An Empty Chair
Today is a day to focus on gratitude and tradition. I try to start each day in gratitude as a practice and Thanksgiving gives an opportunity to focus on all those good things when things might otherwise feel dark.
This has been a rough year. I have spent it in what I have termed “a vortex of periphery grief”.
By that, I mean I have had about one degree of separation from losses experienced by family and friends. My husband did not drop dead, but that happened to a close friend. One of my best friends did not die of cancer this month but that happened to my daughter. Death is happening all around me, often. Too often.
The number of peripheral passings has me in a heightened state of anticipated doom. Now if you forget to text that you made it home safely, I immediately go into a slight panic. (Obviously if you didn’t text me back, you must be dead.) My need to ensure those I love are safe is at an all time high. I am not taking tomorrow for granted.
Trying to make sense of it all is pointless. I try to comfort those left behind, knowing the holiday season is especially rough for those who are experiencing these for the first time without the person they treasured taking a seat at the table.
The holidays punctuate grief, loss, and loneliness.
In my first marriage, Thanksgiving held at my house was open to what I called “road orphans” – people who travelled for a living who might not be able to get home for the holiday, and in truth, anyone we knew who would otherwise be alone were welcome to join our family in celebrating. It was also a time when my favorite former stepmother (I had a few to choose from) would often come for a visit.
My favorite ex-stepmother was my first stepmother. When I was eight, my father and mother divorced, and Dad took off for a new life in Arizona. Jan divorced her husband and soon followed. A decade later, I thought it’d be a good idea to move in with them, so I applied to and was accepted at Arizona State University. The arrangement lasted less than a year but, in that time, I got to know my stepfamily.
My stepmother and I developed a relationship unlike any I had at the time. I looked up to and respected her as an adult figure, but she also became a good friend. When the marriage to my dad ended, our relationship endured.
Over the years, my friends became her friends. My family, her family. She was born in November and would often come for a visit around this time to celebrate. I have memories of her “stuffing the bird” one year and another when she helped transform our kids into angels and shepherds for a church play. We took many trips together. I remember sitting with her in a Las Vegas hotel room when we learned one of her favorite Nascar drivers, Dale Earnhardt, had died in a crash at the Daytona 500. I would visit, if even for just a quick hello, anytime I made it to the Phoenix area.
For at least a decade, the holidays were not complete until a box of Harry and David pears would arrive with a simple note, Merry Christmas, love Mom/Grandma Jan. She and the pears are synonymous.
Though we never argued about it, our political views were very different. So much so, that for awhile I could not look at her Facebook page with anything but disbelief. Those differences caused a shift, and we stopped having direct communication. About a year ago, her daughter let me know Jan had been diagnosed with dementia and was in an assisted living facility.
Though full of good intentions, I sent one card in all that time. I thought I would make a trip to the desert to pay her a visit sometime next year, but on November 11th, Grandma Jan died. My stepsister let me know, and later posted on social media that “Mom didn't want a service or really any kind of fuss. She wanted us to remember her with a party and some laughter. So please raise a glass of Chianti in her memory.” Today would have been her 87th birthday.
The “vortex of peripheral grief” appears to be pushing even closer to my circle and inevitably will hit home at some point.
As friends and family gather this year, I find myself thinking about those who may be alone or missing a loved one and send kind thoughts their way. An empty chair at the table can be especially painful but can also be a catalyst for conversation.
Let’s share memories of those who are no longer with us and keep their spirit alive. And, for those who have estranged relationships, I implore you to find a path to forgiveness while the person is still alive.
We all grieve in our own way, and as far as I know, grief does not carry a timepiece. It can hit at any time and can be triggered by unlimited factors – a song on the radio, the scent of a passerby, walking down the aisle of a box store, a random memory – for me, each of these incidences have opened an unexpected floodgate of healing tears, and sometimes, laughter, for the recollection.
If you have an empty chair at your table today, I hope you find comfort in your memories and are otherwise comforted by the love of family and friends. I encourage you to literally count your blessings one by one and may you be far removed from anything but love and light. Happy Thanksgiving and Happy birthday to Grandma Jan. In addition to the traditional fare, we’ll be serving Chianti… and pears.
xo, Hollie
