Holidays are tough:

I remember my mother telling me how she quit smoking. Basically she drew up a schedule and allowed herself cigarettes at certain times and no more. Then she could bargain with her body that she could have a cigarette in an hour, but not right then.

I'm sort of doing that with crying now. I can cry at certain times of the day. When I get home I can cry for 15 minutes and again for a few minutes before bed.

The rest of the time, I have to push away how terrified I am about going home for the first time since we buried my sister and having this visit be over Christmas. I can't think about two stockings instead of three on the mantel, I can't imagine what it will be like passing around the presents under the tree without her sitting there. Sometimes I think about my Christmas shopping and wonder for a minute what I will get Jenny. And then I remember that there are only four in my family now.