Nothing hurts more than hearing my own mother fragile from her fall, voice trembling like thin glass ask about Lola as if time never took her away. She says Christmas will be warm because Lola will be joining us, like the old days when laughter filled the house before grief learned our names. And I just stand there, holding a truth too heavy to place in her hands, wishing memories didn’t echo so close to heartbreak. I just nod, because sometimes love means protecting what little light remains, even if it flickers in a room already dimmed by loss.