Different

The first change I noticed was no one greeted us at the door when we walked inside the house. The place was crammed with the usual suspects—aunts, uncles, cousins—but we weren’t offered anything to eat.

The beige lift recliner carefully positioned by the front door was gone. In its place was a rosy colored plush rocking chair that swings back and forth if the person sitting in it isn’t careful. Her bed is gone, too, replaced by a futon, a huge box overflowing with toys and a small television attached to a Wii Fit.

Even the name of the house is gone. “Grandma’s house” is now referred to as “Peg and Bill’s” by my parents. I can’t bring myself to use the new name. It’s still her house in my mind, even though my aunt and uncle purchased it shortly after she died.

The pile of gifts under the tree marked “Grandma” or “Mom” wasn’t there. The tree looked naked. I wondered if it felt as lonely as I did. When it mysteriously toppled over, I thought maybe the tree was protesting. Perhaps it didn’t like the change, either.

We stayed an hour before politely excusing ourselves for the return trip home. My aunt was too busy with the Wii Fit to say good-bye. We were never offered anything to eat.

We were sitting around the dining room table inhaling lunch leftovers when my mother announced that we’ll just have Christmas here “from now on.” A new tradition, she called it.

And that’s when I knew it was different.