This Christmas

THIS CHRISTMAS

It won't be the same this Christmas
without a small mountain of your gifts
still sporting price tags of black and white.
We'll miss you shaking your head, saying,
“It doesn't seem like I bought enough this year.”
We'll miss the apple cider, cookies, and canine chews
the silly hats, your snowman pins, and Christmas sweaters.

It won't be the same this Christmas,
certainly not the same at all,
not without you repeating things half-heard around the dining table
nodding between bites of turkey and pumpkin pie, saying,
“I didn't just fall off a turnip truck, you know.”

This Christmas, we'll be without your stories
our history, we used to think
we'd maybe heard, just one time, too many
but now would like to hear again,
now that you can't be here to narrate.
“Remember this,” you'd say,
“remember, when I die dead.”

It won't be the same this Christmas
no, not the same at all.
This Christmas, we won't all be together,
not like before, or maybe ever again.
We will be merry and bright, though
unwrapping, feasting, laughing
as the old year slips away toward the new.

Should you look down from a flickering star
don't be fooled, not even for a minute.
We may pretend we don't notice your empty chair,
but we will notice, and remember.
We will miss you this Christmas.

Nancy Wayman Deutsch 2007