you tell me this is
the first Christmas
your grown-up children, overseas
will not be home
or you with them , at theirs

when I began to decorate
and bake, without mine close at hand
or underfoot this year
(remember those
slow-but-rich baking days?)
it was a first for me too
though with the promise
of brief reunion soon

but I discovered
despite their living away
I'd find them everywhere
throughout this house
the church music, and
all the rituals

and though not in that close
and tangible ideal way, inimitable
the live and in person contact
they will be in every sense
the essence still
of Christmas

you'll hear them
in the keepsakes you unearth annually
those first kindergarten creations
for the tree
the baby's birthyear commemorative balls
and lights that somehow
survived those first noels
the pine cones from the camping trips
they insisted on bringing home
will offer reminscent scents

those uneven pointed stars
little fingers laboured over
trying hard for perfect space and shape
are now the stars
to represent the ones
who'll always shine for you, in your heart

the photos stuck in craft-time holders
the vinyl tablecloth from messy play
and painting days
with sleighs and santas on them
ripped a bit, melted here and there
but never discarded

they will indeed be home for Christmas
for they're what makes it, for you
and they're who you made it for
after your own parent's legacy

a composite of anecdotes
will stir in them, now, from you
and in their friends and their families
still here
whom you've helped
and who've helped you
along the way

open up a box of dressings for
the home or tree,
smooth the cardboard tin soldier
in red tissue jacket,
freshen up paper chains
in oblong loops, once stretched
across the room
by climbers on the couches

arrange the aging baby lambs
at the Nativity scene
same one you've always had

you may find a hook left in wrong
in some ornament
or a chipped but kept, fragile souvenir
you couldn't part with
and now smile at all the fuss
when some of them suffered from a fumble
to the hardwood floor

hold on to a homemade wreath
that has seen better December twenty-fifths!
old cards brought home from class
for mom and dad
and you'll be stroking
their hair again

dig into those cookie cutters,
silly stuffed toys
that still say merry everything!
take them out, surround yourself
or bring them to the old folks home
share them with those
who started it all for you
before you left so long ago

but you never really left
did you?

aren't you back there, every year?

make all the memories
thrive again
all the voices, scents and hugs
even if it stings you sharp,
and peers may do some naysaying

how significant
to get back in touch

the songs you taught, year-in-year-out
round the piano or door-to-door
with hot chocolate in your mitts,
the old tapes and movies
you loved to cuddle up with
all together
will be rich again

the advice they gave you
in recent years
on the new-fangled types of
things to buy and try

your calming whispers to anxious faces
on bedtime Christmas Eves,
predictions and delights
lessons on the truth seeded beneath
the chaos of the season

the midnight masses and the candles
the hope, belief, and strength from you
will stay with them forever

be proud of your long role
and rest a bit, now, well-assured
you've done a splendid job

after the years of shushed sneaking
around the tree while feeling sleepy
working hard for Santa, whispering
where on earth were those darn elves
when you needed them to help?
He really must have existed,
why else would you have been doing
these crazy, exhausting things?

and telling snow white fibs
absorbing the funny sayings
of the kids, as they grew up
and so did you

sit back, be encouraged
dear sister,
that same magic
that drove your spirit, for them
now wraps a magnetic ribbon of silk
stretching across continents and oceans
to tie you in a connection
that no distance, gales, or mankind's madness
can ever now undo

witness in today's small children
in the stores, on Santa's lap
or at the church
in the choirs, in the pageants,
from Advent through to Christmas Day
the wonder you once helped build

and even though it may make you cry
as hymns from the past haunt you
remember the greatest gift
you gave and shared,
and the ones that you've been given
some people never know
the blessing of

and ask God what he thinks
will your grown-up children
be home this year for Christmas?

I'm sure you'll hear that in a way

they really will

12/20/2001

Author's Note: written for my friend Esther, a couple of Christmas' ago. Fortunately for me, this year, and every year so far, ours have always been around, at least by Christmas day. This year with our daughter moved home, and son just re-settled back in town with his fiance, we're so fortunate. But the first year they were gone from the house in the preparation time was very difficult.

Posted on 12/21/2003
Copyright © 2025 Maureen Glaude