Merry Memories
My father died on Christmas day. This Christmas, like the one thirty years ago, I will host my family in my cozy home with candles burning and my tree gloriously trimmed. Unlike that year, my nursing newborn is now the 30 year old flying home from New York before he heads off to India. My home is now an apartment instead of a house. There will be no husband to cohost the holiday party, and the widow in the house will not be my mother but will be me. It’s impossible for me to not connect holidays with losses, even
