Tangled

Usually, when I sit down to write it's because there is a thought or emotion roiling inside of me, bumping against my insides, needing to get out. Today, it's more as if I am a tangled skein of yarn so jumbled up and frayed I can't find the end to begin weaving my thoughts together into a coherent pattern. The strands of emotion go in every direction with each individual thread carrying a different feeling. If I examine the fuzz up closely, I can find and identify hope, sorrow, love, anger, grief, loss, joy and a veritable myriad of feelings. When I step back and try to make sense of myself as a whole, there is no rhyme or reason to the tangle.

The threat of Thursday looms over me. Per the norm, I will be cooking the Thanksgiving meal. There is a sense of familiarity and normalcy in that decision, yet there is no sense of normalcy surrounding Thanksgiving itself.

If it were me, and only me, I would choose to stay in bed and try to sleep through the day. There would be no deep-fried Turkey for Josh to help his father cook, no ghost of him in the kitchen snitching food before it was served, no echo of his laughter as I scold him to get his fingers out of the potatoes he is vigorously hand mashing. His four servings of candied yams wouldn't remain in the casserole dish and his shadow wouldn't be napping on the couch after he has eaten to bursting point. After he tried some of each dessert, the dishes he isn't here to help me wash wouldn't be waiting for me. If it were just me, none of those things would be taking place. But, it's not just me and I have to find a way to make it the least painful for the rest of my family. Not painless.... just the least painful.

For the first time, my family won't be together. In and of itself, it was bound to happen eventually. It's amazing it's never happened before that one of my children wasn't able to be present for one of the holidays. What impacts me most significantly, is that we will be together as much as we ever will be, for the rest of our days. This year,and every year hereafter, there will be only four of us, not five. (plus friends) While I am grateful beyond measure for my other two children, who will be here fulfilling their own roles in our traditional Thanksgiving, I don't know how to fill the void he has created. There will be one less family member, one less helper, one less voice raised in laughter, there will be one less child hauling off my plastic containers filled with leftovers, (which he would share with his friends, and then come by for days to eat more at my house) ... there will be less, just less. Less of the very essence of my Thanksgiving. Instead, taking up the space Josh filled, there will be more tears, more memories, more longing.

The only thing there will not be less of, at least on my part, is love.

How wonderful my life has been, still is, will continue to be... if I can harangue myself into making it so. I am thankful for what I have, sad for what I've lost, full of love and joy for ALL my children and the blessings they are, in whatever capacity I have them. So tell me, why can't I stop crying?

Tangled, I'm so incredibly tangled.