Rain tapped the window.  An old movie lit the room from the television in the corner.  The rest of the house was silent.  And empty.  It was the first Christmas Eve I had spent entirely alone.  One can wonder how a person can get so far  into life, into adulthood, and never have experienced it.  Oh, I’ve always been alone.  But this time, I was also by myself.

The next morning I was to awake to an unchanged, empty house.  No tree; no presents; no warm breakfast with a table of family and friends.

Everything around me reminded me of Christmases past.  A commercial played my favorite carol.  A fleeting image made me think of my father.  My mother, I knew, was also alone.  That was part of the problem.  My decision not to return to Kansas City for the holiday had been a rational one.  But, I was not sure it was the right one.  She is my responsibility.  The previous year, she had been there for me.  She flew back to Nashville as soon as she heard I’d been transferred to the rehab hospital.  When she got to my room, it was just in time to share in the dinner that friends had brought.  The nurses found a roll-away bed for her and she slept right near my bed.

A year later, I’d left her to wake up alone in her house on Christmas morning.  I felt terrible.  She went to an extended family Christmas that night.  The next day, my brother and his wife would visit and play solitare with her while they drank tea and talked.

I hope she enjoys it.  I hope she has a good Christmas.  I’m sorry.