It’s been a year. What a year.
Three years actually.
First, I hope you’re able to gather with family this Thanksgiving, and if not, I hope it’s by your choice.
For the past two holiday seasons, many families didn’t gather. Some did and paid a horrific price.
My immediate family didn’t gather, but groups of my more distant family did, and not everyone survived.
Aside from Covid, a word I shudder to even utter, time took its toll too.
So has the increasing hatefulness and vitrol at play in the US, and perhaps in other places too, which has irrecoverably fractured families.
Additionally, lots of people moved. I’ve actually been shocked how many, especially given that we spent months in the grip of pandemic that killed 6.6 million worldwide and over a million in the US, disabling millions more. Moving was difficult and more challenging than ever given the circumstances – yet more than 15 million households moved in the US alone according to address forwarding orders submitted to the USPS.
On the flip side, home office freed up many people who would not have previously been able to relocate.
Just looking at a handful of my colleagues, of a group of 6 people who work together regularly, four people moved, three across the country, and one person moved across the country twice.
Change
Thanksgiving and holidays have changed for many, and maybe most, families.
Those who’ve moved will need to create new traditions and memories in new surroundings.
No more “over the river and through the woods,” because either grandma doesn’t live there anymore, or many of those chairs at that table are now empty.
There are four forever-empty chairs at my table, and yes, it has been a struggle – and that’s an understatement. If you’re struggling with this situation, regardless of why those places are vacant, let me share some thoughts and suggestions that might help. I welcome yours as well.
- We can’t go back in time.
- Enjoy and cherish the current moments, because they will be memories as soon as they are over.
- Family is who we make it.
- Empty chairs cause tears because the people who filled them enriched our lives. We were fortunate to have had them for however long.
- Having loved deeply means grieving equally as deeply.
- Grief is part of life. (Yea, that sucks!)
- If your chairs are empty because of betrayal or divisiveness, understand that death occurs in many ways.
- Anger is part of grief. It’s OK.
- Time helps.
Sometimes when you’re in so much pain, it’s really difficult to do big things, or anything, so here are some tiny first steps.
“At Least…”
If you’re struggling to be grateful, try flipping that equation and begin a few statements with “At least…”.
- I don’t have cancer.
- I’m not disabled.
- I don’t live in Ukraine.
- My power isn’t out.
- I don’t have 3 feet of snow.
What are you glad that you aren’t? With a little creativity, this could really make you laugh.
“At least I don’t have green ink on my face anymore.”
Your turn!
For a touch of humor, let your phone autofill the words after “At least.”
It’s the Little Things
Sometimes little things make such a big difference.
- Someone helped me lift a heavy thing.
- I love my cat/dog so much.
- That baby at the store smiled at me and melted my heart.
- My family member, even though they aren’t here, is healthy and happy wherever they are on life’s adventure.
- I really enjoy watching the birds at the feeder (or fill in the blank.)
- I’m looking forward to…
- That sunset (or…) is really beautiful.
- I love <favorite musician> singing <favorite song>
Might be a good time to queue up a few YouTube videos and songs and really listen to the lyrics, or simply close your eyes and cherish soothing voices. Maybe have a good cry, but not tears without end. You are not alone.
Let me repeat that.
You are not alone.
Peach Pie
Empty chairs are difficult and painful anytime, especially those “remembrance” days and holidays when the people who once sat there aren’t physically present. Past memories are a mixed blessing.
So wonderful that we have those memories. So heartbreaking at the same time. Sometimes we grieve lost possibilities and potential too – a future that never happened.
Other times, those memories transport their spirits to our heart and they slip in through the darkness.
Sometimes just looking at a peach pie near Thanksgiving makes me cry. But it also makes me laugh remembering Mom’s peach pie antics.
Mom loved peach pie. She became so frail in her last years that she really couldn’t handle days worth of prep for Thanksgiving, although she still desperately wanted to. We found a smorgasbord restaurant that served a wonderful Thanksgiving meal and created a “new” tradition, even though it wasn’t to last long.
On that final Thanksgiving, although of course we didn’t know it was, we arrived at our reservation time.
They seated us at a lovely table with a white tablecloth, set in a traditional, festive way. Mom spied the dessert table. Others of the family headed for the hot food line, but not Mom. Nope, Mom headed directly for dessert.
Hey, when you’re in your 80s, you can eat dessert first.
My brother asked her if she wanted “food’? She slipped right past him and made a beeline for the dessert table. Why waste time on anything else??!
Mom loved desserts, but especially chocolate and peach pie. We took this picture a month later during our last Christmas celebration together.
That Thanksgiving dessert table was full of luscious treats, all served and ready on individual plates, but there were only two slices of peach pie left.
Mom found both of them, retrieved them like buried treasure, and began making her way back through the maze of tables and people, carrying one plate in each hand.
