Here we are again, putting the old year to bed, like a mother tucking in her sick child—lovingly yet firmly—hoping that all her caring actions and soothing remedies will result in a good night’s rest and a healthier tomorrow. As we pull the sheets taut, fluff the pillows, and add another blanket, we wonder when the fever will break and the laughter return. As the child sleeps, we stroke her forehead and hold her hand, watching her breath rise and fall. Memories form, float, and pop like magic bubbles from an invisible wand. In time, we let go, backing out of the room into an uncertain future; then, turning our back to the past, we step down the hallway and turn on the light.