A few minutes later, Grandma announces, “The food is ready!” We all gather around the table and hold hands; all but one. He is usually the one to say grace, but not today. Today it is the widow’s turn. Grandma thanks God for everyone making it safely through the Thanksgiving traffic, the food, and most importantly, a day to rejoice, be glad, and be thankful.
While we eat the savory pumpkin pie and drink the sweet apple cider, we talk about recent events and future events; sad events and happy events. Occasionally there is laughter, but there is something in the air. Something other than the succulent smells of turkey, stuffing, and corn casserole. I look to the empty seat by Grandma. We all feel it: the loneliness, the vacancy.
One day he had told Grandma, “I want to go home.” “You are home,” she replied, thinking he was talking about the house. A few weeks later his wish was granted and he was Home. His death was bitter-sweet. It hurt seeing him disoriented and struggling, but we all know where he went and we all know he is happy where he is now.
Amidst the hustle and bustle,
The chitter and chatter,
There sits an empty seat,
All alone with no one to occupy it.
Beyond this place,
There is another space,
This one with celebration and elation,
With no misery or mourning.
In this place there is a man,
A man who used to fill that empty seat
Amidst the hustle and bustle,
The chitter and chatter.