We gathered again on Christmas Eve as we always do with other families at my mums oldest, dearest, friends house. This year was different. This year, we were all here, with the children a year older and happy to reintroduce themselves to each other and the same faces we see only once a year and yet have become so familiar with. We were all here, in the absence of her. It has been less than a year, since she left us, we weren’t really certain if this wonderful tradition would continue, it has been going on for over thirty years. This celebration has always been about the children, the generations that it began with, now belongs to their children. It has been a sad year for this family, sad for my mum. On this night, we all paused, we took a breath from our own lives and it was there that the magic happened, there was a moment of grace for us all. We played, we laughed, we talked, we let go and smiled. There was a new baby to add to the generation, and the babies of last year were all toddlers now, and instant friends. Georgia, our littlest had a special attentiveness towards my mums friends husband. This was a recognisable hard moment for him, this had been his wife’s celebration, this was now, his gift to her. Georgia, in all of her young wise years, I’m certain knew this to be true. Her focus was on him. We watched in wonderment as she assertively bossed him around, ordering and leading him here and there, keeping him present, keeping him from falling down in his grief, that on a night like this would have been all too easy to do. With bubbles, and smiles and angel wings on her tiny shoulders, we all remembered and vowed to come again next year.