Diamond daggers clung to the cieling, gems of water droplets now forever frozen in time against the dim cave walls, closing in on them, holding them. They’re deadly drips, sharp as razors, hanging from the ceiling of winter, advertising the frigid intensity of a blizzard.

For some, they reflect the magic of winter and Christmas, the time of love and wonder. But not for me. For me, they reflect everything the cold stole, all the memories I could’ve had, the things I could have done.