I have so many fond memories of my brother Johnny who passed from Covid in mid April 2020. My favorite was making an Advent Christmas Wreath with our parents and grandmother. Johnny and I would gather evergreen branches and pine cones and our parents would supply the four candles, ribbons, and little Christmas ornaments. We would light one candle every week on Sundays before Christmas until all the candles were lit. This was an annual tradition. The wreath with its four candles represented hope, peace, joy and love, and eternal life.

On the last Sunday in Advent our family would light the last candle, sing Christmas carols, and read Christmas stories together. Johnny had the most beautiful voice that I can still hear today. My grandmother would bake a stollen as well as freshly baked German Spice cookies that we all enjoyed. Each candle of the wreath represented bringing light into this world.

I terribly miss the light my brother brought into my world. I will miss him forever. I wish him eternal peace.

Thirty-eight years of the largest Christmas tree, more arguments that it wouldn’t fit, needed two people to carry it, not enough lights and I was always right — but the tree was the most important part of Mike’s Christmas holiday. Our tree was memorable and we had to keep it up till January 6th, dead and all. Everyone came to see Mike’s Christmas tree. How I miss these memories. Just not the same.

My father always loved the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade and now I have tears in my eyes every year when it starts. He’d wander through the kitchen taking small bites of food to “help check” how things were going but stayed away from the cooking because he burnt everything he touched.

We grew up very poor but every year the holidays were a huge blowout because he’d saved a little from each paycheck to be certain we had a big Christmas morning, even though it meant giving up things he needed during the year. Every year I’d search for the best dad gift — he had a great sense of humor so I worked hard to find a funny one.

Now I walk through the stores and see the “perfect dad gift” and realize I don’t have anyone to give it to. My holiday spirit is gone now, I have to keep up the traditions and put on a happy face but all I want is for the holidays to be over and done without him.

This was Mike’s holiday. He loves the food, didn’t mind the traffic driving to Long Island, couldn’t wait for pumpkin pie. Covid, you cruel thief. You took away so much from me.

This Thanksgiving I remember my dad, the biggest pumpkin pie fan that ever existed (especially my mom’s extra spicy version). He called it “Punkie Pie” and you knew never to put whipped cream on his enormous piece. It “masked the taste of a perfect thing,” he said. He would always make sure there was enough for a cold piece the next day for breakfast, eaten no utensils necessary.