Christmas After You

Christmas After You
20-12-15

I used to love Christmas when it was just about the presents.
When the joy of being a child
Was all that was required of me,
And the only epiphany required
Was that Barbie could drive herself to Ken’s house for their wedding.
Everything was simple then.

Being half-German meant two Christmas gift openings.
The more the merrier,
And the only time other children wished they were me.
And when I became Santa to younger relatives
Instead of looking for him with them,
The joy of being older and creating memories
Replaced the joy of fostering my own.

Then you nearly came along and changed everything.

You stole my childhood and teenage years
And made me an adult before I needed to be one;
You sliced through apprehension and depression
And became a miracle,
Even if only I saw it that way.

You stole my first relationship
And became my love,
And then you stole my love and broke my heart
The day you stopped being you;
The day you died.

Now I see children enjoying carols with their parents,
And I realise just how much I wanted to make memories with you.
To share the joys of decorating a tree
And keeping the dog from eating the pine needles,
To watch you opening presents
And enjoying the wrapping paper more than the gifts,
To watch you grow from a baby into a toddler
And into a boy who may have loved Barbie –
But that would have been ok.

Memories I will never have haunt me each year
As I hear children playing,
And memories I will never have haunt me
Each time I see Christmas decorations,
And I wonder things I never should have to wonder
About the goodness of God
And his grace in the death of a child.

Now I hate Christmas.
I can’t even be Christian enough to celebrate in worship with the rest,
I profess to love God with my lips
But my heart denies him a birth because of memories
That I will never have.

Maybe a child will one day heal my heart the way one broke it,
But until I have real memories to replace these false,
Firm, founded,
Fermenting memories,
I will continue to wander wounded and weary,
Keeping my distance from Christmas trees and carols and gifts.