pink and green and blue, and I lose my breath like someone has kicked me in the stomach. I drop to my knees. I sit cross-legged on the floor and stare at the tree for a long time. I get more new words. They come slowly, but they come. Christmas. Presents. Mom. Dad. Home. School. Brickyard. Cell phone. Pool. Trinity. Dublin. One word disturbs me more than all the rest of them combined. Sister.
