Monday, December 30th, 2002
We’re back from Black Mountain, where we enjoyed seeing my parents and sister and her family. The kids enjoyed sharing a bedroom and giggling late into the night. Christmas day, we hiked an abandoned rail track and gawked at giant icicles hanging from the rock outcroppings.
On the 23rd a mutual friend called my wife with the news that Igor, the eight-year-old son of friends in France, died. He had a stomach ache, was diagnosed with leukemia and died three weeks later. Igor’s parents and older sisters doted on him. Our six-year-old worshipped Igor, wearing his hand-me-down clothes and adopting his mannerisms.