I know I’m not the only one. There are numerous people, just in my own church, who will be sitting down to a Thanksgiving table this year with an empty chair.
This is not the first year when my brother has been absent from the Thanksgiving table, but it’s the first year where his seat is empty and I know he will never sit in it again.
I wish I had some great words of wisdom to make it easier for others who are in the same boat in which my family finds ourselves.
But I can’t.
I wish I could impart some piece of advice that will stem the pain and give you joy instead.
But I can’t.
I wish I could tell you how to make it seem just like always.
But I can’t – because it isn’t.
What I can do is tell you do what you need to do. Please don’t let anyone make you feel guilty or ashamed because you want to do something completely different this year or nothing at all.
If that means you aren’t up to making a big Thanksgiving dinner like you always do, don’t let anyone bully you into it.
If that means you want to have everyone over and feed them, don’t let anyone tell you that you aren’t up to it.
If that means you want to go away, then do it.
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The thing is grief is a process. It can’t be rushed and it can’t be avoided. And the firsts are always the hardest – the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, the first birthday, the first anniversary – each one comes with its own unique difficulties. Those first special days are filled with little booby traps that spring up and hit you when you least expect it.
I’ve been doing pretty well the last month. I can feel myself healing. I no longer feel like I’m a walking, bleeding wound. God has been good to me, tenderly stitching me back up.
But it’s still hurts when something or someone brushes up against that wound.
I saw an ad for dog beds, and I immediately was thinking how I could buy several for my brother – and then it hit me like a slap in the face. He no longer needed dog beds or any other gift.
I walked through Hobby Lobby and saw a leopard printed Santa hat and burst into tears right there in the aisle.I could see him bouncing through the door, the bell at the top of his hat jingling. He was usually running late and half the gifts he brought were still in the car or unwrapped. But his smile was usually wide and there was a light in his eyes.
It hurts to know that light is forever gone.
Here’s the thing – this Thanksgiving will be different. It can’t be anything but different. That doesn’t mean that I am not thankful. Despite my brother’s death, God has blessed me in many ways this year. I am keenly aware of that.
It doesn’t mean that I lack faith, either. Without the hope I have in Christ, I could have never gotten through this in anything approaching one piece. That hope is what anchors my soul.
But our Thanksgiving this year will look very different. My parents will be going away. They just need different scenery – and that’s totally okay. My family will be hanging out at home. I’m making ribs, and I’m sure I will cry just a little bit when I put on that Sweet Baby Ray’s barbecue sauce – my brother was sort of a connoisseur of barbecue sauce. We both agreed Sweet Baby Ray’s was kind of the bomb.
I’m sure my kids and I will remember and laugh about the time my brother dropped practically an entire gallon of BBQ sauce on my carpet. If I look hard enough, I can faintly still see the stain. Somehow, I’d be more sad if I couldn’t.
So, if you have lost someone this year and you are facing a holiday season for the first time without that person, do me a favor, and yourself too. Give yourself permission to go through it the way YOU need to, and don’t let anyone make you feel badly about that!
Blessings, Rosanne