The thought that leaps into my mind unbidden is Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday when I was alive, and I have to pause and remind myself that I’m still alive—oh, right; yes, of course I am; I know I’m alive—and I remember again the words John Irving wrote in A Prayer for Owen Meany: “Christmas is our time to be aware of what we lack, of who’s not home.” The trick is to be very still, and then the beautiful idea skittering around the edges of my vision will come burrow in my brain for warmth.
