December Memory

  By Emily Balchan

“I’m going to kiss you!”

I squealed to my sister,

my small body rushing forward

to smooch her cheek.

The memory faded in my mind,

but not in technology.

It’s one of the oldest videos

saved on my phone.

Those photos eventually decayed,

dying with my phone battery -

forgotten, replaced by my greed.

Instead of capturing moments,

I cared more about dolls, bracelets,

the shiny, popular things

My friends and I talked about it at school.

When I was younger,

My family decorated gingerbread houses.

Jelly tots here, icing over there,

stories created out of thin air.

It was fun -

The party had just begun.

Now, not everyone is here.

The passion slowly smeared,

icing spread thin and careless,

an ugly reminder of better times—

when effort was made with love

instead of exhaustion.

Whenever I clear my storage,

I watched the video again.

It makes me smile,

but I don’t feel inspired to take more.

I feel grateful.

Grateful I experienced something so beautiful.

Things aren’t the same.

They never will be.

People grow colder, quieter, harder to read.

Sometimes it’s difficult to tell

who gives gifts made with warmth

and who gives them out of obligation.

Still, there are moments

when we celebrate what was lost -

our gem,

the heart of our family.

It’s nice when we all laugh.

Recently, we record the younger ones -

their report cards,

their performances,

their shy smiles.

As I stand behind the camera,

I smile to myself.

This will be a memory like mine -

one they’ll cherish someday.

People come and go.

However, memories don’t.