Reflections on a first Thanksgiving without a loved one

I make the place cards for Thanksgiving dinner. I don’t usually do it alone, but this year my sister’s flight didn’t get in until late the night before the big day.

Making the place cards is a big deal in my family. And while I am great in the creativity department (one year we had golden pears with individualized poems), I am not the best at logistics. I inevitably forget one person every year.

Usually it’s a new girlfriend or a different girlfriend or a girlfriend’s mom so it’s not that big of a deal. One year I forgot my Aunt Sunny, and that was most definitely a big deal. This Thanksgiving I pledged to get it right.

I was finishing my last place card when I called out to the family room.

“I’m missing someone,” I said loudly, because everyone was yelling over the football or telling the dogs to stop barking.

“It’s probably me,” Rachel offered. She’s my cousin’s girlfriend. This is her third Thanksgiving with us. I had already done hers.

“Nope.”

“Is it you?” she asked next.

“Nope.”

I had the right number of place cards, and everyone was accounted for. But there was still this nagging feeling that someone was missing.

Then I remembered my grandma.

My grandma passed away about two months ago. This was our first Thanksgiving without her. My grandma was the kind of woman who always seemed to be awake before you, no matter how early you woke up. She always bought my favorite cinnamon bread from the local bakery whenever I came into town.

She sat at the head of the table each Thanksgiving, right next to my grandfather, surrounded by twenty-something people that had all come to be just because they fell in love.

Here’s what was different now that she’s gone. The occasional person cries when we say the prayer, but this time, the prayer wasn’t even sad, and everyone cried anyways. I rearranged where everyone usually sits at the table to make her absence less noticeable. My aunt went home sick and didn’t stay for dinner. We didn’t sign the table runner saying what we’re thankful for.

We chased away moments of silence, knowing they were burdened by loss instead of a thoughtful consideration of gratefulness. No one was around to put everyone’s wine glasses in the dishwasher before they got a chance to finish their drink. My grandfather cried a lot. Everyone left earlier than usual and we didn’t play Taboo.

My grandmother in her apron last Thanksgiving

Here’s what was the same even though she’s gone. We still sat around the table, laughing and crying and feeling grateful for how much love we have. We talked about who got divorced and consequently needs to be set up with a cute, at-least-38-year-old single woman. We took the family picture and someone was too short or too tall or not bending down far enough to see the person behind them.

My grandfather still cut the turkey into piles of dark and light meat. My little brother’s phone went off during the prayer and made us all giggle through the tears. The grown-ups drank a lot of alcohol and the kids asked if they could try some.

I felt as I always feel – floored that I somehow ended up this lucky, with a family this incredible. The only new feeling was a nagging one of permanent loss.

Holidays are hard when there’s an empty chair and even emptier hearts. I can’t give anyone inspirational advice on how to make a loss seem less heavy, and honestly, I don’t think there’s a way. Losing someone you love sucks. I miss my grandma every day.

I think all we can do this holiday season is sit around the table together, holding onto the hands next to us, and know that everyone is thinking the same thing when we squeeze extra tight for a little too long.