The Empty Seat at the Thanksgiving Table

     Last year, five months after Jim's death, I stumbled through Thanksgiving just as I  had stumbled through the previous months. We–the kids, grandkids and I–had dinner in our new home, but I did nothing in the way of preparation. This year, I decided to jump in and return to making our traditional fare. I'm in much better shape than a year ago, so I thought I could handle it. Maybe I thought wrong. 
     Everything–from going through my holiday recipes, to shopping, and to cooking–has brought on a flood of emotions.
     When I forgot, as always, a few things on my list and had to drive back to Kroger, fighting the lines of shoppers, I remembered the man who always made those return trips. Bringing in the groceries and putting them away, lifting the hefty iron skillet, reaching serving dishes and seldom-used appliances from the top shelves, washing pots and pans as I cooked–all of these were Jim's jobs. And he did them cheerfully, never complaining. 

     Most of all, I missed him sitting in the kitchen by the fire, while I chopped, and stirred, and cooked, and sang "Home for the Holidays."

Thanksgiving 2017      Little did I know this would be our very last together.

My mom and daughter made the table decorations
when Ashleigh was 8.

     As I cook this year, there are reminders everywhere of Thanksgivings past. I used the stirring spoon that belonged to Jim's beloved Nana James and my MomBea's favorite roasting pan, both of which must be at least 75 years old. 

Nana's spoon is worn on the edges

from stirring up countless cakes and 

cookies and pies

This old pot cooked hundreds of

beef and pork roasts for our Sunday 

dinners.

     I'm trying, as I have been for 18 months, to focus on the present, not worry about the future, or dwell in the past. But today, I'm finding it difficult. The dressing will be seasoned with tears.