On the 25th of December, I’ll be there like usual.

On the 25th of December, I’ll be there like usual.

I’ll sit at the table.

I’ll eat the dinner, I’ll listen to the conversation.

I’ll unwrap gifts along with the others.

I’ll be there, but there’ll be moments where I’ll realize it will be a tiny bit different this time around.

Maybe I’ll be on the highway in a sedan filled with gifts, or chewing on a sweet cookie shaped like a snowman while surrounded by boisterous chatter. 

Maybe I’ll be admiring the ornaments on the tree, or a family member’s new sweater,  when it creeps into my mind that your wheels will be leaving the tarmac any minute now. I’ll think about how it’s taking you away from here, to the firsts awaiting you out there, the firsts I know you need so badly.

I’ve known for some time now that there would be less of you to go around one day. That time is arriving without fanfare, without shock or surprise, yet a heart still turns over. 

You’ll be back soon enough this time — you promised! — but I know you won’t quite be the same.

I hope that you won’t be the same! I hope that more of your missing pieces will be filled in when I see you next! I find myself grateful, in a sense, in knowing that you’re on your way to becoming whole again. 

I never doubted you’d be a phoenix in the end. 

December 11 to 18, 2025