Dear Daddy,
What's it like up there? All I know,
lonely down here. No decorations:
don't really feel like celebrating, not
without you. You loved this time of
year: remember the tree that was
too big to fit in the living room? And
when we were eight years old: look!
Santa's bootprints leading from the
fireplace to the table where we had
laid out his snacks and milk to the
tree and back again: what a m e s s
Mommy had to clean up. That was
you, wasn't it, wanting to make it a
Christmas to remember? Forty one
years later, still do. The expression
on Karen's face when she saw that
polar bear: didn't need the flash on
the camera, the way the light from
her smile filled the room. Of course,
older sister ruined it, saying there
was no such thing as Santa. But I
still believe ... when I moved away,
the calls, telling me it was snowing:
haven't seen a White Christmas in
forever. Telling me you loved and
missed me: not half as much as I
miss you, Daddy. Especially now.
My tears the only present I can
give you: say Hello to Jesus for me.
(c) 2008, Karla Dorman
The sky so massive, so full of
