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.