I miss you. I’m wishing for a Dwight Christmas filled with you reading A Child’s Christmas in Wales, our Christmas tree from Grandpa McCurry, marathons of Lonesome Dove and snow.
Here we are with Dr. Bill and Dr. Jeff at Stein Eriksen Lodge. The three of you took me to The Game Room and introduced me to a bottle of 1970 Chateau LaFite Rothschild. Unfortunately, at 18, I failed to appreciate it.
In 1993, we spent Christmas in Boulder, Colorado. You gave me a ring. Explaining, “I never ask a question to which I don’t know the answer,” you called it a “friendship ring.” Few women have friends like you, my love.
We used the photos Dennis took as our “engagement photos,”even though you never asked me to marry you.
One year, you gave me this poem.
Last year, at this time, I was watching and re-watching episodes of The Newsroom in preparation for our conversations. I called and called. Nothing. I worried.
This is my second Christmas without you.
I’m wishing for a very Dwight Christmas because, ever since you left, you’ve been here.