As a little girl, I remember going to my mother’s parents for Christmas. The house was filled with family: my plump, white haired great-grandmother sitting in the kitchen, my aunts and uncles all over the place, and lots of my cousins everywhere. We were welcomed with noisy love and warmth. When we would go to my father’s parents for Christmas, it was much quieter: my grandparents, my parents, my brother, my great uncle, and my slim, gray haired great grandmother sitting in her chair in the living room. We were welcomed into a home filled with a quiet love of hugs, kisses and tender talks. These are my most precious memories, different but the same: Welcome and love flowed through these homes....