The verandah is old and needs some work.

I don’t mind.

I kind of like it.

It’s a bit like me, a little bit broken but functioning just fine.

The breeze swirls around me.

It’s refreshing

and

after days and days of rain,

we are all outside.

I’m feeling reflective and grateful as I watch the children play.

Mal is on his new bike.

He pedals up and down the yard, no training wheels at all.

I can’t believe he has learnt balance.

I watch him in awe.

The girls are doing their own thing.

Reading, listening to music, petting the small sausage dog.

AJ is perfecting back flips on the trampoline and

Noah and Ivy are in the sandpit.

David is relaxed and happy.

The sun envelopes us in rays of not too hot.

It has been a lovely day.

Tonight we are planning a BBQ feast.

Christmas time has been wonderful this year.

A little bit sad,

yes,

a little bit stressful

but lots of happy.

Ivy has celebrated as a well child for the first time since she was welcomed to the world.

She wears the little bag that holds her IV antibiotics constantly.

It’s just a tiny reminder though

that we are not quite there yet.

I sit on the verandah

and I think

that I never want to forget

the joy I am feeling on this day,

at this moment.

If I could package it, I would.

Save it up somehow.

I couldn’t find the perfect ornament for Willam’s tree this year.

Nothing seemed right.

I wanted it to be special,

reflective of the child who should have been five years old

and sitting in my loungeroom with the others, sweet anticipation of Christmas day

residing on his upturned face.

I couldn’t find that

and so I gave up.

On Christmas Eve I looked into the photo of my son.

It felt like abandonment.

I could have tried so much harder.

I should have

because these traditions are all that I have left of him now.

I can make excuses for myself,

declare exhaustion

tell myself that next year will be different

but will it.

His tree sits in the dining area and portrays four years of love and grief poured onto every branch.

Why this year has been diffferent, I’m not sure.

All I know is that today, 

I cannot shake the feeling that I have lost him

forevever.

We hope you have:

stacks of fun

and that your season is filled with

stacks of love,

stacks of happiness,

stacks of joy

and

stacks of laughter.

Peace to  you and yours,

from us  - the family with stacks of kids.