When Being Thankful in the Face of Loss is Hard

I found myself stirring melting, bubbly cheese on this Thanksgiving Eve, and as I stirred methodically I thought of my Mother. For the sixth Thanksgiving in a row I was giving my best attempt at her infamous broccoli casserole. I always came up short in my mind's eye. 

I thought of the first year I tried to make it, that first year after her death. My Mom had died in October, and the holidays after are a blur. Aside from me losing a mother, my dad had lost a wife. My Aunt had lost a sister. And worse yet, her death came on the coattails of my Uncle's passing. 

My Dad had lost a brother, and my Aunt had lost a spouse. We weren't ready for holiday cheer. We weren't capable of thanksgiving, and jolly jingle bells. 

We tried. We tried to carry on with some semblance of normalcy, some seasonal spirit of joy, but we just came up short. And when faced with the task of creating her holiday dish I felt ill-equipped. 

I remember standing in the grocery store staring vacantly at the list of ingredients I had created, and suddenly I realized I was viewing my own handwriting through a fine veil of tears. 

She had never kept a recipe, and though I had grown up watching her make it every year, when faced with the thought that it was now my recipe alone I feared I would fail. 

What if I forgot an important ingredient? Or worse, what if it was no good? I didn't think I could live up to the bar that had been set. 

Six years have passed, and it's gotten easier to make that casserole. It's gotten easier to smile, and to be thankful. That's not always simple in the face of loss, especially when it's so very fresh. And even though time has allowed me to now stir the cheese without worrying that my tears will spoil the sauce, it's still never like it was. 

It will never be like that. But it can still be good. I'm learning that as I go. 

I can be thankful in the face of loss. Maybe time has helped that along, but I like to think a certain Savior I know has also lent a hand, or rather soothed a heart. 

I can miss her, but I can be thankful for the memories. Thankful for the broccoli cheese passed down, and thankful that one day we will feast together again. 

I can be thankful for my lovely children, the bright little lights who take after their grandma when it comes to smarts. And even though I wince that they never met, I can be thankful that one day they will. 

I can be thankful for the strong man at my side, the one who comforted me so fully when my grief was so new, and so crushing. The one who comforts me still. I can be thankful that a protective Momma smiles down dotingly on the son-in-law she always wanted for her firstborn, baby girl. 

I can stir the sauce, and I can smile. It will never taste like the way Momma made it. Things will never be the same. But I'd like to think that as I stir she whispers the needed ingredients in my ear, and she says, "it's your dish now little Momma. Be thankful for that."