It’s the fifth Christmas we’ve experienced without our daughter and each has been dramatically different. I’m finally feeling that old magic again, as I watch our son’s face all aglow with excitement at the idea of presents and cookies. He’s old enough now to understand that something special happens with a twinkling tree and gifts in the corner of the room. It is the most joyous and beautiful thing to watch, and my heart is wrapped in a warm blanket of happiness.
Except someone is missing. I feel Lucy’s absence as much as I feel the presence and vitality of Everett. I can only wonder. I can only whisper, “Merry Christmas, sweet Lucy,” as I gaze wistfully at what might have been her life.
I turn my attention back to our thriving two year old and smile with sincere gratitude and marvel at him. For another moment, I am floating along in the magic, and only the magic.