An old recording survives to tell a forgotten Christmas story.

Reflections on a grandmother’s grief and the writer’s own as she visits her mother’s future grave site.

‘You look like terrorists,’ said Al. ‘I wouldn’t be seen on Queens Boulevard with either one of you.’

Sometimes how someone died is the most painful part of mourning. Rachel Zients Schinderman was just a little girl when she lost her father, but his death lingered for her at each stage of her life, like a bad relationship she just couldn’t shake.

The house on Cornwall Avenue was two blocks from the beach. It was large and white and perfect. It smelled of wet sand and must and memory.