Alone - but Not Truely Alone

Trigger Warning: Grief, Loss of a loved one, Illness/Cancer

Clara sat on the floor of the lounge room in her small apartment, staring at the large container that held the Christmas tree. The container had been sitting in the middle of the lounge room for twenty days—since the 1st of December. For twenty days, she had walked past it, unable to summon the will to pull the lid off and tackle the task within. Finally, she had found the courage to remove the lid, but now, an hour later, she still hadn’t made any progress. Her eyes stared blankly at the container, her hands idle, while her mind churned with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, keeping her from taking the next step.

The holiday season—particularly Christmas—had always been Clara’s least favourite time of the year. At least, it had been for most of her life. While others celebrated family, exchanged gifts, and decorated their homes, Clara experienced the opposite. For her, the holidays were filled with hope, only to have it shattered again and again. December was the worst month, filled with arguments, fights to put food on the table, and a longing that had soured into bitterness as the years passed in her dysfunctional family. Though she was never alone during the holidays, it was far from enjoyable.

That began to change ten years ago, when William entered her life like a summer storm—powerful and unexpected. At 22, Clara had been unprepared for the way he challenged her outlook. Their first Christmas together had been a revelation. William, shocked by her lack of enthusiasm and decorations, had shown up with a box full of festive ornaments, ready to transform her home into a Christmas wonderland. Instead, she had broken down and refused. Overcome by guilt, she explained her complicated feelings about the holiday. William had taken it in his stride, packing everything back up without complaint.

But he wasn’t discouraged. He asked if they could do just one thing: buy a tree. Reluctantly, Clara agreed. The tree was simple and plain, but it became the foundation of something transformative. That Christmas, William gifted her a single ornament—a Grinch holding a candy cane. It was silly, yet it started a tradition. The next year, he gave her another whimsical ornament, and they added it to the tree. The following year, Clara agreed to put up the tree on the 1st of December and even picked out an ornament herself.

Over time, their collection of quirky ornaments grew, along with Clara’s love for the season. William’s boundless enthusiasm introduced her to new traditions—baking cookies, leaving milk out for Santa, and scouring shops for the ugliest decorations they could find. What had once been a cold, dreaded time became warm and joyful, all because of William.

Then came the diagnosis. Six years ago, doctors told William he had a rare and aggressive brain cancer. They gave him a year to live. In true William fashion, he defied the odds. He stayed healthy longer than anyone expected, and in that time, they bought a home, got married, and built a life full of love. But seven and a half months ago, the cancer finally caught up to him. Within a month, he was gone, and Clara was alone again.

In his final days, Clara had made a promise: to keep their traditions alive, to find joy in the weird and wonderful habits they had cultivated together. That promise had felt easier to make when William was still there. Now, sitting alone with the Christmas tree container, she struggled to find the strength to keep it.

Clara took a shaky breath and pulled the container closer. She began assembling the tree, fitting its artificial branches into place. The task took time, but it distracted her until she reached the bottom of the box and realised the ornaments weren’t there.

She remembered William mentioning that he had packed them in a separate box. Forcing herself to stand, she walked to the spare room, each step heavier than the last. Tears threatened to fall, but she kept going, thinking of the promise she had made—to him, to herself, and to the child she was carrying.

Her swollen stomach made the task harder than expected. Tears spilled freely as she remembered the bittersweet joy on William’s face when she told him she was pregnant just days before his passing. The universe had taken the love of her life but gifted her a part of him in return.

Clara carried the box of ornaments back to the lounge room. Opening it, she froze. On top were their familiar ornaments, but beneath them lay a large bag. Curious, she finished decorating the tree and then opened the bag. Inside were multiple wrapped presents, each labelled with a date. One was marked the 1st of December of that year, another the 25th of December, and the rest were labelled for the next ten years.

Her hands trembled as she opened the first package. Inside was an ornament—a crystal angel—and a note in William’s familiar handwriting.

My dear wife,

I hope you managed to find this box. I know this year will be one of the hardest Christmases of your life, but even though you can’t see me, I’ll be with you every step of the way. In this box, you’ll find an ornament for the 1st of December and a gift for Christmas (in the form of poorly humoured ornaments). I’ve handpicked each for the next ten years, hoping they’ll give you something to look forward to and remind you of our times together. After that, I hope you and our child will create your own traditions. Remember, you are loved, and you are never alone—especially at Christmas.

With love,

Your Husband

Tears streamed down Clara’s face as she held the note. William was gone, but his love lingered, filling the room with warmth. With his words in her heart, Clara finished decorating the tree and spent Christmas alone—but not truly alone.