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I’ve been going to AA meetings for fifteen years and I love them. I always feel better after attending an AA meeting then I did before. I might be having a really difficult day, but I know that if I attend a meeting feeling down, I will walk out feeling uplifted. I didn’t always know this would be the case. Wisdom comes with age. What makes someone instantly feel better after hanging out with a bunch of random people they don’t know? Why would anyone go to a meeting just to tell everyone their problems and declare that they can’t control their drinking? Hell, what actually happens at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting? There are so many pre-conceived notions about alcoholism and AA that I hope to shine some light on what AA meetings are actually like. Hopefully, I can diminish any fear that would keep someone from attending. I’ve learned that fear keeps people sick for an extremely long time. Getting your butt into an AA meeting sooner rather than later can save your life. Things that do happen at AA meetings: When someone walks into an AA meeting for the first time they will see chairs for everyone to sit. All are welcome. There might be tables with different AA literature on them or no tables at all. AA members will most likely be chatting away with each other, laughing, and having an enjoyable time. One of us might say hello to you and reach out to shake your hand. We will most likely introduce ourselves and ask your name. We won’t ask if you’re an alcoholic or if you have a problem with alcohol. We might point out the table of snacks and coffee. Most of us love coffee and snacks but it’s ok if you don’t. Once the meeting starts the secretary ( a person who has at least a few weeks of sobriety) will read through a preamble of what AA is and give a little bit of information about the specific meeting you are attending. Information like what type of meeting it is (speaker, discussion, etc..) and what days of the week it meets. The secretary will ask if this is anyone’s first AA meeting that would like to be recognized. You do not have to raise your hand. However, if you do raise your hand, all you have to do is say hello and your name. You do not have to say that you are an alcoholic. Once the formalities of the meeting have started the secretary will then introduce the speaker (a person that has worked the 12 steps of AA) or ask for topics that people would like to discuss. At this point you can sit back and relax. Listen to the speaker or listen to the comments of those in the room. At the end of the meeting the speaker will read a statement reminding everyone that meetings are Anonymous and to please keep it that way. Alcoholics come from all walks of life, all races, both genders and all ages. We come from different economic backgrounds and hold many different professions. A founding part of AA is never to break the anonymity of someone that you see at a meeting. Unfortunately addicts and alcoholics are still harshly judged, and it could mean the loss of a job or some other catastrophic event if someone’s anonymity is broken. The last part of any meeting consists of the secretary asking the group members to hold hands and say a prayer. You do not have to participate during the prayer if you don’t feel comfortable. AA is not bound to religion; it is a spiritual program. Things that Don’t happen at an AA meeting: Walking into an AA meeting can be awkward the first time. If you are heading to one, most likely you are struggling with alcohol and going through some rough times in your life. No one that’s happy, content and having a fine time in the game of life decides to randomly attend an AA meeting. Don’t let the fear of the unknown or any pre-conceived notions about AA stop you from attending a meeting if you are struggling. See for yourself what we are all about and then decide if you want to come back or not. You will not be asked to share your story at an AA meeting. You are not required to say your name and that you’re an alcoholic. You might not be one. That’s for you to find out, not for any AA member to tell you. You do not have to share a comment or tell anyone anything about yourself. If people are commenting on a topic and it’s your turn to talk, you can simply say your name and that you pass. Everyone will smile and look to the next person to speak. Essentially you don’t have to do anything at an AA meeting except listen and be respectful to others. The best advice I can give is to listen to others and look for the similarities in their stories, not the differences. You’re going to feel uncomfortable; we all did when we first walked through the doors of our first meeting. However, when you enter an AA meeting you will find the most compassionate and kind people in the world. Alcoholics are some of the best people I have ever met in my life. They understand me better than my blood relatives and without them I would surely be dead or in jail. If you or someone you love has a problem with drugs or alcohol, please look at these resources. Recovery resources: Alcoholics Anonymous: https://www.aa.org/ Narcotics Anonymous: https://na.org/

