Three months after my divorce, I promised my five-year-old that Christmas would still feel like Christmas. I said it so confidently you’d think I believed it. Then one night, I pulled into the driveway and everything inside me went still. Not quiet in a peaceful, snowy way. Dead, wrong quiet. My Christmas lights were gone. Completely gone. The porch rails were bare, the rooflines empty. The twinkle lights around the maple had been ripped down so violently the bark was scraped raw. The candy canes lining the sidewalk were snapped and tossed in a pathetic pile. Even the wreath I had wired to the column had vanished like it had never existed….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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