Unburdened

2012 had been a disastrous year for Henry Flegg and, by extension, for his wife and two teenage daughters. His predicament wasn’t unique and could be summed up in four words: outsourcing, downsizing, default and foreclosure. Oh, and throw in bankruptcy for good measure.

Horrid words, aren’t they? But Henry and his girls were fighters. He found another job, albeit a low paying one and they’d moved into a cheapish apartment. The girls gave up their cell phones and all of them spent more time at the library since cable was an unaffordable luxury. But three days before Christmas, the horrid words continued. Fire, homeless, penniless. Of course, they were lucky to be alive and the in-laws graciously took them into their small apartment, but they lost everything they had. Henry slipped into a deep, self-indulgent depression.

Finally, the terrible year ended. The whole family gathered around grandma and grandpa’s t.v. watching solemnly as the ball dropped. There was a lot of noise from outside and grandpa was rousted from a nap. Henry’s wife kissed his forehead and then joined their daughters on the floor for a group hug. The girls embraced their mother, then all three turned and looked at Henry lovingly but sympathetically through teary eyes.

Suddenly, Henry felt deeply ashamed. His family had been so strong and supportive, whereas he had allowed himself to wallow in self-pity.

“I’m sorry everyone,” Henry said, “I’m sorry that I’ve been so selfish and so blind when I’ve been so blessed. We’ve had good years and bad… well, actually they’ve all been good… just… maybe some bad things have happened. But we’re here and we’re healthy and we’re together. And I think this will be the best year of all!”

The family raised their glasses together, stronger, unburdened.

Happy New Year.