Jim was afraid she’d fall, as she wasn’t terribly steady, so he had gone along to “assist” this tiny but mighty woman who wanted nothing to do with assistance. He tried to carry one of those plates with pie, but she was having none of that.
She sat back down at the table as everyone else arrived with plates piled high with Thanksgiving goodness. Not Mom. She had scored two pieces of peach pie and was happy as a clam with her trophies, beaming like a Cheshire cat.
Jim’s eyes started twinkling, and he reached his fork out to take a bite of the end of Mom’s peach pie.
She threatened to stab him, playfully, with her fork, and exclaimed in her shaky voice, “Don’t you dare.”
We all laughed. I don’t remember if she ever did eat any turkey, but I surely do remember laughing together and the peach pie.
And yes, she did eat both pieces.
Today, Jim and I shared that story with two unsuspecting “victims” who visited to help with something at the house. We all wound up sitting around the table together, eating peach pie, using Mom’s silverware, and laughing out loud. Those chairs weren’t vacant anymore. They were filled with smiles and laughter, seeded by Mom all these years later. Yes, she was with us.
You know, it’s hard to laugh and cry at the same time.
Trust me, we all really needed that. There are empty chairs at all of our tables this year.
I hope you can find a way to fill your heart, maybe around those tears.
Coping Strategies
Let me share with you what I’m doing this week.
- The father of a local family that I met a few months ago has experienced a devastating medical issue. We made food because they can’t be visiting the hospital and preparing food at the same time. They are already in a difficult situation from an accident not even two years ago. I can help them, and I am.
- We invited someone to join us who has recently moved and has no local family. I think we’re adding to the family, actually.
- Instead of cooking in a house that’s, ummm, a disaster right now (don’t ask), we are supporting a local business by purchasing a “heat it up” Thanksgiving turkey meal.
- We are choosing to make “lemonade” out of the situation by having a picnic with paper plates on a folding table, maybe outside. Also, did I mention peach pie?
- I am working with someone to help with their fragile family member.
- I assisted a cousin with a thorny genealogy challenge. Quick and easy for me but made a huge difference to them.
- I submitted a friend’s photos to the new MyHeritage AI tool. They love them and it made them smile. Not just because the photos were wonderful, but because someone cared.
The theme here is that we feel better when we do things for others. It’s not about what “I’m” doing, it’s about doing something beneficial.
There was an old parable growing up on the farm about what to do when things are really crummy, and you’re feeling really sorry for yourself. Dad was not having that. Go over to the other side of the tracks, he said, where they have less than you do, and do something for someone over there. You’ll feel better for a multitude of reasons.
What Can You Do?
I can think of a few ideas, but I’m sure you can think of more.
- What about a food bank or soup kitchen?
- Maybe clean out a closet and donate to a shelter. That’s win-win.
- Volunteer your time at a local animal shelter or rescue facility. They often need in-home fosters too.
- Find a way to help someone feel valued or safe.
- Visit people at nursing homes, specifically those with no family. Dementia patients may not realize you’re not family. To them, their family came to visit, and they will be overjoyed. (I view this as paying it forward or maybe karmic insurance.)
I’m Grateful For…
Looking past the immediate challenges and taking my focus off of empty chairs, I am so incredibly grateful for:
- Special friends who help me by digging into really difficult challenges.
- My sisters-of-heart who are always there. When blood family has walked away, they haven’t.
- My quilt-sisters.
- My wonderful “adopted” family around the world. You know who you are and every one of you is smiling now
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- My cousins who have become my family of choice.
- My friends who have joined me, or maybe I joined them, side by side, proverbially walking together for awhile on our journeys.
- Seeing a smile on the face of someone who hasn’t seen me for awhile.
- Seeing someone I haven’t seen for awhile. (I can’t wait for RootsTech.)
- Hugs, and people to hug.
- Feeling joy and laughter.
- For those who reach out and have reached out to help me so that I can, in turn, help others too.
- Those who kicked my butt and told me I could. (I might not have been, uhum (clears throat), appropriately grateful in the moment.)
Love is Infinite
While those chairs will never be filled with the same people again, they don’t have to remain empty either. Neither do our hearts.
- Share
- Notice need and step up
- Listen to music that speaks directly to your heart, lifts you up and makes you smile
- Volunteer
- Raise someone up
- Find your ancestors and celebrate their culture and traditions – Lucia: Light in the Darkness
- Adopt or foster a pet, maybe an older one who has little other chance. They will enrich your life beyond measure, and you are all they have.
- Love
- Watch the magnificence of the sky
- Be the light
- Sing
You see, those chairs aren’t empty, they’re musical – filled by a continuum of love, from the past into the future.
Beings will fill those voids, and love will envelope you, wherever you are in your life’s journey. They are not gone, they are just a different, transformational, form of energy, and you are the sacred steward.
Happy Thanksgiving
