When I was a kid Christmas was special. The house was done up in decorations. We had the tree, the wreath on the door, and the advent candles in the window. Mom used to put garland across the mantle and hung oversized stockings with our names on them. Dad hung the lights along the eaves and the front door. The homemade fudge and cookies, the chocolate on the rice crispies treats, were like heaven sent foods. Mom always let us open one present before going to bed on Christmas eve. It took me forever to figure out why they were always new pajamas.

We kids grew up and moved out. Mom and Dad moved to Florida. We kids grew apart. Each found a place in a different state.

I found you, and we married. And for a time I thought we were happy. I never suspected that you would leave me. But you did.

Home is where love lives. The home I grew up in is gone. The one I tried to make with you, never was. I live alone now, in a small apartment, not a house, and certainly not a home.

I won’t be home for Christmas, again.