Dedicated to the memory of my father who passed away on Christmas Eve, 1980 |
CHRISTMAS CHANGED FOREVER Nineteen Hundred and Eighty---the morning of Christmas Eve, Father was planning to visit, but suddenly had to leave. How could we have guessed or known ---While speaking there upon the phone, As Mother cautioned they might be late--- Of the coming, shadowed fate? "Why, he went to work the day before; It's just his neck that's feeling sore. Oh . . . a toothache bothered him last night; We'll stop at the clinic to make sure he's all right." Then anxiously a ringing phone, to my ear was later drawn; And Mother's quaking voice broke out, "Sandra . . . he's already gone!" Christmas Morn brought mixed emotions Of pretended joy and sad devotions. From the hollow promise of rejoice, Trapped within a muffled voice, Like gaping wrappers torn apart, So was each empty, tattered heart. I remembered him young and having fun, Before the graying had begun, The way he had laughed and the way he had smiled, Way back when . . . when I was a child. Our trembling words betrayed the meaningless laughter; Christmas Day was not the same, nor would it be thereafter. Deep within my heart now echoes a mournful beat, Each year like ancient burial drums that offer dull repeat. Time has passed while sorrows grow mild---but then, These painful, haunting questions I ask myself again: "Why did it happen so quick? How could he die?" I never got the chance to say good-bye. Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree Can never replace what he meant to me; But then I offer up a solemn, silent prayer, To let him know how much I really truly care. One comforting thought envelops me although I'm feeling blue, For now I see that Jesus needed a Christmas present, too. ---Sandra Hookham (horsetrainer) |