I remember clearly waking up in the wee hours of Christmas Eve.
I was awoken by the rustling sounds of wrapping paper.
My heart jumped into my throat.
Was Santa here...I wondered.
I rub away fading dreams from my eyes and made sure my tiny feet wouldn’t make a sound as I slid out of bed.
I tip toe over to my bedroom window, stand on my tippy toes and peek out from behind the curtains.
There is only darkness.
The street bathed in deep navy blue and look for any signs of Santa and my ears perked up in hopes, perhaps I will hear hooves on the roof.
...and that’s when I knew something wasn’t right...I walk slowly over to my bedroom door and step out and see the living room door is closed.
Only a faint light shined through the frosted window at the top of the door, being only small at the time there was no way for me to peek in.
I froze. Something within me wanted to hold on. Hold onto the magical feeling of Christmas. Part of me wasn’t ready...
....to grow up just yet.
I was six years old.