At our house, she was Mother Christmas. Even at 82, mom insisted on doing everything: the cooking, decorating and setting up for 20 people. She still got her own tree, decorated it and put up the outside lights—on a ladder. Each year she outdid herself cooking and baking. Everything was made from scratch. The dinner table groaned in complaint. We tried to help. No thanks. Last year she left us just before her 83rd Christmas. This year we’ll do everything without her. Without her strength, love or helpful hands. Adults and children alike adrift without our anchor.