It was I who was filled with doubt…

I, who never thought there was a route

That would negate…

The reason for the season.

And yet it happened

Or tried to happen.

I lost the rapture.

I lost my way…

I let the pain of loss

Toss me into self-imposed exile.

I would withdraw; I would defile

The reason for the season.

It started with my antique nativity scene.

Just one decoration to calm me.

One reason for the season as balm.

The birth of life in the face of death.

But somehow, unwillingly, the rest

Of my meagre symbols just followed.

 

A top hat, a woolen scarf, a carrot for a nose,

But it was the coal-filled eyes and etched smile

That reached into my cold heart and rose

Like a beacon of light through the darkened miles,

Bringing warmth to my emptiness.

 

Something thawed or I was left in awe

Of the reason for the season.

It was so much greater than all my pain!

My boycott faded like snow emerging from the rain,

Soft white petals of cleansing snowflakes.

A whisper of breath through a shadowy room;

Bright white candles to dispel the gloom,

A reason for the season.

And suddenly I knew he was with the angels

And watching me caress the snowmen

As I had touched his cold hand for the last time.

The widow smiled through her tears

And tucked away her anger and fear.

I will never be alone

For there are many reasons

… For the season.

It was a year ago…

But just as poignant today.

Never let go of the reason for the season.

 —Poem and final photo by Deborah A. Bowman