Thanksgiving has been... interesting this year. It's interesting for family to gather at your house because they are mourning not because they are grateful. It's interesting to have a fridge full of leftovers because your parent's Sunday school class has brought you meals four nights in a row not because you made too much turkey. It's interesting to come to the breathtaking realization that one less person isn't here for Thanksgiving. And they won't be here for Christmas. Or your birthday. Or your graduation.
Needless to say, when your Grammie dies a week before Thanksgiving, there isn't a lot to be thankful for.
Sorrow was definitely a guest at our table this Thanksgiving. He's technically been living with us since February, and he doesn't seem to be moving along any time soon. Sorrow is like wearing glasses, it distorts the way you look at things. Somethings look blurrier, like happiness and thanksgiving and Christmas lights when you're crying. But somethings look sharper, like love and anger and the spindly leafless maple trees and frayed edges of Bible on Sunday morning and the mellow sweetness of the pie I made just like my Grammie would've.
Maybe I'm thankful for the sorrow. Because it reminds me that she mattered.
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