I look for him in the season.

In the beauty of the fairy lights, in the long afternoons, that stretch into orange sunsets.

I hear him in the quiet songs, the carols of yesteryear and I hang onto the words of the sad tunes.

They herald a time that is both happy and sad. 

A time of joy and thankfulness

but a time of loss and a time when my family feels incomplete.

Every year more people forget.

They choose not to continue traditions started the year of his death.

Every year that passes  it gets harder to mention him, to bring him into the fold of the family.

People, who I love, look down and scuff their feet along the ground or look away at the sound of his name.

Their discomfort almost as apparent as his absence.

They make statements of mistruth, because;

 everyone is not here.

There is a small boy missing.

It seems to be the way of people though

and so I look for the signs that he is  with me, in the still of the Summer nights.

I look for him in the angels and the ornaments. I look for him in the sky.

I look on my own,

because I cannot forget him.

Written as part of Warrior Wednesday - for Al, and for Zy and for all the babies lost but mostly for William, my resolute protector.