Monday, December 24, 2012
Here I am with Grandmom and my brother. I'm two years old, standing proudly on my new stool, a Christmas gift. I scanned this photo this morning from the wooden album my father gave me to after my own mother passed away.
We have a certain understanding of the holidays, shaped by the people we have loved. When they are gone, nothing ever seems quite right again. I have a small family myself now—a beautiful husband and son. Today I'll cook for them as if I'm cooking for a gathering of many. I'll light the house with candles, fill the house with song. But all along I will be remembering those more joyfully crowded Christmases, and the people I have lost over the course of a long and ever-rich life.