You always celebrated Christmas a few months early.
You would string up your lights on the first day of school,
setting up your fake tree as soon as you got home.

Halloween was always on the last day of June.
Neighbors would yell as you and your brother
visited every house on the street, begging for sweets.

You'd take random days off, calling them holidays.
Martin Luther King Day, Columbus Day, Memorial Day
would always be on the days of tests and exams.

I remember when you pulled me along with you.
You said it was Valentine's Day and that you had something to show me,
something so secret in the middle of December.

I remember the lights, the reds and pinks.
Your smile was so bright, so wide, so joyful
as you told me you loved me.

It was my birthday, that day, so long ago.
I'm happy it is the same date of our anniversary,
our wedding, and that of our first child.

You taught our daughters to run with smiles on their faces.
They grew to be just like you - just as willing to do anything
to make anyone laugh.

My only regret is that you could not see them grow so much.
As I visit your grave on our anniversary, I'll take them with me,
so they can know to celebrate life and not death.