On New Year’s Eve, mom gave presents to every grandchild except mine, so I quietly left and said never to invite us again—then at 6:00 a.m. on January 1, my family’s “new year’s gift” arrived at their door.

Dear Emma,
Your mother told me once that you love foxes. I saw one near Denise’s garden this morning. It was smaller than I expected and very quick. It made me think about how little I know of the things you love. I am sorry for not learning sooner.

Dear Noah,
I checked the weather today. Rain in the afternoon. I remember you like to know what is coming. I am trying to learn that knowing what is coming is not the same as controlling it.

I did not give the letters to the children immediately.

I read them. I waited. I watched my mother’s words for hooks.

Fewer came.

That was something.

Dad visited every Sunday. At first Emma avoided him, then tolerated him, then began asking him questions about tools. He answered every one seriously, even when she asked whether a wrench had “one job or emotional range.”