It was a very quiet Thanksgiving, yet the silence was deafening. For some reason I kept going to the window and looking out, as though I was expecting someone. But I knew no one was coming. I wasn't even sure who I was looking for. Dad died in 2004, Robin in 2015 and Marie in September. Carl lives in Texas, Keith doesn't celebrate holidays and Clancy was spending the day with his ex-girlfriend.
Yet I still made an almost 12 pound turkey (the smallest I could find), homemade gravy and the seasoned collard greens. Kitty made the rest of the meal, including the homemade mashed potatoes, corn, crescent rolls, strawberry cheesecake and sweet potato pie. I said the blessing and then we sat at the table to eat.
Nothing tasted like Thanksgiving to me. I ate very little because the food just didn't seem right, even though it was the same as it ever was. I finally realized it wasn't the food: it was me. I wasn't the same as I ever was. Even with my daughters there, I felt alone. I was too much in my head. I was remembering the last time Marie had Thanksgiving dinner with us when she lived with us, and how much she enjoyed the food and how happy she was. I remembered taking her on a drive one evening to see all of the houses decorated for Christmas, and how she loved the lights. Yep: I was missing her.
I believe it will be a different Christmas as well, but hopefully without the melancholy. I invited Clancy and Theresa over for Christmas Eve. Brie is going to go southern on us for Christmas dinner. I think that will help. Both of my daughters are phenomenal cooks, and with something non-traditional I think I'll be better about it. Time will certainly tell.
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