Christmas Will Never Be Quiet The Same
By Marie Teague 
The Christmas tree will never be quite as straight and tall. The cookies always seem just the tiniest bit burnt.

The laughter at parties just isn’t quite as hearty. The crowds at the stores are annoying, and I rush through my shopping, passing up the gift that would be “just right” for one which will “just do”.

The songs of chestnuts and open fires and snow and love leave me weepy, not warm.

But late at night, all by myself, I hold your blanket close to my heart, and my eyes catch glimpses of your angels on the tree, your candle, and your stocking (with a rose from Daddy’s garden peeking out of the top!), and I feel your baby hand on my cheek, and smell the sweetness of your velvet-skin.

Then the sadness leaves my face, and I am filled with my love for you.
Merry Christmas, Brian Christopher.
Merry Christmas, Little Man.