The kitchen was almost entirely white, white cabinets, white walls, and white countertops. The floor was made of white ceramic tiles, even the appliances were white. The only color in the entire room came from the wooden butchers block in the middle. Angie smiled at the warm brown color of the wooden block; she was glad to see something inviting within the confines of the white kitchen. However, she wouldn’t be smiling if she knew what it’s purpose would end up serving. Angie’s nerves were on fire, although she had an idea, she didn’t know exactly what she was doing at her late grandmothers' estate. It was the evening and not having her day planned out was extremely uncomfortable for her. It was one reason Angie enjoyed her job as a lawyer, not only was each day laid out in advance, but the day itself was categorized and divided into fifteen-minute increments for her. Each billable hour broken down for every task she completed. As soon as Angie joined the law firm fresh out of college, she started to organize her time outside of work much in the same way. Her commute to and from the office took thirty-three minutes each way. Her time spent at the gym consisted exactly of one hour and twenty minutes, six days a week. She allowed herself fifteen minutes to get from the weight room floor back to her car. Technically it only took ten minutes to walk from the gym floor, grab her bag out of the locker room and get into her Mercedes, nonetheless she gave herself an additional five minutes in case someone at the gym initiated conversation while she walked past the smoothie bar on her way out. Angie’s life was a well-oiled machine and although most men didn’t appreciate her punctuality her clients did. As each year passed Angie excelled at work, winning case after case, each more difficult than the last. Slowly making a name for herself among her peers. She dove headfirst into her career. Angie wasn’t concerned with the lack of men in her life, largely because she hadn’t met a man in which she was interested. It also wasn’t that the men weren’t interested in her. Angie’s dark brunette hair, slim build and delicate features turned many heads, however after dating a few boys in college she realized that she was much happier at home on her own, reading, studying, or watching T.V. It wasn’t that she disliked men, she dated a few genuinely nice boys in college, but no one that she fell head over heels for. None of that mattered because there was something in her life that she cared deeply for. In fact, it’s safe to say that Angie cared more about this one thing then probably anything else. It was one of the first nights she spent in the apartment she rented after law school. It was frigid outside. Angie’s furnace wouldn’t stop running, desperately trying to heat her tiny apartment. Angie sat in an old recliner she brought with her from college. She was wrapped in a thick fuzzy blanket when she heard the soft cries on her back porch. Angie opened her door and looked to the right spying a small tabby cat, shivering, and meowing under her shrubs. Angie scooped him up, brought him inside and fell madly in love. She named him Mr. Pickle Paws, but mostly calls him Mr. P. Having Mr. P curled up beside her while she finished typing notes for work or watching a crime documentary was the best way to spend an evening as far as Angie was concerned. Angie checked her watch, 1:08pm. Her grandmother’s executor Dan was eight minutes late. Her grandmother had passed away almost a year ago. That's when Angie discovered she and a distant cousin were listed in the will. Dan reached out to Angie explaining that he was working through the estate, gathering insurance policies, and sorting through investments her grandmother had at the time of her death. He told her that he would be in touch soon as these items took a long time to work through, especially since the will had multiple beneficiaries. Add in the fact that her cousin one of the beneficiaries, Martha lived in another country, Angie wasn’t sure which, and the entire process had drug on. “Angie, there you are, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Dan’s voice flooded the kitchen behind her. “It’s ok, I was just sitting here admiring the kitchen and it’s classic look.” Angie tried to force a smile. “Ah yes, your grandmother kept it true to the Tudor style, updating when needed but never deviating from the original look. Dan smiled. “It’s still so sad that she passed, especially so young.” “She was ninety-eight” Angie couldn’t help but laugh. I think she lived an exceptionally long life.” Dan looked at her, his smile starting to fade, as an edge of anger flashed into his eyes. “Youth is in the heart, it’s much more than a number.” Before the tension in the room could get any worse, they were interrupted by the sound of a woman’s high heels clicking against the ceramic floor. They both turned in unison as a beautiful young woman walked in. She wore a white pencil skirt and a white blouse. The only color on her body were the emerald-green stilettos that made her entrance known. “Martha! Dan cooed. He immediately rose, clasped her hands in his and kissed her on both cheeks. “Daniel, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” Martha spoke in a smart British accent. “I just wish it wasn’t under these terrible circumstances.” Martha looked around the kitchen and started to tear up. “Oh, it’s just like I remember it. This kitchen was her pride and joy, why did she have to leave us so soon?” She looked towards Dan who nodded his head solemnly. She was so young!” Martha wept. Angie couldn’t believe her ears. So young, were these two mad? “Um, she was ninety-eight. She didn’t have many health problems; I think she had a wonderfully long life.” Angie said. Martha and Dan whipped their heads around towards Angie and glared. After