“Christmas Eve. This is a poem for the ones who didn’t make it, a toast to the ones we lost, to those among us who will never see another amber-coated sunrise come up on a quiet Christmas morning, or catch the pure wonder in a child’s eye as she unwraps another present.
This is a poem for the ones who will never get to sink their teeth into another honey-roasted Christmas turkey or be surrounded by familiar faces—beloved friends, and family. But though you are no longer here, you will never be absent. We will see you in everything. You will be the bite of rum in tomorrow evening’s pudding, the strings and strings of snowy-white lights draped over our pine trees, the sleepy-eyes of the children worn out by the day’s excitement, and the small fires we gather around in the family room at midnight. You will be in the palms of each prayer, and the corner of every smile, the secret kisses under the mistletoe, the halo of every angel.
So know that on this day of yule your presence blesses every room, and that when we shout “Merry Christmas!” we’ll really mean “We miss you.””
Beau Taplin, We Miss You
