People always say that the first year after a loved one's death is the hardest because its full of just that - firsts. From the first morning coffee after they're gone to the first church service, the first dinner with friends, the first day back at work, the first day coming home to no one, and of course, the first holidays.
All month I have been cringing as time marches toward a menacing display of cheer.
In anticipation of the happiest time of the year (a truly barbaric phrase to anyone who is grieving), I found myself building an internal wall of sorts, a layer of impassiveness around my heart. Frankly it seemed safer than being blindsided by the pain of the holiday's without my dad, without my husband's mom, without a home to go back to.
Because it is always easier to hide. But here's the thing, hiding prevents the wounds from airing out, from scabbing, from healing.
So I made a promise to myself the week before Thanksgiving - that I wouldn't close off my heart from the healing.
My mom arrives at my house and the table looks empty. Just my husband and I, my mom, and a glaring void. Its funny how sometimes the absence of a person is more palpable than their physical body ever was. I think, 'If loss were liquid, our cup has overflown.'
I resist the urge to run. The instinctual impulse to rebuild the wall around my heart - to stop feeling, stop missing, stop remembering, stop aching.
How do I sit here looking at where my dad sat last year and give thanks? How do I praise when I still have nightmares about watching my mother-in-law drown in her own lungs? How can I be grateful when my arms are empty? How do I count blessings when there seem to be so many griefs?
I come upon this truth, spoken perhaps from an unknown angel; it sprawls across my computer screen:
“A sacrifice of thanksgiving means grieving what could have been while remaining grateful for what is.”
Thanksgiving is not an ultimatum. It does not mean that you have to be thankful that there is an empty spot at the table where your loved one should be, or that you lost a job, or a home, or a dream. Rather, Thanksgiving is about acknowledging what could have been and giving thanks for what still is.
I may not have my dad at the table this year, but I do have my mom and my husband. I may not have been able to go home to my parent's for the holidays, but I have a home to welcome others into. I may have empty arms, but I have eight beautiful nieces and nephews to hold close.
And although this year has had an unbearable amount of loss I have also been reminded what amazing families my husband and I each have. I have been humbled by the underserved grace I have received, the promise of eternity and of the communion of saints.
In the midst of the ache for what could have been, what should have been - I am choosing to look at what is.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”