#7: twenty-eight years ago

You cried all that Christmas the year before Daddy died. At the time I thought it was because you couldn't afford to buy any presents, and that was the beginning of the souring of my Christmas experience. I'm not blaming you; really, I'm thankful. I like to give gifts, but not at Christmastime; no matter how aware I am of the intention, at this time of year gift giving manages to get caught up in the swirl of pine-scented poo.

I realize all these years later -- can you believe it was 28? -- that it was just the beginning of your unraveling. I didn't have much of a relationship with him, so it took me a long time to understand that he could mean that much to you, that his death could have affected you so deeply.

I didn't talk to you this year. I don't feel estranged from you, just not too connected. It's a little sad sometimes, but you've got your life, your problems, your stuff going on; I've got mine. I hope you had a good Christmas. I know your children are scattered all over the country and you don't have the closest relationships with them. I'm sorry about that. But still, I hope you didn't cry this year.