Our Season's Feast

In our lives each Holiday serves its own entries,
sometimes warm and satisfying others far too bittersweet.

Sitting in a house only two years old
replacing the one my father owned that became ours when he died.

But in the twinkle of lights I remember
of the year fight with relatives that never heal dimmed their glow,
about the December without a job,
one when death by suicide ruined the spirit
as well as the occasion when my mother was dying of cancer.

Stuffing it in the stocking
with the memories of cherished first experiences,
toddler son walking at last on Christmas Eve,
having that deep gratitude of first festive occasion
after thinking my own life was about to end in the hospital,
then knowing the sweetest delight
when holding my first grandson.

Gazing into his vulnerable eyes
hoping that perhaps
I can make his own memories
filled more with love than tears.