Whenever December came around, the Schmidts piled into their big, clumsy red car with four bags of luggage and drove to the little house on an unimportant street in Greenwood, Florida. Karen and Sam argued in the back while the two calm-but-stormy-inside adults serenely chatted about the fastest route down to Grandma's. The family always got a little lost, made a few U-turns, and rotated the map one-hundred-eighty degrees at least twice before pulling up to the tiny blue and brown mailbox with the birds painted on it. The smell of cookies wafted out of the window, the tree was in the garage, just waiting to be pulled in and decorated, and Grandma was on the lookout in the front yard, trampling on her flowerbeds as she scanned the road for grandchildren.

Grandma loved surprises. She liked the way they sprung upon her, relished the unexpected joy of finding an unnoticed present that burst when the time was ripe. So one miserably cold November morning, when the cancer leaped out of the x-rays like a glow-in-the-dark bubble, Grandma understood that it was one of the more unpleasant surprises in life. Of course, it came into her being only when her time was certainly ripe enough, life being cruel enough to flick one more piece of irony her way. Grandma left the hospital knowing she would watch the red car pull in only one more time. The Schmidt family learned the news over cookies and milk on Christmas Day.

Grandma knew what Karen didn't: that her span on Earth had been long enough, filled with a mash of love and laughter and sorrow, and it was time for her soul to join the skies. In February, Grandma closed her eyes and released her mind of its bodily burden. The Schmidts stood around her deathbed, Grandma's tiny, endearing house closing in on them until they could hardly breathe. Two days later the stormy-minded adults calmly spoke a few words as she was lowered into the ground, their faces stale and unbelieving. The tears burned the insides of their eyelids and scalded their cheeks.

Karen wasn't at school the next day. Or the next. She hid in the deepest inlets of her closet, refusing to watch the memories, of Grandma's baking or cleaning or cooking or love, fade out of minds and fly out of thoughts. A cheery little sixth grader brought the family Girl Scout cookies. Neighbors bombarded them with little cards of regret and condolences, as if a piece of card stock could replace Grandma's presence. Karen didn't usually hold grudges; it wasn't in her nature. But as the card stock piled thick in the mailbox, her dislike for the world increased. It hurts; it just hurts so badly, God. Make it stop, for my sake...

Everything was painful. Everything was always painful, now. Karen was falling behind on schoolwork. Karen needed a tutor. Really, that child, just from the death of a grandmother she saw once a year at Christmas! The neighbors' minds were clearly read whenever Karen's therapist rounded the bend and rang the doorbell, three lifeless chimes. People whispered, children whispered, friends whispered, family whispered. It's been a month. Words cracked Karen's heart in two.

Then, there was Joey. Big, strong Joey, who was in four of her classes, who liked to joke around with people. Who sang with his big loud voice in her church choir. Whose cards tumbled out of her locker every day, but, really, he didn’t understand. No one understood; no one would ever understand how close to death she was, that if she reached out, she could feel its robes in her hands. Grandma connected her to death, just like she connected her to Christmas. And Karen continued to cry inside.

In December, when the therapist had given up, when Karen was going to school on Wednesday, and only Wednesday, Grandma’s angel visited in the form of tiny snowflakes. One of them landed on the tip of Karen’s nose. The rest of the Schmidts looked up in surprise, as her laughter filled the air for the first time since February. The snowflakes had done it; Grandma was still with them, in the little flakes of white. Even in death, one could always trust Christmas to bring back an angel.