This year, December comes with a bit of nostalgia for me.

Last year, the weekend after Thanksgiving was the last time I saw my Grammy. In February, the day before she passed away, she told me she had reluctantly taken down the last of her feather trees. In her words, "Christmas was beautiful, and it will be beautiful again."

Last weekend, we picked out our little tree and strung it with white lights. As we stood back to admire its warm, cozy glow in our dimly-lit living room, I leaned my head against SD's chest and whispered, "Christmas is beautiful again."