Although I’m about a week away from making lists, I realize that at least for the moment, I can plan amidst ordinary status quo. And that is very much a blessing.
The fact is, there are many who approach this Thanksgiving with a heaviness of heart they could never have imagined a year ago. Many families have lost a loved one which makes the thought of gathering without them unfathomable.
Grief is overwhelming. For others, the onset of illness, medical treatment or surgical recoveries mean they find themselves in the middle of an uninvited season.
Planning for a family gathering engulfed in loss is heart wrenching. How do we even begin to reimagine a table without one so loved now lost? How do we muster the energy to rise and join the party amidst physical, emotional, or spiritual depletion?
The reality is many of our neighbors, friends and family members are limping toward the holidays feeling indescribable despair. It’s hard. Sometimes words fall short. What do we say?
Thanksgiving becomes a dichotomy. Anticipating togetherness amidst such deep and squashing personal pain might create anxiety.
At the same time, being together may offer a bridge constructed simply by being together.
I remember many years ago when my brother Pat passed, it was early November. My mom, engrossed in grief, chose to host Thanksgiving despite the overwhelming sadness of losing her oldest son.
Instead of succumbing to the drown in sorrow, she chose to invite togetherness with all of us who were deep in mourning as well. She felt it would be healthier for us to come together in shared grief than remain alone in fragmented anguish. My mom set and extra place setting with a chair at the table in honor of my brother. She made space for him.
None of us needed a reminder of his absence, but my mom’s gesture created an invitation for us to talk about and laugh with the spirit of my brother. My mom’s openness turned an impossible challenge seeped in sorrow into a steppingstone. We all survived that Thanksgiving, and for years thereafter, there always seemed to be an extra seat at the table.
To this day, when we find an extra seat at any table anywhere, my siblings and I note with a shared twinkle the fact that “apparently,” Pat was also invited. It’s easy to remember all this now, but it was acutely difficult at the time.
Was my mom courageous? Well, I think so, but at the time she was just trying to thread the needle of loss with something that would make it all bearable. Turns out, being with each other made us all a bit stronger because we could grieve together.
So, for all I know who are mustering strength to face these holidays despite your hurting hearts, I hope you will gather in a safe place where shared love flows freely. Your grief and pain just might find a safe place to land.
Together is always better when authenticity reigns. And perhaps you’ll do as my mom did. Make space for your loss, for it’s there where a bit of healing might rest.
Anne Marie Romer lives in Centerville and is the author of the book, “Just Give Me The Road.” Follow her on instagram @romerannemarie, or contact her via email romeranne319@gmail.com.
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