became sad at Christmastime. It was a happy, delightful time! Why would it make anybody sad?
I understand better now. As the years go by, people from the past are no longer with us, but they still inhabit our memories, no more strongly than at Christmas. Regret at things unsaid, at memories and history lost, haunt us. Christmas becomes a contradiction of sad and happy, summer and winter, youth and age.
As trite as it might sound: Replace the sad memories with the happy ones and live in the present. This is my mantra.
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