Christmas 1994, my wife had died in September. I did not want to put a tree up, but the kids were all for it. So we dragged out the box of ornaments and the tree. In the box with the tree was a notebook.

I opened the book. It was a semi-journal from my deceased wife. It was her way of being there that Christmas. In this notebook, she wrote how much she loved me and what a difference I had made in her life. I had great difficulty in reading the words through misty eyes, yet felt warm and
close to her.

She went on and wrote about the fact she was dying and how she wanted
to thank me for being there for her and with her.

That year for Christmas dinner, I set a place for her at the table. She was present with us that Christmas and had given me a present I will always treasure.

I have learned to write about my life, about my friends, because in doing so, I can share the magic that has been given me.

Merry Christmas one and all.

B. J. Cassady