When I was a young boy, I lost my mother and father. As     1     a person without a father or mother life was difficult for me and I was often lonely. l lived in a home with other children and my bedroom was     2     empty with few toys or things to enjoy.

Although I married eventually and had my own children, I always felt sad thinking about my parents. One day I got a letter in the post. It said it was from my sister! I was     3     shocked to read this and as it had never been     4     told to me that had other family members. The letter said my sister would like to meet me and told me the time and place to go.

On the day I met her, l arrived at her home. It was a beautiful old house with blue walls and white     5     window coverings. As I went up the garden path, the door was flung open by a woman who looked just like my mother! At first I was     6     stuck in one place with shock but she     7     jumped into my arms and we hugged. It was such a special moment that I found myself     8     crying with joy.

My sister said she too was unaware that she had a brother but that she had     9     looked into our family history in the past year and found my name. Knowing that I have a sister gives me so much comfort as I have a connection to the past.

5 . In the back of my closet, there is a small cardboard chest that has followed me to every one of my new addresses. Until now, the only _________ contents in it are three wrapped _________ marked in my mother’s tidy handwriting: “Engagement”, “Wedding” and “First Baby”.

When I was three, my mother learned that she had advanced breast cancer. When I was seven, she had begun _________ a gift box for me. Inside, she packed presents and letters for the _________ of my life she was going to be missing — driver’s license, graduation, and every birthday until the age of 30.

My mother died ten days before our _________ birthday. That morning, when I turned 12 and she would have turned 49, I woke up early and opened the package _________ “12th Birthday”. A white card curling around the present _________: “I always _________ a birthstone ring when I was a little girl. Your Granny finally bought me one and I loved it more than I can say. I hope you like it, too.” I put on the ring and _________ her writing with my fingertip.

On the morning of my high school graduation, a __________ of pearls appeared as I opened the wrapped present. Her note read: “There seemed to be a __________ in my family that when girls graduated from high school, they received pearls.” I wore the pearls that afternoon as I took the stage to accept my diploma.

Year after year, my mother __________ forward in time to meet me. When I was a child, opening the next package felt like a treasure __________. As I grew older, her message met me like guideposts in a dark forest. If her words couldn’t point the way, at least they offered the __________ of knowing that someone had been there before and that I have been __________, wildly loved.

Traditionally,     1     the year winds down, it’s a time for reflections—to give thanks, reconnect with loved ones, and cherish the more meaningful parts of life, removed from our usual day-to-day distractions.

Of course, the events of 2020 haven’t shown a lot of respect for our traditions. In a year of so much tragedy, it can be tough to give thanks when you’re doing your best to get by. And far too many of us will have to gather around a table with an empty chair, if we were able to gather together at all.

One thing, though, we can say about 2020 is that it forced us all to cherish what is most important, what’s most meaningful in our lives. To stop taking things for granted,     2     truly matters. To be grateful for what we have, and to be alive to the pain of those     3     (fortunate).

Throughout this challenging year, I’ve been moved, again and again, by the sacrifices so many were willing to make on behalf of others. The healthcare professionals who risked their lives to save ours. The workers who have kept our lights on and our shelves stocked, always essential to our economy, but finally     4     (recognize) for it. The protesters of every race and age who saw injustice in their streets and their institutions and demanded change. And the less heralded leaders, the quiet change-makers who saw need in their own communities and leapt to address it. They checked in on their neighbors, delivered food and PPE to seniors and those experiencing hardship, offered mental health support to those     5    (recover) from trauma.     6     holes this pandemic tore wide in our social fabric, these emerging leaders stepped forward to patch it up.

These are exactly the leaders Michelle and I started our Foundation to support. We always thought they     7     (lead) us into a bright future, if only we     8     empower them, connect them with each other, and give them a dose of inspiration when they needed it.

What we learned in 2020 is that these emerging leaders aren’t just building a brighter future, they’re safeguarding our present. In hard times, they are the ones who’ve given me solace. It’s     9     sacrifice in which I found hope. And as we begin to close the chapter on a difficult year with encouraging news on the horizon, it’s their leadership     10     will guide us today and tomorrow.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everybody.

—Quoted from Barack Obama’s Christmas speech in 2020

Act of Memory

I was a young girl of eleven then, living in Brooklyn. My father had died unexpectedly that summer. Times was suddenly very hard for my mother, my brother, and me.

Papa had always made a big deal out of Christmas. Every Christmas, when we were about to decorate the tree, he would make a little ceremony out of taking a special little Kewpie-doll out of its box, holding it up in front of me, saying, “Maria, this doll is as old as you are.” Then he would hang it on the Christmas tree. Papa bought that little doll when I was born, and it had become a small tradition. But this Christmas we were to have no tree. My mother was a practical woman, saying it was a luxury. I thought, with quiet but strong bitterness and anger, that it had never meant as much to her as it had to Papa anyway.

We had been to church that evening and were walking back home in silence. All I could see were the tree-lit windows we passed. Their cheerful glow made my bitterness even more intense because I pictured happy families in those houses, sharing laughter, exchanging presents, talking, joking. I knew while arriving home, we would be greeted by darkened windows and endless emptiness.

As we passed my friend’s house, I asked my mother to please let me drop in for a while. She nodded. I waited until my mother and brother disappeared around the corner. Then I turned and headed for my friend’s house. Suddenly, a pile of abandoned Christmas trees from the store next to her house came into my sight. Surprised and excited, I dashed to the trees, picked out the best one and began half-dragging my treasure home. It seemed as if Papa was mixed up in this somehow. It seemed as if he was in the stars above me, in every lighted-house, in the very tree I was carrying.

When I got home, I rang the doorbell and couldn’t wait to show them the tree.

Before going to bed, I slipped to see my tree one last time but saw my mother standing in front of it.