I miss you Christmas

Making the bed in the guestroom.
That’s where we keep the wrapping paper and ribbon box.
The tree looks pretty, but I’m missing something.
A pile of Christmas albums is on the coffee table.
Now like in 1977 I’m listening to Gene Autry sing
Rudolph the Red nosed Reindeer.
Nana and Kevin Brice were still alive then,
so were Mom & Grandpa Art; Ray and others we would tragically lose.
I had faith in Christmas then,
that it would come with great celebration, joy and song.
It was dependable, it delivered a good time even when the gifts were tragic.
We were together, laughing and crying out the end of the year.
Purging the old and merging with the new.
I can still feel the perfectly cold crisp Christmas eve and morning.
Midnight in the car, gloves and smoke.
Presence and presents, real and imagined or hoped for.
Smells, sounds, tastes, sights, lights and holding it all closely.
I know we were full in that moment, goodness seemed certain.
Christmas was the confirmation of our dreamy hopes, our open desire.
This one day meant everything to me once.
And I want and need the knowledge of a certain good again.
A true and honest good to fill up my heart until next year.
That is what I need, for my heart to be full once a year.
That is what we need and why I miss you Christmas.

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