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They were here again.

A gauntlet, they all lined up

And I faced them again without you


I dressed up this year

A brave war-like Klingon, with a long cape and war staff

And I remembered when I met you at the school bus

After a school trip when you were 13

I dressed up in an alien mask and a long black robe

All the kids on the bus were wondering, “Who IS that?”

Except for you – you knew who it was…

I stood there silently in front of the bus door, holding your mask and your cape


You were the last kid off the bus.

Without a word

You took the mask, put it on, took the robe and draped it across your shoulders

We got in our VW bug and drove away laughing all the way with kids cheering behind us


I did not cook this year

I went with friends to the Lake Forest Buffet at Harrah’s at Lake Tahoe.

As I looked out over the lake and had a shrimp on my fork,

I remembered you didn’t come over for that last Thanksgiving

It was the first Thanksgiving we were apart

But you were in love and Joyce wanted you at her family dinner

You said, “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

…but you weren’t.


I still can’t celebrate the whole damn thing.

The tree was finally up with only Star Trek ornaments.

The newsletters were written and mailed.

The god-daughters came over and made soap and hand lotion

They opened their mountains of presents.

I went to bed early.

Exhausted with keeping busy and preoccupied, so the pain couldn’t come.

New Years

I watched an around-the-world program

Alone and viewing what the rest of the world was doing.

I sat in my chair and watched people living it up

Drinking and laughing and trying to be noticed by the camera

Countries of happy people

Crowds dancing in the street

And I still knew there was one person missing

I went to bed late

Exhausted from the letting the pain in

Letting it go through me

I came out on the other side

Surprised that I was still somewhat sane

I woke prepared for another year ahead

With and without you.