All of the pumpkin spice lattes in the world couldn't warm me that first November. It wasn't just the air that was cold, it was my heart. When my son went Home just two months earlier it was as if a part of me had died with him. And there I was, surrounded by family and what seemed like hundreds of platters of food, and fear instilled in me as we gathered around the table. Before dinner, it was customary to say grace followed by each member of the family saying one thing they were thankful for.  But this year—this year, I was struggling under the weight of my grief to find any reason to be thankful. I knew logically that there was plenty to be ...