By the middle of November, Christmas had begun appearing in the stores.
There were strings of lights above the pharmacy counter and a small artificial tree near the grocery store entrance.
I bought a box of greeting cards and a roll of wrapping paper.
I wasn't planning anything elaborate.
The children were still young enough to enjoy simple things.
A few presents.
Some cookies.
A tree with ornaments that didn't match.
That was enough.
One afternoon, Michelle brought the children to my house after school.
Sadie ran inside carrying a drawing.
Her brother followed with a backpack hanging from one shoulder.
"Grandma, look what I made!"
She spread the paper across the kitchen table.
It showed a house with a red roof, a blue door, and a window that took up nearly the whole front wall.
There was a porch swing beneath it.
Three figures stood outside.
I pointed to the smallest one.
"Is that you?"
Sadie nodded.
"And that's Mommy."
She pointed to the taller figure.
Then she pointed to the third.
"That's you, Grandma."
I smiled.
"Why am I so tall?"
"Because you're the grandma."
Her brother leaned over the picture.
"Grandma, are you coming to live with us for Christmas?"
I looked at him.
"No, sweetheart. I'll be staying here."
He frowned.
"But you could sleep downstairs."
I felt Michelle go still beside the counter.
I knew she had heard him.
I set the drawing down carefully.
"Remember, honey, I have my own house now."
He looked puzzled.
"But Grandma's supposed to be with the family."
The words were innocent.
That made them harder to answer.
I pulled out a chair and sat beside him.
"I am with the family. I just don't live in the same house."
He considered that.
"Why not?"
I looked toward Michelle.
She was watching me, waiting to see how I would respond.
I could have told him that the basement was too small.
I could have said that the rent was too expensive.
I could have blamed the arrangement on grown-up problems.
Instead, I chose a simpler answer.
"Because Grandma likes having a home of her own."
He glanced around my kitchen.
"Even when you're alone?"
"Even then."
Sadie climbed into the chair beside me.
"Can we come here on Christmas?"
I smiled.
"Of course."
Michelle turned from the counter.
"We were hoping to talk to you about that."
I looked at her.
She wiped her hands on a dish towel.
"We'd love to have you over for Christmas dinner. But if you'd rather host something here, we can work that out, too."
I was touched by the offer.
More than she probably realized.
"I'd like to have you all here for a little while," I said. "But I don't have room for a big dinner."
"We could bring the food," she replied.
"That would help."
"And we can clean up afterward."
I laughed.
"Now that sounds like a reasonable arrangement."
Michelle smiled.
The children went into the living room to play.
For several minutes, we stood together in the kitchen.
Then Michelle said, "I'm glad you told them that."
"Told them what?"
"That you can be part of the family without living with us."
I looked at her.
"I thought they should understand."
She nodded.
"I think I needed to hear it, too."
I didn't know what to say.
So I reached for the dish towel and began drying the cups.
Sometimes a person can say something that deserves no answer beyond allowing it to be true.
The following Sunday, I went to the store to buy a small artificial Christmas tree.
The larger trees were too expensive, and I didn't want to spend money I might need later.
I found one in a cardboard box near the back of the aisle.
It was barely four feet tall.
I carried it to the checkout and brought it home.
Setting it up took longer than I expected.
One of the branches wouldn't stay in place.
The stand was crooked.
I had to read the instructions twice.
But when I finally plugged in the lights, the little tree glowed in the corner of the living room.
I stood back and looked at it.
It wasn't the kind of tree Dale and I used to have.
Ours had been tall enough to touch the ceiling.
We'd decorated it with ornaments Michelle made at school and strings of lights that never seemed to work properly.
But this tree belonged to a different chapter of my life.
I placed the photograph of the children beside it.
Then I hung one of Dale's old ornaments on the lowest branch.
It was a small wooden star he'd bought at a church craft sale years earlier.
I sat on the couch and watched the lights.
For the first time in a long while, Christmas didn't feel like something I had to get through.
It felt like something I could choose to enjoy.
That evening, Michelle called.
She asked whether I wanted the children to sleep over one night during the school holiday.
I thought about it.
My little house had only two rooms.
The children would have to share the living room, and I would need to prepare extra bedding.
But I liked the idea.
"One night would be lovely," I said.
She sounded pleased.
"We'll bring their pajamas and everything they need."
"Good."
"And if it's too much, just tell me."
I smiled.
"I will."
After we hung up, I looked at the small Christmas tree again.
I had once worried that choosing my own home would mean losing my place in the family.
Now I was beginning to see that there were other ways to stay close.
A visit.
A shared meal.
A night of stories and blankets on the living room floor.
None of those things required me to give up my front door.
I turned off the kitchen light and went to bed.
The little tree remained glowing in the next room.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: When Michelle Brought the Christmas Decorations, She Asked a Question She Should Have Asked Before We Ever Discussed the Basement
My Daughter Put a Price on Being Her Mother, but Two Keys in My Hand Reminded Me That I Still Had a Choice
Part 11 of 20
