I have concluded that the only way I should bid farewell to the most horrible year of my life is to light a fire.

The idea comes, in fact, from a friend in Beaumont, Texas. I am going to heed his advice.

I intend to gather up every paper 2023 calendar I have in my Princeton, Texas, home. I then will place them in a fire pit I have in my back yard.

Then I am going to light them on fire. Burn them into ashes and embers. I want zero evidence of their presence in my home.

The year 2023 will be known in my house as the Year of the Broken Heart. It shattered into a million pieces on Feb. 3 when my dear bride, Kathy Anne, passed away from the savage effects of glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer.

It took some time to find my way out of the darkness, but I am essentially free of that pain. Most of the time. It still hurts on occasion, such as yesterday when I got weepy with my son talking about his Mom.

Then came the loss of Toby the Puppy on Dec. 1. He suffered cancer in various organs. He got too weak to continue the chemotherapy treatments. He had become a valued companion and buddy. We grieved together. My sons and I let him go and my heart broke all over again.

So … I now await the new year. 2024 will be a year of continuing recovery, but the journey is a lot brighter than when it began earlier in this most miserable year of my life.

And to my friend, Dan, who prompted me with this notion I offer a heartfelt thank you.

Fire in the hole!