An Ode to Christmas Past

Christmas day dawned bright  and clear and so did children’s eyes. For days and weeks they’d prepped for this ~ A Santa Claus surprise!
Decorate, bake and gaily wrap gifts under the Christmas tree dressed in twinkling lights, tinsel and an angel placed on top.

Creeping down the stairs 
in an early Christmas morn, 
to the glow of Christmas lights 
and silent night time snow 
To know Santa always visited, 
cookies crumbs remain, glass of milk was dry. 
stockings filled, gifts laid out
brought many delighted cries.

Then sadness struck a heavy blow. 
epilepsy shattered the scene. 
A brother dear, without warning 
fell violently from his seat.
Family pieces, like a Christmas puzzle,
were strewn about the house, but like a puzzle never all picked up.

The next year came, then the next 
Christmas picture all askew. 
But not unseen was that terrible day 
when Christmas glow turned blue.

We grew, some flew taking Christmas traditions along to share with children of young families until…...

while baking and decorating at Christmas time
a knock came on the door. 
A greater tragedy struck!
Hope vanished with the news
the day when mother died. 
Shock felt that day I can’t unfeel. 
Raw edges ignored, were slowly scrubbed
then gently, softly sanded through time

This long time ago, each Chrismas time,
Now mended, patched and stitched
with decoration and baking, gifts and cards
to honour those that are lost. 
These are the cracks in the picure 
mended with threads of silver and gold 
from the memories of early days ~
of creeping down morning stairs 
in light of early dawn. 
Silence of gently fallen snow, 
warmth of books and a Christmas puzzle
brings close a fading gentle time ~

Cracks from the great abyss of tragedies long ago 
tore families young, now growing old, have 
filled with golden warmth of hope 
in sore and tender hearts.

Christmas comes but once a year
or so the story’s told.
My story is with me all of the year
along with the Christmas gold.

“Faith is the seamstress

Who mends our torn belief

Who sews the hem of childhood trust

And clips the threads of grief.”

~ Joan Walsh Anglund

Author's note: Edited January 29, 2024