what seemed like an eternity Martha’s face relaxed, she extended her hand and said, “You must be Angela”? Angie reached out to shake her hand and noticed Martha’s long white manicured nails. She felt a shiver go down her spine. “Ladies, please sit.” Dan showed them to a large table with a few white stools placed around it. As the women sat Dan walked over to a tea kettle and poured three cups of steaming tea. He placed them on a serving table with milk and sugar and brought them back to the two women. Angie quickly picked up one of the teacups and started to sip the warm liquid. It was so cold in the kitchen and too late in the evening, she couldn’t bear it. Angie wished desperately that she were at home with Mr. P curled on her lap. Her sweet boy wasn’t feeling well, and she didn’t like leaving him. Angie flinched at her own thought, not feeling well wasn’t exactly the truth. Mr. P needed an extremely expensive surgery to fix a genetic defect in his small intestine, that he had been born with. There were only two veterinarians that knew how to perform the surgery on a cat, it was a new procedure that had been remarkably successful thus far. One veterinarian was located in New York City and the other in Europe. Angie had contacted the New York doctor, sending him all of Mr. P’s medical history and past procedures. After looking over the medical file the surgeon told Angie that Mr. P was a perfect candidate for the surgery, and that because of his age he would live many more years as a healthy cat once the intestinal trac was fixed. When the vet told Angie his fee to perform the surgery, she almost fainted. Even with her lawyers salary it was outrageous. Once she added in the travel costs associated with the trip, the expensive medicine he would need to prepare for the surgery and the surgery fee there was no way that she could afford it. As devastated as Angie was, she just didn’t have the money. “Angela, are you paying attention? “Martha stared at her in disbelief. “Yes, I’m so sorry, I just was thinking about my cat. He’s at home and he’s sick. I want to get back to him as quickly as I can. Martha sighed, her disappointment apparent and turned her attention back Dan. “Daniel, please go on.” “We are all here today to go over your grandmother’s estate. As you know the two of you are listed as a beneficiary, but you might not know that you both are the only heirs to her estate. He paused taking in a deep breath. Your Grandmother left the two of you everything. Angie tried to subdue her shock and the smile that was slowly creeping onto her face. Could this really be happening she wondered? Angie felt sad when she learned her grandmother had passed, but in all honesty, she hadn’t known her grandmother very well. Angie’s own mother had distanced herself and Angie from her mother years ago and Angie only remembers one previous time she was in the house that she found herself in now. To call it a house wasn’t doing it justice. It was in fact a mansion. It was over 15,000 square feet and sat on 5 acres of land. It took Angie twelve billable minutes to walk from the driveway where her car was parked to the kitchen she sat in now. Plus, her grandmother was ninety-eight years old when she died. Compared to Angie’s mom who died of breast cancer at fifty-nine her grandmother had an extraordinary long life. One of two heir’s how could this be? What did this even mean? Angie was doing well in her career, but she still had her student loans she was paying on, she was living in a tiny apartment and driving a used Mercedes. It was a nice car, but honestly, she had bit off more than she could chew when she purchased it. Although Angie enjoyed staying home in the evenings, it was easy to because she didn’t have the extra money to go out even if she wanted. She had even thought of selling the car when she received Mr. P’s diagnosis, but when she looked at how much she would get for the used car it wasn’t enough to buy another car and pay for the surgery. It wasn’t near enough. Angie was pulled back into reality when she noticed Martha glaring at her. Angie immediately wiped off any trace of a smile that had made it onto her face. “So, she left us everything, what is the actual amount, and what do you need from us in order to collect it?” Angie asked, her lawyer brain taking over. “Everything has been evaluated, and if the two of you decide to sell everything in the house, we can get it to auction within the week. I can only guess as it will all be auctioned off but everything except the house itself as has been appraised for 10.2 million dollars.”Dan sighed and looked down. He was obviously distraught and close to Grandmother Angie thought. “The house is another issue in and of itself.” Both women listened as Dan spoke. Your grandmother loved this house, over the years she hosted many parties and played all sorts of games here. “Dans eyes shot over to the butchers block and back to the ladies. Martha had large tears rolling down her cheeks as she nodded in agreement. Games, Angie thought. What are these two talking about? And why is Martha nodding along. Had she been invited to the parties and played the games? “Your grandmother states very clearly that whoever wants to keep the house and live in it will get the house outright and all other items will be split ninety percent to the owner of the house and ten percent to the other beneficiary. Do the two of you understand? Dan asked. This is important, ninety percent will be given to whoever lives in and owns the