Five years have passed since I lost Michael—some days it feels like it happened just yesterday, and other times it feels like an entire lifetime has gone by. I remember that first Christmas without him, the silence of our home louder than any holiday carol could ever be. He had been my best friend and the heart of our little family. Losing him left a space so vast and cold, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel warm again.
In these five years, I’ve worked myself to the bone—sometimes juggling two jobs at once—just to make sure my son, Daniel, never felt deprived. He was only eight when his dad died. Even though I’m forever exhausted, seeing the young man Daniel is becoming has been my greatest source of strength. We’ve faced life’s challenges hand in hand, our mother-son bond growing stronger with every hurdle.
Michael was an exceptionally kind man—always ready to help anyone who needed it, from fixing a neighbor’s fence to offering comforting words to a stranger. Daniel once told me that his dad had explained why he did it: “It doesn’t matter if they can’t repay me. Kindness always comes back around.” He was the eternal optimist. Even in his final days, Michael smiled through his pain and insisted people are fundamentally good and would come through when needed.
All those memories flooded me this Christmas morning, as Daniel and I sat in our modest living room. I had scrimped and saved for months to buy him a new phone—it’s not the fanciest one, but the look of pure joy on his face made every sacrifice worthwhile.
“Mom, this is so cool!” Daniel said, throwing his arms around me. “Thank you!”
I smiled, feeling that old familiar tug of love and loss in my chest. Then Daniel reached under the tree and presented me with a small wrapped box. Inside, he’d gotten me a thoughtful back massager—he’d been saving up for it because he knows how sore I get after work. I was touched beyond words, but it was what happened next that changed everything.
His expression turned serious, and he pulled out a second, much older-looking box. “This,” he said, his voice trembling just a bit, “is from Dad. He gave it to me five years ago… told me to give it to you today.”
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