Worst Christmas Eve ever (I hope):

My father died six years ago, and my brother might as well be dead, because my mother and I never hear from him these days. A couple of Christmas Eves ago, I thought maybe I might as well be dead, too. My mom and I always had dinner at her house on Christmas Eve, but on this particular day, she didn’t call me to let me know when I should be there for dinner.

I thought maybe she was waiting for me to call her, just to see if her son remembered what day it was and that he was supposed to visit her. I called her, but she didn’t answer the phone. I called a few more times as the day turned to evening; no answer. I E-mailed. I texted. No answer.

It was Christmas Eve! No way would my mom not call me on Christmas Eve, when I lived 20 minutes away. No way would she not at least expect a call from me and answer the phone.

I panicked. About 8 p.m., I genuinely panicked. I jumped in the car, drove to my mom’s house, and used my spare key to let myself in. I was sure I would find her unconscious or immobile, having fallen in the kitchen or something, unable to answer the phone or to call me.

But she was fine, just tottering around the kitchen with the TV on. She hadn’t gotten any of my calls or E-mails or texts because she’d accidentally left her phone in her car.

But this was Christmas Eve. We always had dinner together on Christmas Eve. But not only had it not occurred to her to call me, it hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder why she hadn’t had a call from me. And when I showed up in a panic, she acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Holy s***, did that hurt. I don’t know if things would’ve gone differently if my dad had still been alive, but it was definitely the most alone I’d felt since he’d died. Now I try to remember that I’m essentially alone in this world, even if my mom is still living, because I can’t even count on my own mother to remember or care that I exist, even on Christmas Eve.