I guess when we get older, for some of us, this time of year is a reminder that the good days are gone forever. The joy we felt as children will gather dust stored away in the file cabinets of our memories. As much as I try to forget that tonight is Christmas Eve, that anticipation, the giddy tickle in my belly, lingers like a phantom limb. As I feel it lightly, quickly it's chased away, my brain realizing that he is here now and that there is nothing to look forward to tomorrow. Only a day like all the others bearing no significance and certainly not that shining new camera the boy in me daydreams of. In this house, there is no tree. Nothing smells of cinnamon. No menorah, either. No hint of the holidays. Something I thought I would never miss and obviously it is not the lack of decorations or aromas, presents or religion, that catch me off guard with a gut punch but the souls, hearts, and faces of those who annoyed the puppy puke out of me for so long with their traditions and sentimentalities that I foolishly long for. It is not simply the passing of the past that hurts me. It is that my presence is not in their present and while I am presently presentless they share each others presence and exchange presents. If only they were gracing my home with their presence for an instance. The distance is a hindrance. My home couldn't handle their attendance. Enough.
I miss my family. This sucks.
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