When I was a child I used to watch for you.
Every Christmas I would stay up and wait, and watch, hoping just to catch a glimpse of you.
I would write to you, pouring my heart out, knowing you would read, knowing you would understand.
I would sit and wait, for as long as it took. I knew one day you’d come.
As I grew older I continued to watch for you, continued to spend my days looking for a glimpse.
I would sit and read by the fireplace listening out for you, hoping I’d catch your face.
I continued to pour out my heart to you in letters. I knew somehow you were watching me, that somehow you understood.
And though there was sometimes pain in the waiting, I knew one day you’d come.
Even as a young woman I would maintain my vigil.
I knew you were there, somewhere, thinking of me as I was thinking of you.
And I was content to sit by the fire and wait for you.
Content to watch the sky and the stars and listen for your arrival. I knew one day you’d come.
No matter how much older I got, how much my life changed, you remained a constant.
I would write to you every year, I would continue to wait.
Sometimes the waiting was long, tiring and hard. Sometimes my patience wore thin.
But if you ever felt those frustrations, I’m sorry for my lack of trust. I knew one day you’d come.
And now, this Christmas, I sit in my kitchen waiting, as I have always done.
And I still write to you, telling you everything that’s in my heart. Of all people in the world, I know you understand.
And as always I watch for you, and listen for you, knowing you are out there somewhere watching for me.
I know one day you’ll come.