Inconstant Moon

I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
- Sammy Fain / Irving Kahal

Dear Rachel,

Well, it’s Christmas again. Lots of pretty lights, melodious bells, stockings hung by the chimney with care, carols sung by the choir, and all of that. This used to be my favorite time of year: The family all together (a rarity, what with the two of you in college and living in Virginia and Texas), the two sisters snuggled on the couch (making jokes about Nebraska, usually), great smells wafting in from the kitchen . . . . Secrets whispered behind cupped hands and jokes told aloud.

The holidays are hard, now. We all remember you, and we miss you; what should be a time of joy becomes instead of time of shared sorrow. We’re still gathering at home (Amy having just graduated from TCU—you would’ve been so proud of your baby sister!), but your absence makes it tough to find any joy in the gifts, the family outings, the visits to friends’ homes. We all try to celebrate, but the spirit of the season vanished when you were taken from us. I don’t know if we’ll ever get it back.

It’s getting cold, here in Nebraska, but I still go out on the back deck and I look up at the stars and I wonder which one is you. Which sharp point of silvery, twinkling light is my little girl? Are you out there anywhere? Can you feel us missing you? Do you know how much we loved you, and how much we still love you?

Lesley and I don’t really need or want much this Christmas. We have cars and clothes and a house and toys and, most importantly, we have each other. And the one thing we want most in the world is the one thing we can’t have, of course.

Love,

Dad