" We continued talking as my purchases were rung up—about the first
Christmas, the sadness of ending up in a cemetery on a holiday, and the
pain of getting through that first year.
“They tell me it gets better,” she said with a sigh.
“Can I give you a hug?” I asked shyly before I turned to go. She nodded eagerly, and one small sob escaped her as I squeezed her shoulders tightly.
I might look back on that first Christmas and remember it as the year
I did so many things so badly, the year I forgot to feed my family.
Or I might just remember it as the Christmas I learned what it meant to reach out to a hurting stranger. "

― Mary Potter Kenyon , Refined by Fire: A Journey of Grief and Grace