I'm not a materialistic person, but it was still sad yesterday to wake up knowing that there was nothing under the tree for me, and that the reason was because the person who cared about making sure I had a gift on Christmas morning is dead. Maybe next year I'll buy myself a pair of socks and wrap it up so I have something to open.
Aside from that brief dip in the self-pity pool, we had a nice holiday. G loved everything and declared it to be "the best Christmas ever," and the cats seemed to enjoy their kitty treats and toy mice. We visited the cemetery and speculated about what Christmas might be like in heaven (we figured there'd be a big party, since it's a birthday) and then we went to the movies to see "The Water Horse" and spent the afternoon and evening with various relatives. It really wasn't bad.
But it would have been much better with P.