How often do we wander through busy lives, trying to do the best we can and leaving those we love somewhere behind? If there were a magical Christmas during which we could bring people back for one day, whom would we ask, what gifts would we give?

If I could call forth someone for one more Christmas, to share a few more moments with me, who would it be? Would it be my mother, my selfless, giving and unappreciated Mom? Would I have some of her favorite candies under the tree, a few romance novels wrapped up in my love?

Or would it be my Dad, the man that my siblings and I still refer to as Daddy, who will always be my Daddy? Would I find some tool that would delight him, a sweater, a tie? Or would I be content to show him the grandchildren he never met?

Or would it be my sister Kathleen, the loving, generous, courageous sister that died on Christmas day. What could you give to someone who demonstrated courage beyond anything I have ever known?

Or my brother, Richard, whose fight with cancer and heart disease was epic and whose generosity and love were legendary? In rapidly-failing health he struggled to complete a beautiful cabinet for his niece, my daughter, Emily. I’d sit him next to two of his grandnephews, Tommy and Will, and watch the joyous revelry.

My grandmother would be on the top of the list; the woman who taught me to be present in life. A kinder, more loving woman never existed, save perhaps her daughter. What could I possibly put under the tree but, as for my father, an introduction to her great-grandchildren? What wonderful gifts these introductions would be for my children.

And because I firmly believe that our companion animals have souls, I would invite Tippy, Snuffer, Puppy, Chica and Kiki to the feast. Their selfless love was a gift beyond price. Their bowls would be filled with whatever canine or feline food that would be their delight.

But there are others, still inhabiting this earth, that I would love to have there too. Old friends with whom I spent much time carving out both a present and a future, friends who have been lost in the calamity and business of our lives. People who were friends, but for many reasons have drifted away, some because of attrition, some because of the peccadilloes of life that separate us from one another. I would reach across whatever has separated us to touch their hands and tell them how much I care for them, how, despite the breach of time and whatever pulled us apart, I keep them in my heart.

What things could keep us apart? What banalities rend those intimate connections?

Sometimes the silliness of it all is astounding. How often in our lives do disagreements occur between folks that are absurd, even trivial? We dispute ideas; we dispute concepts, not relationships, but unfortunately the personal always enters, the ego is bruised and the fences go up, on each side a combination of resentment and sadness.

So I would add those that stand on the other side of the fences that have been built in my life and hope that Christmas would be a way through.

In truth, there are no gifts that I could give those who have passed. I would trust that the life I have lived, the one I am living – with all of its mistakes, faults and so forth – would make them proud on some level, at least the one that has something to do with trying. I would hope that they would feel the love that I have for them, how I hold them in the highest esteem; that I hope to be only fractionally as good as they were. I would offer the idea of Christmas, the joy of my childhood and that of my children, of the work that I have done and am doing. I would point out all of the wonderfully generous, kind and talented people who populate our world and my life and remind them that they are the models against which I appraise all others.

And for my friends, those who still are and those who were, I have only myself, flawed and decrepit, but still able to enjoy a funny story or tell one, still able to see the glass (with the help of spectacles) as half full and aching to reconnect and live a life as God has ordained, fully human … the melding of the strengths that we have and those we don’t … an understanding that we must both give and receive.

I wish them all, with all I have, the love that is the absolute measure of Christmas.