I kicked into gear the day before Thanksgiving. I grocery shopped, picked up the house, dusted, mopped, and cleaned out the refrigerator as if it was going to be magically loaded up with leftovers the next day. I baked a pie.

At the end of the day, as I washed the last of the dishes I had used, the memories of Thanksgivings gone by snuck up and flooded my mind.  Part of those Thanksgivings isn’t on earth anymore. He was a part of what made each holiday special.

My eyes welled up with tears, my heart twisted up in knots and I cried with my hands still in the soapy water holding a dish in one hand and wash rag in the other. As if my hands couldn’t leave the water, I leaned my forehead on the edge of the sink and cried. I stood up with my hands still in the water and stared out the kitchen window into the dark trying to find composure. I didn’t find it. More rounds of tears came.  I washed the snot from my nose on the sleeve of my shirt as I lifted my arm up with water dripping down it. I returned to washing the dishes in the sink and continued to cry.

Eventually the dishes were washed, the sink drained and my hands were dried.

Dishes were clean but my heart is not. My heart has been damaged with cracks that run to a gaping hole in me. There will be no more Thanksgivings with Riley. Thanksgivings will never be the same. I worked very hard at making traditions and memories for holidays for the kids as they grew up.

Here in Kentucky I was doing the tradition of preparing for Thanksgiving though there wouldn’t be a brood of family coming in the door. My memories are of cleaning and preparing for a house full of family- trying to keep in front of kids dropping their things in freshly cleaned rooms and adding to the dishes to wash, being up early to peel potatoes and put the turkey in the oven.

Riley coming through the kitchen asking what kind of pies would we have. He liked pumpkin pie. Yes, there would be a pumpkin pie, but Grandma was bringing it along with three other kinds of pies. Braden’s humor and goofiness on Thanksgivings was a staple. Bria dragging herself out of bed just in time to shower before family got there. A day off from swim practice or work meant sleep for her.

Per tradition, the morning of Thanksgiving we had cinnamon rolls. I talked to Braden on the phone on Thanksgiving morning this year as he was eating a cinnamon roll. I didn’t ask, but it seems he was keeping to tradition. I like that. That’s what the traditions that I made sure that we had are supposed to do. To be carried on as they grow older and have their own homes.

My mind flashed to the family gatherings of aunts and uncles, cousins, my Mom who has been gone almost 7 years now – missing her homemade rolls, her smile and loving open arms. I thought of Aunt Una who has been gone 6 years.  Watching Aunt Una  enjoy the taste and smell of the holidays was a treat.

Those Thanksgivings are gone. I mourn them. I mourn what I have had. I wish I wasn’t mourning. I don’t want to mourn. I don’t want the pain. I am mad that I have this grief that I cannot shed. I give myself permission to mourn though permission doesn’t stop the pain. It is here to stay.

I have not forgotten to be thankful. I am thankful for my cabin, Bert laying by my feet, new friends and the health and happiness of my family. I am thankful that I wake up every day, that I have work with new opportunities opening up before me that bring on personal challenges and growth. I am thankful that I had Riley for the years that I did. I am not without thanks.

I am without Riley. That I cannot be thankful for.

In my leap of faith to move to Kentucky, there has been much to be thankful for and yet I miss my kids. I ache to hold all three of them. The tears come from the realization that space keeps me from them. I cannot hold Riley ever again-the space between us is far too great and it’s just not fair!

This Thanksgiving I followed traditions without realizing it. I was able to create new traditions. The one personal Thanksgiving tradition I kept with tenacity, dedication, persistence, and single-mindedness was completed. I ate my pie for breakfast each morning until it was gone.

I Love You, Riley.