“Are you excited, honey? It’s Christmas morning!”

The voice of my mother calls from down the hall. She walks towards my room, but I’ve been up for hours, waiting for this moment. Childish excitement running through me, my patience could barely last another second as she throws the door open and greets me with a hug and a smile.

“Good boy, leaving your pajamas on all night!” She tells me, and I look down at my pajamas: red and green with teddy bears wearing Santa hats. My favorite pair. Of course I’d leave them on all night.

“There’s a tear there,” she points out, under my arm. “We’ll have to get you a new pair! Maybe Santa brought you some?”

I follow behind her as she leads me to the living room. Only, as we turn the corner, father isn’t there, and neither are my brother or sister. There’s not even a tree. My vision settles and I’m staring at a family portrait, taken when everyone was happy. Before life happened, as it always does.

The kettle on the stove whistles. I shake my head. I’m sixty-four years old and alone. Mother isn’t here on Christmas morning.