The Lost Son

“Everyone, thank you for the lovely gifts,” Grandpa said.  “I love you all, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” my Mom told him getting up to hug him.  “Who wants coffee?”

“I do,” several said.

Grandpa stared into the fire, as if in a trance, a quietness enveloping him.

“You okay, Grandpa?”  I asked, climbing on his lap.

“Of course, sweetie, of course.”

“You miss Danny, don’t you?”

“I miss him most at Christmas; it was his favorite time of year.”

As we sat gazing into the fire, a shadowy figure appeared, Danny had made it after all.



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2 responses to “The Lost Son

  1. Hey, a sweet one! Well done, Leanne.

  2. Excellent, Leanne. Well done.

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