It’s a post party morning. The grand-kids are asleep on the couch. The daughter is in the upstairs guest room, the room formerly known as my office. The house is quiet. There are clear skies over the pasture. We had a good night last night. Families gathered with their children, young and old. We watched the fireworks from the end of the drive. Clouds obscured the sky. We saw flashes. Heard bangs. Everyone was still excited.

We then passed out the tiny flashlights and went trekking through the park into town. Kids ran. They bubbled. The adults tried to keep track. We bubbled, too. There was a mist. No one noticed. We walked into the lights of the park. They were bright and joyous. The kids ran. They played tag with strangers. We tried to keep track. It was fun. We walked some more. We saw horse-drawn carriages. Christmas trees. Santa Claus. Nativity scenes. People, all laughing and talking.

We made our way home. More walking. Little legs were weary. They left wet shoes on the porch. They finished off the sweets. Played some more. The adults sat and talked. Told stories. Argued a bit about deviled eggs. Long story there. We had a drink or two. Then people said their goodbyes, bundled up children, and we all vowed to meet again next year to feel the joy of Christmas and Thanksgiving and children running underfoot, learning to love life.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale