It snowed the other morning and it was--in my mind anyway--magical. Immediately I felt that stirring anticipation for the holidays. I got out my IPOD and turned on Windham Hill Winter Solstice. Just watching the snow dance through the sky made me smile. I drove through Starbuck’s and got a Pumpkin Spice Latte. It was a perfect morning.

Minutes later, I found myself crying. That’s just how it works. Before i am able to enjoy the present, I must pay homage to the past.

As you get older, you imagine a time when you will face the holidays without your parents. You know that there is a possibility that you may have to face them without a spouse. But, never in your wildest nightmare does there come a time when you can imagine a Christmas morning where one of your children has no presents under the tree.

How do you ever reconcile that?

I love the holidays—everything about them—the preparation, the food, the music, the decorating, being with my family. I think part of my restlessness right now is due to having all of my traditions shot to hell. My house is gone; the place for pumpkins on the porch and the corner by the window where we put the tree.

I cried in the car, not just because I miss my little girl so very much, but because I want so badly to be able to feel the warmth of things that are special to me without feeling the pain that inevitably accompanies it. It is so much easier said than done.

I need to reestablish my sense of self—to hold on to my past, learn to enjoy my present and find a new way to view my future. Building new traditions are a huge part of that and there is a delicate balance as to what must stay and what must go.

Megan and I began that journey last Christmas with our little tree and handmade ornaments. We took a giant step forward this fall when we went to the orchard. The trick is to change it enough to make it ours but, to always acknowledge the empty place at the table.

I guess that it is good to find tears in the remembering; it means that our life was good and our time together precious and enduring--frozen forever like a collection of snow globes lining the windowsill.