Here it comes again. Tis the season. The twenty-sixth Christmas without news or knowledge about what happened to my missing son. Again trying to insert myself into the twinkle and spark of another festive season.
There is a bumpy winding road to negotiate until the New Year. Full of Emotional obstacles to anticipate and get ahead of. Family traditions to enact out of an obligation to lift my own spirits. Anticipation of others needs and wants at this time and not be the wet blanket. I will do my part. I am bombarded by the shiny hype of it. Reminded with every advertisement. Happy smiling people in Christmas attire of one sort or another. It’s fun, heartwarming, kind. Unless your heart is shattered. Emotive appeals for giving and goodwill. Any faith left in me has been worn away over the years. It’s hanging by a thread somewhere in my soul. Not quite gone. Was it ever there? I think it was. I can’t lean on it now it would be pointless – 26 years is plenty of time for a miracle to happen. Times running out for me and Ed. I can see the horizon and it’s flat.
His name is Damien.
We miss him so much.
Can you help us?
Do you know?
It’s time!