house while the ten percent will be given to the other person.” “How, how do we agree on who gets the house and thus the ninety percent of the remaining estate?” Martha finally spoke up after wiping away her tears. Her eyes were red rimmed and puffy now. “Therein lies the final game. If both of you want the house, then you must give up something you cherish greatly. He eyes the butchers block again. Come over here.” The three of them walk over to the butcher block. “You must pay in flesh and blood.” Dan says matter of fact. “What, are you talking about? Angie demands. This is insane. What do you mean?” Dan’s smile returns as he continues. “You’re sweet grandmother always felt that the generations after her didn’t know anything about sacrifice, and she wasn’t going to just hand over her entire estate to two grandchildren who didn’t work for it. Therefore, she wants flesh and blood from either one of you, or both. Whoever gets the house must give more blood then the other wishes too. You can start with anything at all, a tooth perhaps, or a finger, whatever you like. Cut it off and toss it to the side of the butcher block. You will take turns, back and forth. Whoever gives up first loses the house and walks away with ten percent of the estate, for their troubles. Whoever wins, gets house, as well as ninety percent the estate.” “I don’t want any part of this, I’m leaving. I don’t care if I only get ten percent, that’s more than enough.” Angie turns to walk away from them both. She didn’t need millions of dollars; with her ten percept she would have enough money to save Mr. P. that’s all that she cared about, saving her cat. Now that her mother had passed, he was all she had left. “Wait! Dan calls to her.“I need to tell you the terms of the will.” Angie doesn’t want to listen; she doesn’t want to turn around. But there is something that keeps her in the kitchen. She suddenly thinks of her mom when she was in the hospital bed and her mother’s words come rushing back to her. “Angie don’t feel bad for me. I had fifty-two wonderful years. I had time to build a family, time to enjoy my job, I traveled and of course I had my wonderful pets.” What could the term be, what awful thing could Angie’s grandmother have put into her will? “What is it?” Angie hurdles her words in Dan’s direction. “Whoever gives up the house and the ninety percent earning, will get the remaining ten percept that they are due. However, if they refuse to play the game, they won’t get it until their seventy fifth birthday. Dan say’s with a twinkle in his eye. What can I say, your grandmother had such a lively soul she didn’t want the money in the hands of someone so young and careless, someone not willing to work for it, not willing to give a little blood for it.” Angie’s shoulders slump. What was she to do? How could she ever live with herself knowing that she was too scared and selfish not to save her beloved Mr. Pickle Paws. Her cat meant the world to her, and the veterinarian was renowned. He was the best in his field. He assured her that this surgery would save her darling cat and even if it didn’t how could Angie not at least try to save him? Angie turned her head and for the first time really looked at Martha. Martha was slightly taller than Angie, probably 5’7. She was thin and although she was pretty Angie could tell that it wasn’t a natural beauty. She couldn’t have been much younger then Angie herself, at most twenty-seven or twenty-eight where Angie would turn thirty-one next summer. Martha was pretty, but her look was reminiscent of many women her age. Angie could tell that Martha had already had Botox injections and probably a handful of other procedures. When she cried earlier, she cried real tears, but her expression remained frozen in place. Matha wasn’t thin from the gym like Angie was either, she was the product of good genetics. Angie doubted that Martha every lifted a weight in her life nor would she become overweight as she aged, she wouldn’t have to work in order to keep the pounds off as her frame was small and delicate. In that respect Martha was lucky and would most likely always be thin. Angie on the other hand was toned and muscular, from the hours she spent at the gym each week. Her muscles had definition thanks to the laps she swam and the hours she slaved away lifting dumbbells over and over again. Angie lost her mother, she lived alone, and she had gone through challenging times in her life. Angie was a survivor; she could win this game. Thinking of her sweet cat Mr. P at home waiting for her to return, Angie’s decision was made. She turned, walking back to Dan and Martha. She picked up one of the knives next to the butcher block and laid her hand down on the surface. “It’s only a fingernail, I’m willing to give it up.” Angie looked directly into Martha’s eyes as she used the knife to slice off the tip of her left pinky finger. What about you?

