Every year, I travel back in time to that day. My younger self, and my husband, are waiting for me. I get the tears out of the way first. I brush my hair, put on make-up, dress up, try to be presentable. Every year I’m a little older, so every year I try to look a little nicer.

I met Claudia in Rome. She was an attractive twenty-something girl browsing a book store on Christmas day. She recognized a few phrases of English and Italian, and I found my Church Latin being put to the test when I found it was the only thing she spoke that I could make out.