Merry Christmas

"It's stocking time, Grammy!"

I open my eyes in the dark, waiting to hear the sound of Owen's feet running down the stairs. I've slept here for six nights, and I've been woken up by Owen six mornings. Usually it's just a sweet face with a smattering of freckles, inches from my face, (wake up, Grammy!) then Owen climbs in bed with me for a few minutes of snuggling and sometimes reading. This morning is different. The Christmas routine in this house is stockings first, breakfast, then opening gifts. In order to keep the too-large-to-wrap gifts from being seen, Santa put the stockings downstairs in the family room, right next to my room. Owen calls for me again, but today there's no eager face willing me out from beneath my down comforter. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Old bones take a minute. Owen calls for me again, and I realize he is somewhere near, but the only light I see is coming through the well-windows. Owen calls it the crack of dawn, when there's light in the sky but the sun hasn't appeared yet. I follow the sound of his voice.

"Grammy, the light is right over there! You're looking right at it!" I flip on the switch and see Owen wrapped like a burrito sitting on the couch between two large stockings. He is ready and the sight of him waiting patiently in the dark makes me laugh. I guess Santa trumps Grammy this time.