For the ninth year in a row, my child will not wake me up
before dawn to open his presents this year. The almighty biased judge ruled my
son should live primarily with the destroyer of our family, not the one who
fought to save it.
This year, because of the cost of airfare, Nik will not get
to Arizona until in the evening of Dec. 29. We’ll open our Christmas gifts to
each other on Dec. 30, but the morning of Dec. 30 is not Christmas morning.
I’ll smile and appear festive in front of family and friends
on Christmas day, but it’s all a façade. It’s the same façade I stand behind
302 days a year, but my Christmas façade is a heavier burden to bear. Perhaps
I’ll be able to sneak away and find a secluded and dark spot to cry my eyes
out. The problem is when I’ve had those rare moments in the past, the tears
don’t come. You see, the destroyer not only ruined my dreams for an idyllic
family, she also ripped out my ability to cry. I guess I shed my God given
supply of tears during my futile fight.
Savor every second you are physically with your child, my
friend. Savor every hug. Savor every kiss. Savor every time they laugh and they
make you laugh, because someday you won’t be together. And then all your
problems of today will seem rather trivial.
I pray that day for you comes later rather than sooner.
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