In the process of gathering up and carefully storing all of our assorted Christmas crap, I ran across the box of mismatched and orphaned Christmas cards.
Every year, I buy three boxes of Christmas cards -- a religiously-themed box, a vulgar/funny box and a non-denominational box. Inevitably, there are leftovers, and just about every third year I can get away with not purchasing cards. For convenience, all the cards are stacked in a shoebox -- usually with a few stray cards and envelopes from people that need to be added to next years' card list.
At the bottom of the box was a colorful card with a Bethlehem scene on it -- sort of blocky and whimsical -- and covered in scribbles of dreadful handwriting. Three sides of the card were filled with bad puns, academic gossip and random, stream-of-consciousness goofiness.
William's card. From last Christmas.
I knelt there on the floor. First I teared up, and then I just flat-out sobbed for all I was worth.
I miss my friend.
When I had gotten myself under control again, I carefully closed the card and tucked it safely back into the box.
The life of the dead is placed in the heart of the living. -- Cicero