Didn’t you know that?
The sheer thrill as the big day
Gets closer and closer.
That last sleepless night of wonder.
All prefaced by music
And lights, multi-colored lights,
Thousands of lights.
And stories, endless stories,
Told again and again,
Always the same, yet always different.
And then that morning, that Oh, so special morning.
With presents under tree, And, if lucky,
Snow on the ground, like icing on a cake.
And opening the gifts with ribbons and paper,
strewn everywhere.
Not so for adults.
The past becomes present.
Not "a" present, but present as in now.
The memories, the pain, the losses
All neatly wrapped – beneath the tree
Waiting to be re-opened, year after year after year.
A mother’s warm smile,
Never to be seen again.
A lover’s embrace,
Never to be felt again.
A time, an experience, an emotion,
Never to be known again.
All gone, committed to that dark place,
In our soul.
How, then do we continue?
What makes us even want - - To open our eyes;
To get up, Each December twenty-fifth?
I guess - - - I imagine it’s the kids,
To see their joy, to hear their voices,
To live again, with them and through them,
in their Christmas.
Christmas IS for kids.
It's their day – It's their time,
It's the beginning of their memories,
It's their Maiden Voyage.
And, Yes, It's blatantly Unfair
And Yes, I'm really sorry about that.
But would you really have it,
Any Other Way???
Bill Schatzabel - November 2011
