Morning

Morning

Looking out her front window at the street she’s lived on all her life. It was just getting light, it was Christmas day.

Most of the neighbors had left their Christmas lights on all night, a tradition in her neighborhood. She’d been sitting there enjoying the lights as the sky began to get lighter. It snowed two days ago, so there was still a sliver of white snow coating many things, but the colorful lights all shown clear and bright.

The tree in front of her neighbor’s across the street was decorated, as usual, just as if it were in their living room waiting for the kids to get up and come searching for their presents from Santa. She always pretended it was her tree, her presents, her exciting Christmas morning.

She used to have that life here many years ago. Her house, her tree, her family. All gone now. Her husband long past, her daughter, passing so young. Why not herself she often wondered. Why did she have to stay alone?

She did enjoy the stay. She worked many years and loved her job. She volunteered often and belonged to wonderful clubs. But she got tired after a while. Tired of being alone, tired of her single life. Still, she always loved Christmas.

It was just too much now to decorate so she pretended all the decorations on the street were hers. She sat at the window and watched, thinking of Santa and presents and years long past when those things were real.

They found her there in her chair later that day when one of her neighbors tried to drop off cookies and saw her through the window. She was cold and stiff now, but she was still smiling.