Despite Curt’s grieving his mother’s recent demise, I was hell-bent on serving up a Christmas to remember. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see the forest for the Christmas tree. I printed and framed twenty different massive pictures of him with his mother taken over the years, wrapping each one individually, thinking it would be the kindest gift. Overkill feels entirely normal on speed. Every box he unwrapped was another brick stacked between us. By the time he opened the final photo, I couldn’t reach him, and I never did again.