Life changes in the moments that we least expect. Coming on suddenly like a rainstorm on a summer day. This week my heart went from being filled to left almost empty in the blink of an eye. Am I being ridiculous and over the top? Maybe. However, knowing that I’m overreacting does not change the feelings of loss as they sweep over me during everyday tasks. I’m continually pulled back to this past Monday morning wishing I could re-do it all. Wishing I would have stopped, been silent until I worked out the lie, I should have told. However, we all know that as much as we might want, we cannot go back in time, therefore I live with my choice and trudge on. “Mom, I want to talk to you downstairs.” My eleven-year-old son asked innocently enough. It was early in the morning; he was getting ready to put on his coat and walk to the bus stop. Glancing at my watch I realized I had enough time before the bus arrived to talk to him, so I followed him downstairs, glancing back at his stepfather, my husband, with a shrug. As we arrived in the basement my son walked in the direction of the Elf on the shelf and said“They have candy that I noticed you had hidden in the cupboard, how did that happen?” There was an accusatory hint in his tone. We had been here before, his older sister questioning me about the look of the Elves. They are in fact stuffed decorations. She questioned what they were made of, how they moved, the list going on and on. The times he asked I was always able to brush it off and make something up. I even wondered if my son really knew they weren’t real because one time he shushed his older sister and told her that she would ruin the fun if she kept asking if they were real or not. I figured at this point that he was playing along to some extent as well, enjoying the wonders of the season. Why not play along? In our house we had two elves, one for each child. My stepmother bought the first one for my daughter when she was one or two, and a few years later when my daughter started asking why there was only one elf for two children, (another reason she thought they must be fake) I bought a second Elf for her little brother. Over the years the elves brought the kids candy or Christmas related items such as socks or ornaments. My son was always more into the Elves then my daughter, loving the treats they left him. In the last two years my daughter, now fourteen years old, stopped searching for the Elves as soon as she got up. My daughter and I had a conversation one day when she was asking all about the intricacies of Christmas and I asked her if she wanted me to have a serious conversation with her about what was real and what wasn’t. She thought for a moment, looked at me and replied “No, I don’t want to talk about it.” It became an unspoken knowledge between her and I. My son, however, still looked each morning and told me he didn’t want them to leave each year on Christmas day. Therefore, they continued to show up each year. As I stood in the basement caught off guard, I immediately started to think of some way to explain the candy and keep his belief alive. At the same time, I remembered the conversation with my daughter. Should I ask him if he wanted to know the truth? Just then another conversation I had with my husband about my son starting to grow out of being a boy and maturing into a young man. All of these thoughts came to me in the blink of an eye and swirled maddingly in my head. “Do you want me to tell you the truth?” I asked him. “Yes,” My son said. “It’s the same candy I bought, I put it there. “So, the Elves aren’t real”? He asked And that is when I knew I made the wrong choice. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. He had hope that I could explain why the Elves had the same candy in a way that made them real. In the moment I told him the truth part of his innocence was instantly gone. I took it away and I felt terrible. The worst part was a bit later when he came to me, cried, and told me he should have waited until later to ask me, until after Christmas instead of right now. We cried together. Somehow, I managed to get the kids to school, his sister none the wiser to what had occurred, but my day was ruined. I went through my meetings at work in a haze, somehow making it through the workday. I cried to my husband, and he listened. He told me I gave my son a wonderful gift that he would then in turn give to his children. His words helped, but I was still devastated and blamed myself. As the day went on, I replayed the scene in my head repeatedly. I concocted stories to tell him when he got home, I would make him believe again. But I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t work and even if it did, how much should I lie to keep the belief alive? The other issue I played in my head was where to go from here? I’ve read the stories on social media about parents being relieved when their kids found out the truth. I always thought I might feel similar to other parents, be glad I didn’t have to hide candy and come up with new hiding places. When the kids and I lived alone in a tiny apartment I ran out of places for the Elves to hide and I felt a surge of dread each night having to come up with someplace new. Oh, how I would welcome that anxiety now. There were also logistical issues I faced. Was I going to just stop cold turkey with 9 days left until Christmas? Would the two Elves stay seated permanently? Everything felt strange and sad. What was a fun tradition of Christmas was now gone, and I felt the loss like a hole in my chest. I knew I had to find out what my son wanted; how did he think we should proceed? I decided to write a note from his Elf asking him what he wanted to do. I used to leave notes from them all the time and I figured one more note wouldn’t hurt. The note told my son that he was now in on the “secret” and that the Elves would always be there, waiting for him to have his own children so they could return. I asked him if he wanted to continue the tradition or to have them remain as special decorations. He was to circle Yes or No. I placed the note in an envelope, with his name on it and left