Boom.

That dry old log I tossed into the fire whistled softly, hissed, and sounded with three sharp cracks. A momentary glow, a crisp scare, an enduring warmth. The fire roared and suddenly the log exploded. A shower of sparks soared up the chimney and arced outward toward you and me. For an instant, everything stopped—the brilliant pixels of light lingered in the darkness and burned into my mind’s eye.

The fire cooled and soon glowing embers were all that remained. Later, after we had fallen asleep, those embers were gone. Later still, when we awoke together at dawn to open our gifts, there was more light—the twinkling Christmas tree, the candles on the breakfast table, the daybreak peeking through the blinds, glinting off of your shiny new diamond ring. But all I truly remember are those sparks and your expression of delighted shock illuminated by the burning tinder in the fireplace.

Earlier that night we walked hand in hand from the solemn, incense-filled church into the bracing winter air, the sky dotted wildly with stars. Remember? Walking home, we had a conversation about the sermon—the standard holiday homily about the spirit of Christmas. We were proud of how in touch we were of with that essence. You brought up the day we visited the Children’s Hospital to deliver presents. We wanted a baby of our own. I confessed to you that I felt a little guilty about the heartwarming feeling the visit gave me.

That night, I said that all Christmases should be that special. You said nothing would ever live up to it. We never did finish that conversation. We should have. Maybe we remember just enough so that things make sense.

That Christmas was one isolated instance in the grand scheme of our lives. Why am I reflecting when so much has happened since then? Because now I understand. We spend lifetimes waiting for experience to crystallize into emotion. We decorate our lives with ritual to summon feelings we cannot otherwise embrace. And when moments do become emotion, they take us by surprise.

You’re gone and I’ve forgotten entire years of my life, yet the clarity of that dazzling instance in front of the fireplace is still pure in my memory. That dry old log exploded and it rained fire for one split second. One split second when we were in love and everything made sense.