I Gave Shelter to a Young Man I Found Freezing at the Cemetery on Thanksgiving And It Changed My Whole Life
I’m Iris, seventy-eight, and this house still carries my husband Joe’s fingerprints —every creaky floorboard, every stubborn faucet. After losing him twelve years ago, holidays became quiet rituals of pretending one plate didn’t echo. Four years ago, I lost my son, his wife, and their children in a car accident on their way to Thanksgiving…
