A heavy snow was falling,
when Sonny came that day.
He'd driven down from Boston,
three years he'd been away.
Three years of humdrum jobs
and a marriage gone awry.
He could use some Christmas cheer
and the love that moms provide.

A cozy fireplace welcomed
as he entered their foyer.
He said, "I'm here for Christmas.
Is her room down this hallway?"
It was then the nurses warned him
that her mind was nearly gone.
They said she would not know him.
He replied, "But I'm her son."

Through the intercom was playing
a merry Christmas hymn,
outside the lights were twinkling,
but her room was quiet and dim.
"Hi, Mom, I'm here for Christmas."
He hoped she'd be surprised,
but even though he would not see it,
confusion cloaked her eyes.

"Mom, I wrapped some presents.
We can decorate a tree.
I brought you walnut fudge,
like you always made for me.
It'll be just like old times,
just like when I was young.
We'll watch the snow drift down
and sing those songs we sung."

But her tired old eyes were glazed,
and her knotted fingers fumbled.
He listened for her answer,
but the sounds she made were mumbled.
"Mom, don't you remember?"
He attempted to relate.
"You gave me G.I. Joe
the Christmas I was eight."

"Mama, do you know me?"
He pleaded one more time.
"I made you paper angels
the Christmas I was nine."
He took her hands in his
and searched her wrinkled face
for signs of recognition,
But there simply was no trace.

He bit his lips and blinked,
and somehow held the tears,
for he knew the nurse was right.
There'd be no Christmas here.
His heart was crushed and grieved;
yet nothing could be done.
Then he felt her grasp his hand
and clearly say, "My son!"

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