January Feb. 1, 2023 You showed up cold, as usual. And the depth of cold kept pelting our already wounded soul. January, you bring the reminders of our own humanity, our own limitations here on this big planet, our deepest hurts, the breath knocked out of us and even in all of that, we live to see December. In January, 1995 my grandmother, Lora Malone transitioned to her heavenly home. She suffered from parkinsons disease for a long time. Her family grieved her loss but her soul rejoiced to be where she was no longer in a sick bed. Her body and her caregivers were given a real freedom. 21 years ago, my dad was taken to his heavenly home. It was a hurt like I’ve never known. A hurt that changes you. And you, January, mark that memory. A memory of my mom being alone for the first time in her life. A memory of watching her navigate an empty house. A memory of my own self and my brother