My sister was a “Christmas person”. She was born on November 18 and her Christmas tree went up that day. She took it down, with many regrets, on January 18, her husband’s birthday.
“It’s not as long as you’d think”, she’d say.
This year, in the midst of the pandemic, Christmas will be special, and I mean this seriously, without any irony. Remembering the two “Christmas people” I knew very well, my mother and my sister, it did not matter what they might have faced at Christmas – poverty, illness, someone being away, my father’s recent death when it happened in 1967 – it was important to them that the day itself was magical for those they loved and both of them always did everything they could to make it so.
Christmas is not so important for me. I have worked on call many of my adult Christmases and so…
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