It is cold this Christmas day, and I am passing it curled up in a cozy chair with my dogs and my writing. I do not keep Christmas anymore, so this is just an everyday Monday. Still, my head is filled up with memories of Mack, and my heart is particularly lonely for Mack’s good cheer during this fourth holiday season without her. The air outside is bitter, but the sky is bright and sunny; and since I rather like the feeling of the sun on my face, I am contemplating the therapeutic value of some fresh air and a brisk walk, with Mack along for company, of course.

Yet I strongly consider (have always considered) the bundling up required for cold winter weather to be a most unpleasant task and a very uncomfortable condition. All of that suffocating fleece and wool and goose down make me claustrophobic, sweaty, breathless, and annoyed. Along with inheriting my deep brown eyes, my freckles, and my love of books, Mack also inherited my displeasure of bundling. Heavy coats, scarves, and warm woolen mittens were not a few of Mack’s favorite things. Winter never tucked away her flip-flops and oversized basketball shorts, even as they might expose her toes and ever-bruised knees to frigid winter weather. Throughout high school, Mack never wore a winter coat; and I gave up buying them for her. Even still, every winter day that Mack left for school, I would issue warnings of pneumonia. And every winter day that Mack left for school, she would ignore my “absurd” Momma-Bear advice, content to take her chances with the cold, and leaving the house in just a thick hooded sweatshirt.

When Mack went to Truman State University in way-northern Missouri, I started laying the groundwork in early August for the purchase of a winter coat. Mack balked at the bulk of an appropriate parka, but ultimately admitted that the bone-cold and snowy winters of Kirksville would require something more than a sweatshirt. She settled on a thin puffy jacket, not really a coat, and she also, with surprisingly good humor, took to covering her head and her ears. Gloves tended to fall out of Mack’s pockets, and I never quite convinced her that her shearling-lined Ugg loafers were no match for the snow. But at least she learned that some ­winter-morning walks across a blustery northern campus in sub-zero temperatures and in snowstorms required at least a little more than a thick cotton sweatshirt. Sometimes, in fact, you also needed to pair that hoodie with a jacket, some sweatpants, a pair of borrowed boots, and a wonderfully ridiculous winter hat.