Years ago, when I was in University, the holidays were a much anticipated and welcomed break from school. A chance to once again feast on Mom's home cooking, to do laundry at will and of course to replenish the dwindling supply of socks and underwear. So, when one of my buddies in first-year told me she hated the holidays and despised going home for family festivities, I was puzzled. The story she told me changed my view of the holidays forever.

She explained that when she was 15, her parents had been attending a typical Christmas Eve celebration at a friend's home about 4 kilometers away from their own. Her dad was a well-respected real estate agent, a dedicated husband and father of 3 teenagers. He made the decision to drive home despite having consumed six glasses of wine during the course of the evening. It was a choice that ensured that their family and Christmas would never be the same again. Although her father likely wasn't "loaded" by our usual standards, he was impaired enough that he was unable to properly maneuver their Volvo station wagon after a light dusting of snow. Their car slid sideways on a quiet rural road and hit a rock face before rolling over 3 times.

My friend's mother was lucky. She survived the crash though she spent four months in hospital and three years in physiotherapy. her father wasn't so lucky. He had severed a main artery and bled to death in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I sobbed as my friend told me that it was not just the loss of her father that made her resent the holidays. It was the fact that every Christmas now, she has to relive the anger, disappointment and the pain she felt when she answered the phone that Christmas Eve. She was angry that Christmas would never be about opening gifts or caroling with neighbours or eating too much turkey ever again. For the rest of her life, Christmas would be about a stupid mistake that robbed her of her father.

That Christmas I was much more aware of the wonderful holiday memories I had collected through my life and how fragile they were. I also took notice of how even the most conservative drinkers in my family felt it alright to have a few beers, or glasses of sherry or "special Christmas coffees" and get in their cars to drive home. When I explained how my perspective of the season had been changed by my friend's story, I am happy to say my family made an effort to improve their celebration habits. I am happier to say we now make plans for safe rides home for all of our guests at holiday functions or any other social event. It still won't change the memories my friend wrestles with every Christmas, but time and a family of her own are helping her paint over the horrible memories with good ones.

- Nina Morosso, Vancouver Island, B.C.