When we are old, life seems to go from Christmas to Christmas. The years in between holiday seasons rush by faster and faster, a blur of color and sound. We look forward to what remains, and behind to what has been. What is behind stretches out in vivid detail, with Christmases standing out like the bright lights on the tree of life. What lies ahead feels frighteningly brief, as we know how fast those Christmases will follow one up on another until we, too, become stars in the sky.