DECEMBER 22, 2019

There’s no place like home for the holidays. I am dizzy, hyped up on painkillers, insanely swollen to the point of incomprehensible speech, mentally and physically decimated, and even vomited upon arrival, but my little self AND long-lost luggage made it here to my grandma’s house in (almost) one piece… against all odds and only because extraordinary doctors, nurses, pharmacists, wheelchair operators, flight attendants, lounge staff, baggage handlers, TSA agents, random passengers, cabbies and countless beautiful souls, mainly my miracle of a mother, supported me in making this cross-country trip from the emergency room in San Francisco to this most important address in Boston. I’ve been wishing and hoping to be right here for our beloved annual family gathering ever since my accident in early September — and wasn’t ready to give up on a Christmas miracle, even when rushed to the hospital once more only three days ago, for internal bleeding, no less. I don’t know how history will judge this decision or what I may make of it, particularly as I’m currently facing a litany of negative physical symptoms, but I do know that I’ve summoned new depths of inner strength, courage and resolve and have the support, sanctioning and sign off of multiple expert doctors. I’ve made it thus far, and learned that the only way forward is through — in this case, through a festive red door that I’ve never been more excited to open in all my life. ‍‍‍