Merry Christmas From The “Greatest Nation”

I will keep this short.

I had planned to spend Christmas with my one true love, Lorena. Death intervened.

It has been six months now.

Lorena died too young and was deprived of a beautiful life. And I was deprived of the life I dreamt of. And I have cried a million tears.

This year my parents invited me for Christmas.

Hard to believe, I know.

My parents are still alive.

90 and 99.

And so I am here.

Back in what they, and so many Americans, call the “greatest nation.”

A couple of hours ago I went to get them a sandwich at Subway.

Standing in below freezing weather was this woman.

I sat in my car and watched as people came and went from the sandwich and neighboring shops with not one giving her a dime.

I approached her and handed her some money.

She asked God to bless me and I smiled and thanked her.

And then the tears began.

Not hers.

Mine. I heard myself say, “I am so sorry.

No one should have to live this way, to do what you are doing.

Not here.”

She put her sign down, walked over and hugged me.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, trying to comfort me.

“It’s not that bad.”

And I felt ashamed.

Ashamed that I felt sorry for myself that my life with Lorena did not go as I planned.

And ashamed that the “greatest nation” can’t or won’t do better for its most vulnerable.

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