December 24, 2012
Twenty-one months today, Christmas Eve.
Her stocking is so tiny. Appropriately, I suppose. White fabric and red stitching. Empty.
I’ve been thinking about putting a handwritten note in it this year. Something to fill the empty pocket.
I’ve thought about adding a note every Christmas, and keeping them in there year round, until I add another note, until her stocking has lost it’s color and the stitching is coming apart and it’s stuffed full of letters from a heartbroken old man, still hopelessly in love, still missing his little girl.
December 24, 2012: