Whenever this time of year rolls around, my thoughts inevitably turn to my Dziadziu. He has always epitomized the holidays for me, bringing everyone together, and even today, eight years after his passing, I still long to spend each holiday season within the warmth of his all-encompassing presence.
As a child, it’s pretty much a rite of passage to believe that the magic of Christmas is wrapped up in Santa Claus, presents, festive cookies, and crazy shenanigans with your cousins. It’s only when you’re older that you realize—and appreciate—where the true magic resides.
This one’s for my Dziadziu, to whom Christmas will always belong. And may my memory of him always burn bright.
The Magic Was You
When the winter winds whisper
And snowflakes speckle the silver sky
A misty ghost shimmers beyond the veil
Stirring up those age-old memories
Like sugar plums prancing in my head
A towering, twinkling evergreen
Safeguarding Santa’s yuletide bounty
Crackling Christmas flames
Bursting with sparklers and rainbows
Heads hung in sweet thanksgiving
Over oplatek tight in hand
The spicy scents of anise and fennel
Wafting in your warbling wake
As you sing Santa must be Polish
I can still hear the echo of you
The deep thrum of your voice
As you take your place before the tree
Regal yet plain
Bellowing our names in turn
And parceling out the piled-up presents
One by one to twenty-one
Eight years past and now I see
Riffling through my mind
Like the faded crinkled pages
Of a classic holiday flip book
A million moments merry and bright
Wrapped in the innocence and illusion
Of a child’s unwavering belief
In the magic of Ole Saint Nick
And the spirit of this holly jolly season
A child now fully grown
Who in the stifling silence of your absence
Has wistfully come to understand
That the magic was you
All along
*Image by Anne Nygård on Unsplash.
Tears flowing. 🥲Precious. 💙