The First Christmas

Today’s the first day of December. Look up at the sky tonight and it seems like the moon is smiling down at us. Almost like it’s being reassuring.

Christmas used to be something to look forward to. Usually, our house would have Christmas decor by November. The tree would be up by my birthday. We’d have pretty white lights above our garage with the capiz parol that’s been with us for years now.

But until now, there is no tree. Half of our stuff’s been moved out, but it seems like we’re still spending our Christmas here in this house. In this half-empty house.

I went to the mall tonight with Daddy and my brother in hopes of getting some holiday shopping done—I ended up buying more stuff for myself/the kitchen than gifts for people. And I remembered how we’d always shop for gifts on the 24th, because Mommy would always say that there would be less people. That and well, we’ve always been last-minute in most things.

I know I should have expected to feel this way. But it still feels odd and unfamiliar to me. When I sit in the living room with my Daddy on Sunday afternoons, I realize how lonely it must be for him. This house is too big for us now. The space seems to have expanded somehow. And when I asked him today if talking about her makes him sad, I almost wish I didn’t, because he looked away, trying not to cry.

Sometimes I wonder if it’ll ever get easier. If I’ll ever get used to it.

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