My grandmother holding her first grandchild. We were supposed to have the same birthday, but I finally arrived half an hour after midnight.

Today I’m thinking of my grandmother. Strong, beautiful, spirited and gracious, she was everything I hope I will grow old to be.

Our birthdays come so close together, mine now feels a little incomplete without her around. I’ve always felt, too, that our birthdays come at a special time of year – maybe because they always fall somewhere around the start of Advent, when what seems like an ending is really a beginning, and light steals softly, quietly back into the world just when it seems most dark.

I’ve slowly learned that thinking about death on a birthday can bring more peace and joy than sadness, and everything does come full circle, in a cycle of love and faith and hope. It is at this time of year when I most strongly believe that love really is stronger than death, and people we think we’ve lost are still there for us somehow when we need them most.