It's eight o'clock in the morning and I lay here in the bed next to Ma. I have my arms wrapped around her and I kiss her cheek. Just like the old times and I was a young boy. Only this time she won't kiss or hug me back. I woke up early to take a shower and get ready for my day. It's Christmas time and that means a million cards, catalouges and packages. I sensed something was not right so I went to check on Ma. I called out for her and no answer. I walked over to see if she was at least alert and she wasn't. No pulse in her wrist or neck, no warmth in her wrinkly skin.

I knew she was gone. I didn't cry out because it wouldn't do any good. She wasn't coming back. There was nothing for me to do except love what was left of her. I didn't call the funeral home to come take her because I'm not ready to let her go. I know my father's number is written somewhere near by but I'm not calling him either. The last thing I want to see is that bastard with his fake empathy for his son and wife he left behind.

I now just started to cry. I just realized what a team me and Ma really were. It was always us against the world. This woman was the one who told me everything I needed to know about everything. I always like to pass along her knowledge even if nobody likes to hear it. There were times where I was hard on her for being hard on me. Yet I know she just wanted me to be a good man. I hope with working for the U.S postal service, a love of gardening, and my shared interest in trivial things sum it all up for her.

I get out of bed and wipe the tears away. It's taking me all I got just to get down the hallway. Past the pictures of yesteryear that I am so desparately trying not to look at. It's tearing me up again. The living room at the far right of the apartment doesn't help either. The Christmas tree decorated with all the ornaments we collected over the years were one by one slapping me in the face. I do my best to shake it off as I pick up the phone to reach the morgue. I get throught okay and go through the routine information before I tell them that I wasn't going to be here when they got here. I know it's crazy but I have to go to work. I'm a U.S postal worker and Ma wouldn't want me to sulk at home when there were important Christmas stuff people were anticipating. So that's what I'm going to do.

I get off the phone, grab my coat and hat, and step out the door to the frigid winter air. The puffs of my breath fog up my observation of our apartment. Everybody's lights and decorations were all colors of the rainbow and pierced my heavy, dark soul. God, how I wish I could go to Cheers and just down beers until I couldn't comprehend anything. I know how Norm feels day after day and it sucks. I put one foot in front of the next and turn away. Keep going, Cliff, I think to myself. Focus on your job and just get to Cheers because that's my home.