it next to his Elf. I knew he would eventually go back to the candy if nothing else. My daughter and I were in her bedroom later that evening when my son ran into the room to find me. He shoved a piece of paper in my hand, grinned and ran out. When I was alone, I look at it and he had circled yes. The best part was written on the top. It said, “Can I help you hide.” I sighed with relief. The next few days were still hard for me. I acknowledge they were most likely harder for me then for him. I was in a funk, and the joy of Christmas had lessened significantly. I found myself out shopping thinking what is the point? Normally I would walk through the isles looking for items to take home and have the Elf’s give, but now it didn’t matter. I was still moving the Elves, but it was different. My son didn’t have the gleam in his eyes when he found them. He didn’t tell me when they were hiding in such a difficult spot that he couldn’t find them. The longing in my chest was palpable. I wanted to go back in time. I grieved for the magic of Christmas and his belief to be back. It happened so fast. A switch had been flipped, and I wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t want the additional time back from having to hide them. I didn’t want the weight off my back of having to remember to move them. I longed for the anxiety of having to wait until the kids were asleep before moving them. Give me the lack of sleep from waking up at 2 am realizing I forgot to move them. I would take it all back in a second if I could. I found myself resenting others for being happy they didn’t have to play the game when their kids found out. I resented the reels on Instagram of parents rolling their eyes while trying to find a new spot for their Elf. Didn’t they understand when it was all over how sad it would be? I checked in with my son a few times and he told me a lot of his feelings. He said it was different going to sleep now, knowing. He also said that he had some good ideas' of how we could mess with his sister, giving her gag gifts from them and him good gifts. We made a plan that once school was out, he would take over moving them from place to place. I felt a little hope, but it was barely a flame, it could be snuffed out with the smallest brush of air. The first day of Christmas break we planned for him to “forget” to take his lunch box out of his bookbag, thus having to go downstairs after he and his sister were tucked into bed. Yes, I’ll take my fourteen-year-old still wanting to get tucked into bed as a good thing. My son snuck downstairs and as we went to retrieve his siters elf he said it felt weird. I smiled at him, put the Elf in his hand and told him I was giving the tradition to him now. He seemed to take it to heart. We hugged. He placed the Elf if her hiding spot, taking time to get her in the right spot and making sure she didn’t fall over. We left her with some gross candy as a joke. Next, he asked me about his Elf. When I said I would move it, his face fell with disappointment and said that he wanted too, so I let him. He grinned and we worked together to get his Elf all set up. As I tucked him back into bed I felt really good, better then I had since this whole terrible incident occurred. I snuggled him and told him I was happy that he was the one taking part in the tradition with me instead of his sister and I meant it. He laughed and smiled. Kids are so different, each wonderful in their own way, but this tradition belongs to my son. He cared about the Elves much more then his sister and he wants to continue the tradition. If the roles were reversed his sister wouldn’t be interested at this age. She wouldn’t care as much, which is ok. She and I have other adventures we share. This adventure belongs to my son and me. I know that although I felt better, I’m not over it yet. I’m well aware that I’m distraught because of what this symbolizes. It’s a step in the direction of becoming a man and leaving his childhood behind. While I know it’s a healthy step it is also an incredibly painful step for me to be a part of. In life there are times when we can re do something. We can choose another career if we so desire, heck even another marriage if the first one doesn’t turn out like we thought, but we can not redo or keep our children babies forever and that’s sad. Plain and simple. Many years ago, when my son was a toddler, he leaned into me as he was getting ready for bed and asked a terrible question. One that started to take his innocence away. He asked quite simply if dying was real. It killed me when I knew I had to tell him the truth. I snuggled him, my arms wrapped tightly around him as silent tears fell down my cheeks. “Yes, I whispered, yes dying is real.” Now years later more tears fell as I had to tell him that “No the Elves aren’t real.” Dear God, how I wish the opposite were true. Why can’t it be that that dying is fake and the magical sweet Elves are real. As this year comes to a close, I realize that there were two significant events that have reminded me to appreciate what I have, as it can change in a blink of an eye. Living in the present day is one of my biggest struggles, but I’ve once again been reminded to do so. This week has been incredibly hard, however tonight when I passed the torch to my son, as we smiled and laughed together when he moved the Elves I remember to live in the moment. I will enjoy the light feeling in my chest with the knowledge that the Elf on the shelf era lives on, only differently. Merry Christmas.