My brother and I would be up by four am when we were children on Christmas morning.
We would creep down the stairs to the Christmas Tree to find a mountain of wrapped gifts, that had never been there before. Excitement would then burst noisily forth as we declared the house to be up, awake and celebrating as we screamed; "He's been, he's been!"
I have always loved Christmas. Still do. The magic of the possibility of there being a Santa, has never left my heart.
This year it has been different for me and yet easy not to celebrate with the same passion as I have before. I didn't buy a tree. I didn't try to bake gingerbread, make homemade cards or find a perfect gift. I just allowed it all to slide over and around me. Some of the pine needles hurt and some of the cinnamon fragrance is delightful.
I admit, tonight I stayed up beyond midnight. I thought perhaps it was allowed that a widow had a secret kiss, one last conversation of love or the feeling of warmth from a familiar hug. Sometimes I like my imagination and hope, and sometimes I don't care for it. I'm not even asking for three ghosts, just one, I just found myself saying.
I wish tonight for everyone that there is a magic that arrives, despite science, religion, fact or fiction.
Regardless of faith, hope or belief. I wish a tiny piece of bright white love may arrive and beautifully spiral into a sky full of miracles.
I guess I still want to believe.