the Christmas
that our children
gave us our past
in DVD without
our even asking.
we sat,
watching our
younger selves
at just the ages
the kids are now
maveling at
how young we looked
and how rested,
at a time when
we were not.
i had triangular hair
and I thought myself
beautiful
though now
it's questionable.
at least i was thin.
it is also
the Christmas
that the soul of
our family
didn't make it.
and that happens
when december
feels more like july,
when weather
and flight schedules
rule our plans.
our Christmas morning
was not nearly as punny,
with him not here,
we just did not feel
complete.
it was the Christmas
that i was reminded
that my father
once jumped rope
to please (maybe impress)
his grandchildren,
and it was a joy
to rewitness
his conversations
with me
from so many
years ago.
it was a Christmas,
when my boy brought
his bride-to-be
home
and he gave me
the gift of time
with him,
which is so rare.
and it was the one
when my mother
told the story of
how she met
my father, and
of the dress she wore
on their first date,
and my daughter found
the dress
in her closet and
brought it
down for
show and tell.
it was also
the Christmas
when i was
so busy cooking
i forgot to
take a picture
of my kids.
so.
it is like
every Christmas:
some sadness.
some joy.
some Christmas.
yes.
and writemuch.blogspot is the original work of author susan byrum rountree. all written work and photography is copyright protected and can only be used with written permission of the author.
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