I especially think about my parents in December.  They both have December birthdays -- my mother the 17th, and my father the 21st.  Eve's parents by chance were also December babies -- her father the 15th, and her mother the 22nd.  Of the four of them, only Eve's 96 year old father, Rupert, is still with us. We had a splendid little family birthday dinner with him this past week.

Within the past few years we lost both of our mothers. I can still picture them sitting on  a couch side by side on the very first Mother's Day we all spent together. That was about seven years ago.  We were opening Mother's Day gifts. The two mothers were giddy, whispering to each other if they think we might get married. They were very happy that day with big wide smiles.  We were all smiling.

Eve's mother Grace, though not well, made it to our wedding.  My mother did not.

At our wedding Rupert came up to me and put out his hand and said congratulations.  He is a little formal that way, not a touchy feely kind of guy. Instead of taking his hand, I gave him a big hug and said "Daddy!" He didn't see that one coming, but I think he enjoyed it.

My father also died in December, on the 22nd, 23 years ago, by his own hand. He was 60 years old and one day.  And an otherwise healthy man.  I sometimes wonder if he would still be here. He would be only 83 years old. On any given day I ask myself, would he have died today?  Would today have been his funeral? Or would he be here yet another year, and a year after that, and after that. I can never know.

In December especially we think about and remember them.