What I Learned From A Lonely Man in a Pub Before Christmas

My outlook on the holidays now is much different than it used to be. I loved the holidays because the kids loved it so much. Today, I wish we could fast-forward through them all together. My heart isn’t there anymore. Maddie adored Christmas. When we lost Maddie, Christmas changed.

The holidays can be especially tough for those struggling with depression or thoughts of suicide. While the world seems wrapped in lights and celebration, for some, it feels like they’re drowning in darkness. It’s easy to think, “If they need help, they’ll reach out,” but here’s the truth: the burden of connection must be on you.

Shame does this to a person. They do not want to burden anyone, especially at this time of year. Self-worth is in question. It’s a strong dose of self-pity, shame, anger, fear or any other emotion that makes someone feel inadequate or unworthy.

When someone is feeling completely down and out, the last thing they want to do is reach out. The thought of making a call or answering a text can feel insurmountable. A simple “ping” might sound like another demand. And if they don’t return your message, that doesn’t mean they’re ignoring you. It just means they may not have the strength that day or that week. That’s why you need to keep trying.

It reminds me of something that happened just before Christmas in 2016. The kids were with their mom, and hockey was done for the holidays, so I walked into a familiar pub in Midtown Toronto with a couple of friends. Sitting at the bar was an older man by himself. I’d had a few drinks beforehand and felt a little more outgoing than usual. I introduced myself, and he told me his name was Jimmy.

Jimmy looked about 70, but you could see life had been hard on him. We started talking, and I asked if he had any holiday plans. He said, “I don’t like Christmas. I don’t have a family I talk to.”

I asked if he had kids. He nodded and said he had a son, but they hadn’t spoken in 10 years. You could see the pain etched in his face. “Why not reach out?” I asked. Jimmy shook his head. “It’s been too long,” he said.

“Would you rather live a life of regret?” I asked. Then I proceeded to tell him about Maddie, about the pain of losing her and how I’d give anything to have just one more conversation with her. By the time I finished telling my story, we were both crying. Jimmy hugged me. He put on his hat and jacket and headed for the door. He looked back at me and said, “I’m going to give my son a call.”

I never saw Jimmy again. I don’t know if he ever contacted his son, but at least he left that pub with the possibility.

And that’s the point: possibility. You never know what a simple act of persistence or connection might mean to someone else. One day, someone might walk up to you and say, “That time during Christmas 2024, when you wouldn’t let me slip away, when you hugged me and told me you loved me and that you’d always be there. That probably saved my life.”

Wouldn’t you rather have that conversation than live with the regret of wondering, “What if I had tried to call him one more time?”

Don't brush it off if someone’s been on your mind lately. Don’t wait for them to make the first move. Call them. Show up. Insist on connecting. It could make all the difference. Because the pain of wishing you’d done more doesn’t fade, and tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, not for them or us.

This holiday season, let’s be the people who save lives through love, persistence, and presence. If you’re thinking of someone right now, act on it. You might change everything for that person.