In a month, it will be four years since the worst day of our lives. I could write about this then, but I feel it’s more appropriate pre-holiday, as there are many out there who are navigating their first (or their 40th, it doesn’t really matter) holiday without someone, and maybe my experiences can lighten someone else’s load for a few moments.

In a lot of ways, this year marked a turning point. I can’t put my finger on when or how it started to happen, but at times, it felt like we’d made progress. One of the kids didn’t say the word “Dad” for a long time, referring to “him” or “you know” instead. One day, I realized that the D word had been uttered, and it continued to pop up more regularly.

I think we’ve finally gotten used to the fact that sometimes, we’re going to say “Dad” and we’re all going to laugh, and other times, one of us might end up shedding a few tears. My favorite development is that the kids are now comfortable saying things like, “You know what Dad would say if he were here …”

Their impressions of him and the accuracy of their predictions has become a way to remember him and incorporate him in our lives these days. It took a long time for this to start to happen. I didn’t know that it was a thing that would happen, but I am so grateful for it.

One of the first impulses I had in the weeks after Steve died was to just leave this place. Pull up stakes and start over somewhere else. That is the curse of staying here, though, our best memories are here, but so is our worst one.

Over the last year, though, I’ve noticed how much the kids change when we’re away from home. They are lighter, less tense, less snappy with each other and me. It’s been particularly evident with A, who spends most of his time in other places. Part of it is the anonymity. For a brief time, everyone around them doesn’t know about their tragedy.

Of course, that can make things awkward when it does come up, but most of the time, it doesn’t. E and I spent a drive home from a quick weekend trip talking about what a great time we’d had together the previous few days.

She and I had done some window shopping, and some actual shopping. Around here, when we go shopping together, she usually stays as far away from me as she can, and God forbid I should make a suggestion about an item she might like.

On our trip, we were shoulder to shoulder, digging through sale bins at a cute little book shop, picking out “ugly” jewelry for each other and laughing the whole time, and trading sips of the “special” coffees we dared each other to try.

Then, we pulled into the driveway, I made a simple inquiry into how much homework she had to finish, and yep, there was my lovely, moody teenager, back in full force. Was it the reminder of homework, or was it being back in our happy/sad place that changed her mood? Probably both, but sometimes I do wish we could just stay on vacation.

One of the things I’ve started to hear a lot, from both close friends and acquaintances, is “you’re doing so well.” No. I’m not. I’ve just gotten really, really good at faking it. Years of practice. I attend as many of the holiday activities as I can stand, but almost all of them end with me driving home, crying my eyes out because Steve wasn’t there with me.

I truly don’t know what is worse: when people were walking on eggshells all the time, worried about me, or when people just assume everything is great, and life has gone on. There isn’t really an in-between spot, or at least not one that I’ve found.

I wish I had the answers. I wish I could tell people which books I read or which therapist I’ve gone to or what supplement I’ve taken that has fixed everything. I also wish I could press a fast forward button and get through the next month of festivities in a few seconds.

I wish that I had slowed down that last holiday that we had together, and savored more of the Christmas concerts, looking at the Christmas lights as we drove home, taken more pictures of everything.

The holidays are not an easy time for many people. Sometimes, the best we can do is try not to make them harder.

Liz Pinkey’s column appears on Saturdays in the Times News