Dear Richard,
It’s Christmas.
You’re not here. It’s not the same without you.
No country ham. We did have bacon, nice and crispy but not burnt.
Sarah passed out the gifts. You weren’t sitting cross-legged on the floor to get yours. Your stocking was empty. Unless you count all the thoughts of love that we sent out to you.
It was a nice morning – sort of.
Not as nice as the twenty-two Christmas mornings that we had you here with us.
And we didn’t go to the farm. Your uncle Stuart had to have back surgery a week ago and he can’t travel much. So we went to his house this time. You probably would have enjoyed it, even though you don’t like to change our traditions. They have a pool table and Foosball. There was a lot of heated compitition – just the way you like it.
Merry Christmas son.
We miss you.
Love,
Dad

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