This is a holiday that I buried long ago. Then recently resurrected for the kids. I should have left it buried. As this was the last time I saw Theresa alive, the whole thing is just too painful; I’d rather skip it and celebrate the fourth week of November over football (both concepts so alien to me as to make it all quaint and rather palatable).
October 12th, what you call Columbus Day, is in reality Theresa’s birthday. She would have been forty-five.
I’m sorry to say that this stuff doesn’t get any easier.