Dearest benevolence, singing Christmas morning, bedtime story. Home. My first glimpse at creativity and stamina. Hope. Positive energy. Frost ended a poem with miles to go before I sleep. You began every day with that. Raised children with that.

Surely the weight of it was only burden some days, rather than reward. Still, you offered the sweetest lessons with good bedtime stories.

I wonder what we gave you as children, tucking us in, making sure we were fed and had room to play. I wonder what we can possibly give you as adults. Singing Christmas mornings, good stories, benevolence?

I can only hope.