Greeting the Seasonal Guests Twenty-nine years ago, my mother upstaged Jesus by dying right before Christmas. I was a single mother of a 4-year-old.
I made the season merry for my daughter, though inside I felt like the sun would never shine. Over the years, I accepted that sadness would arrive around December.
I greeted it at the door with a cocktail in hand — recently, with a pot of coffee. Sad and happy memories will always sit together at my holiday table, like restless houseguests.
In the new year, happiness extends its stay while sadness slips quietly out the door. — Gloria Barone Rosanio Back in the Rhythm of Conversation My 14-year-old, Vedant, dwells in a dungeon (i.e.