It seems like just yesterday when they were last here,

Sharing their laughter and their love,

Playing silly games and offering warm hugs.

 

Telling bedtime stories,

Of giants and beanstalks,

Jack Horner and Miss Muffett too.

 

Family meals,

School plays,

And summertime fun.

 

The beach,

The boardwalk,

Taffy and arcades.

 

A milkshake and french fries,

Special times,

Fun times.

 

It seems like just yesterday when my mother held me in her arms,

While an aunt made goofy faces,

And funny sounds.

 

Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins,

Ah, yes, the cousins,

All sizes, all shapes.

 

Boys and girls alike,

Playing in the old barn,

Cowboys and cowgirls.

 

Pretend horses, and sticks for guns and bats,

Toy trucks and wagons,

A ride.

 

With me in the middle,

An uncle pulling,

And another to the rear.

 

Such joy,

When sometimes doing things,

Things we knew we shouldn’t.

 

Yes, we were carefree,

And worried not,

Life was forever.

 

Fireflies,

Hide-and-seek,

And freeze tag.

 

Seasons came and seasons went,

Holidays too,

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and each new year.

 

Sleigh bells,

Santa,

The tree, the lights, and the angel perched high above.

 

Turkeys and hams and holiday treats,

Presents and eggnog,

Joy and comfort.

 

But it’s mostly quiet now,

As I often sit, lost in thought,

They’re gone now.

 

My grandparents,

My parents, uncles, and aunts.

The givers of hugs, love, and much-cherished treats.

 

Times change,

Wrinkles come,

And memories fade.

 

Falling leaves,

Long, cold nights,

And sad, lonely hearts.

 

It’s almost Christmas,

And it seems like just yesterday,

But they’re no longer here.

8 replies
  1. janispattersonmysteries
    janispattersonmysteries says:

    I am now the oldest one on both sides of my family, and your poem made me weep, which doesn’t happen often. Thank you for sharing your memories.

  2. Pat Wood
    Pat Wood says:

    What a lovely poem, Lee. I’m sitting here, in a puddle of tears, remembering my own lost youth. My 98 year-old mother was the last of the generation before me, and she left us in April this year. Your words are especially poignant to me now.This, the first Christmas without her, we are finalizing the sale of her house. I was there today. All the furniture is gone now–picked up by grateful recipients or the consignment company who will sell it. Piles of knick-knacks sit in two corners. Some my daughter will take, the rest will be donated. All the Christmas memories crowd around me now. Your words touch me.

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