This season of goodwill like any other,
truths and half-truths,
embedded over time,
engraved upon the mind,
imbibed by wounded hearts.
The first one is the worst.
An adage saved for the season,
a cliché captured for a reason,
an old wives’ tale laden with superstition,
a truth half-baked.
Enforced upon the bereaved
who cannot yet know
what is true.
What is true is –
The second one is worse.
For this one bears transparent horror
that this is it.
And grief is entwined with the season
as turkey is to ham
and tinsel is to tree.
For missing you is all there’ll ever be.
There is another
proverb, well worn, and born
of age and wisdom.
And this one is unfathomable, but true –
on the cusp of a third Christmas without you –
Good tidings of comfort and joy!