I give thanks for the the fruits of darkness, which include my Christmas cactus and my amaryllis plant.

I give thanks for the closure of an important chapter of my life, as I retire from serving abused children.

I give thanks for the years of friendship with Lupe, even though she is now in a better place.

I give thanks, from my cozy home, for the opportunity to cook for hundreds of cold and hungry folks.

I give thanks for being on the visiting side of those in pain, hospitalized or dying.

I give thanks for sharing a meal with family this Thanksgiving, as orphans and widows might not be able to do.

May we light candles for those of us who have outlived their child (and for whom there is no term to describe).

There is profundity in those remembrances, which sends ripples across the pond. Those little points of light sparkle in the desolate darkness and make us feel less alone. For these, I give thanks.