A Box of Weeds

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Lucille looked out the window of her shack. Snow, accompanied by strong wind threatened to leave her buried by morning. She was supposed to be at her daughter’s house for Christmas, and she worried she might not be able to get there.

She laid the age-worn newspaper clipping on the table and threw on her coat. She just had to get to her daughter’s house! Christmas wouldn’t hold the same magic without her family near, plus her daughter’s house was just down the street.

Her fingers struggled to fasten the coat snug around her, but soon she was out the door. The wind stung her cheeks, and she could barely see anything. She knew the street well, but the whiteout left her confused, she didn’t know which way to go.

A soft orange glow shone in the distance. A light from a window, perhaps?

Lucille set her course for that light and stayed strong. She would make it to her daughter’s lovely home for her favorite holiday.

Just as her toes were beginning to ache with cold and her fingers had gone numb in her pockets, she reached the window. The house looked more beautiful than she remembered! Her daughter waited and threw the door open to welcome her inside.

The meal, the festive decorations, and the love of family warmed Lucille’s heart that evening. When her daughter asked her to move in with her, and share a home together, Lucille wept. Finally, she and her daughter would be together again.

When Lucille’s friend, Old Fred found her body the next morning, huddled in a frozen heap near the door of her home, coat half buttoned, her daughter’s obituary beside her, he sobbed. What a shame it was to die senile and alone.