I wrote this article several years ago and hestitated to bring it out again, but I happened to see it recently and felt compelled to post it again. It is not possible to go through the holiday season without memories of the past - both good and bad. It was cathartic when I wrote it and so much has changed but that may be the point. Joy has a way of creeping out just like a single candle in a darkened room.
She died on September 30 and we buried her on October 4. The heart of our family was gone. We went on, lived our lives, worked our jobs, took care of our families. So we thought. That call that I used to enjoy in November on the anniversary of my birth was missing. I'm okay.
We gathered that Christmas Eve laughing and feasting as we always did. Then the four sisters drew together compelled by some force that we could not explain. We talked; we laughed and then...we cried. Cried for the one who was missing; cried when we realized that it was up to us to carry on the traditions, to bring the joy that she used to bring. She was weaker in the last few years, but the festivities still revolved around her wheelchair, her laughter, her strong opinions and her love for her family ringing out over the noise of the children.
Our children drew close, worried and disturbed by our universal grief. We knew she would not have wanted this. The eldest now became the heart and she suffered so much.
So our children went out and adorned my sister's car with the silliness of Rudolph nose and antlers. We brought her out to see the Christmas lights and the spectacle of her car which now featured a face and a mood. The laughter rang out, the joy returned, and we all knew she was there orchestrating the celebration as she always did.
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