He’s 19 now and stands tallest in our family...stands tallest when I stand back and watch.
Tradition runs deep with him…even now…especially now.
This day and our tradition. I love that it means something to him still, though probably seems a simple thing to most; a few moments spent placing little buildings and figurines in the perfect Christmas town scene…just like last year and each precious year before it.
He notices that we still pull it from the original box, all taped and torn.
And me all ragged and smiling bright inside, holding on to this moment ~ this perfect, precious shred of "mom and son;" the boy now a man.
How many more years will we be here?
How many more times to dust off the old box and bring out the memories?
To talk and laugh of all the times before; give presence and worth to the past. And I wonder,
will he still do it when I’m gone and it’s only him,
A man grown and smiling bright inside,
When it’s up to him to bring out the box
To set up the town and dust off the memories
So precious and few?