Reflections

 

The lights from the Christmas tree reflect in the glass of the window.  Giving it a nearly ethereal glow.  Additional lights were added to the pre-lit tree.  With the obscure view, it was true.  The section of lights, at the top of the tree, that went out 10 minutes after all the decorations had been put on, was not nearly as noticeable.  

Thoughts of Christmas' past begin to filter through.  Standing on the stairs, looking out the window.  Waiting.  Waiting for a familiar car to be seen coming down the street.  Only after its occupants arrived, could the festivities of Christmas morning begin.  They were always late.

Remembering certain toys that were a 'have to have' affair.  The doll.  She walked, talked and had her own little school desk.  A set of magnets, that provided endless hours of constructive ideas.  The slot car race track.  It was later set up in the basement.  Drivers of all ages raced and occasionally, sent a car flying off the curve to land in a pile of laundry on the other side of the room.  The year that contained no toys.  Supposedly a rite of passage.  Whose idea was that?

Having Christmas someplace other than what was considered 'home'. It was time for the older fledglings to start their own traditions.  New people began to be added.  The season of toys had returned.  The Christmas cycle was beginning to come full circle.  But, not quite.

The year of the absence.  Was the first one noticed as much as the second?  The second one was the glue.  Although her time of matriarch extraordinaire, the person who did it all, had passed, her presence was always a present.  Her 'goneness' was a gaping hole. Would it ever be the same?  The simple answer was "No".  Plain and simple.  "Nevermore, quoth the raven".  Stupid bird.

Looking back at the reflection.  Fast forwarding to the present.  The world did not stop spinning.  Even when thought it should have.  The choice is simple.  Things happen, life goes on, holidays will come and go.  The most important thing is the reaction to what has unfolded.  Not always easy, but simple.

May the reaction to the reflections of Christmas' past and present be filled with love and fond memories.  May those, not as fortunate be among that love and not forgotten.  Let not the reason for the season be forgotten beneath a cardboard box and crumpled paper.  May the choice be for a very merry Christmas.