We spent Thanksgiving as we usually do, gathering at Melinda Snodgrass’s place in the hills above Lamy to enjoy the company of friends old and new over a sumptuous meal.   Turkey, stuffing, deviled eggs, Melinda’s home made nog, a slice or two of apple pie (with cheese, of course).  The food was lovely, and it was good to be with friends.

But 2024 was a dark year, and our Thanksgiving was to have a dark end.   Later that night, at home, we received a shattering text from Shannon Zelazny.  Her br...