It is Christmas time. Sometimes we have to spend these days in the hospital. Sometimes in bed, with the thermometer and piles of medicines. Sometimes we have to spend these days away from home. Or in solitude. Sometimes we have to spend these days under the pain of depression, and the joy around us repels us, makes us feel even further away from the real world. Sometimes we have to work, or travel, or the broken-down car prevents us from arriving on time for dinner, or a friend with a serious problem needs our presence at such an important time. Sometimes we have just been dumped by a girlfriend, sometimes it bothers us to share a table with the new faces of the extended family, sometimes it hurts us to see up close the small or big miseries that, as everywhere, appear amongst those closest to us. 

Sometimes the soul is asleep and we neither pray nor are moved to contemplate the Nativity Scene, sometimes the old carols make us too sad, and no longer warm our hearts. Sometimes we are too focused on the fact that in a few days something important will happen at work. Sometimes even the joyful cries of children may annoy us, make us want to run away from the noise and happiness of others.
Sometimes we don't manage to feel quite right at Christmas, sometimes the major days of these celebrations pass us by in a hurry, and sometimes time passes so slowly that even the rituals we used to enjoy are tiring. Sometimes our body gives off signs that it is not quite well, sometimes the doctor has forbidden us to go near Christmas delicacies, and sometimes a simple domestic malfunction ruins our Christmas peace.
Sometimes you have to hide in your room and cry because it's hard to see for the first time how a father or grandfather doesn't remember what they said just a minute ago, or they don't even know who we are, sometimes you don't feel like talking and everyone wants to give you conversation, and sometimes even the most harmless joke at the table eats away at you and scratche...