Alright. I’m sitting in front of stockings and ridiculous quantities of Christmas books and a lit tree waiting for tomorrow to be trimmed. That means I’m ready to talk about Thanksgiving.
When I first started thinking about this Thanksgiving, I noted that it would be the 23rd…exactly two years since Mom died. I thought, “meh, it’s fine.” More thoughts led to conversations led to this: a quiet Thanksgiving at our house (my very first one doing it solo) with just us and my dad. Cousins were with other family and my sisters avoided holiday travel madness by coming the week before. All was glorious. As the day sped closer I started to projecthave concern for my kids that quiet might not seem right. Thanksgiving has always been a loud, raucous holiday with lots of people and running around. But I shushed that voice (with help from my husband) and we dove into the day.
I did a paper table cloth that people could write things they were thankful for. There was lighting stuff on fire and playing with Garyn’s new VR headset. A traditional lunch of candy corn/peanut mix and Ruffles with sour cream and onion dip was followed by food prep. Dinner and dessert were delicious. Neil being pretty out of it was a bummer but manageable. We played bingo and everyone loved their funny t-shirt and weird candy prizes. The next day the girls and I did manicures/pedicures and Garyn got a second Thanksgiving dinner at his girlfriend’s house. On paper it sounds perfect.

Thursday night I fell apart. It all felt wrong. It was too quiet and too perfect. More than that, we were supposed to be with my mom or at least texting her pictures and dishing on all the details. This was kind of a big deal holiday for her, and I missed her complaining about something or dinner being totally late despite her protestations that she hated when people didn’t start meals on time. She tried to get macaroni and cheese added to our standard menu when she embraced her move to the south. We aren’t southern and no one liked the versions she tried…so no. No mac and cheese.
Funny how when people pass away it’s the things that actually made them unique and real people that we miss the most. My mom was so kind to strangers…I miss her snarkyness. She really created beautiful moments and memories…I tell the stories of when things went wrong the most.
Man, I haven’t cried that hard in a long time. But we survived. I might even say it made everything that followed that much more poignant. It wasn’t a happier Christmas tree acquisition or more gratifying putting up of Christmas lights. I just felt it all more.