Bittersweet

His prickly chin and scruffy morning's laugh

bring Christmas to life,

animating the tree's lights with just his smile.

Torn paper and tangled ribbon

grow in piles of color

scattered by the cats.

We're foolish in our joy,

all together, happy here.

His robe is wrapped tightly, tied around the waist,

and just a hint of plaid flannel peeks

out from under the sleeves.

Father holds the key to Christmas and unlocks it with his love -

felt from a thousand miles away or from across the room.

The three wise men?

I have but one, and he holds me close

strong arms holding tight the bond.

Written Christmas morning, 2004

I awaken and it feels like Christmas, and I am amazed. An e-mail from my sister reminds me that I am well in my soul, in the places where the constants in my life live. I am well in body, thanks to the miracles of medicine. I am well in mind even when I am in this place of inconstancy. I am well in spirit because of my relationship with God. That will not change no matter what happens in life. Because I trust Him. That decision, for me, is made.

So good morning and Merry Christmas! A new day, a new reminder of my hope. I think I can find ways to miss Dad and be sad, but celebrate his memory too. So once again, I find myself in a place of gratitude.

A good place to be on Christmas morning.