Every Christmas is different
from the last,
and brings its own gifts,
and a new past.

Mom and Dad are no longer here,
but their sweaters hang
from the back of our chairs,
and I feel Mom’s smile on me,
and Dad’s grin,
and sometimes I feel a nostalgic
yearning to go back to what’s been.

The sons are all grown up now
with homes of their own.
But I remember their childhood excitement
when they’d wake on Christmas morn –
running downstairs to see what Santa
brought them during the night
and put under the Christmas tree’s lights.

And there’s a sad sweetness
to the remembering.

Next year this Christmas
will be the new past.

-Karen Molenaar Terrell