Matt, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I’ve stopped counting how many years it’s been since you’ve been absent. That number is now in the double digits and too heavy to carry right now.
Holidays just compound the weight of my grief and that empty chair speaks volumes regarding your non attendance.
The funny thing is , the elephant in the room resides in your chair. Everyone knows you’re not here, but they dance around the chair and ignore the elephant. The conversation spins with subject after subject but no one is brave enough to tackle the elephant and recognize the grief that’s wrapped itself around the table.
No one will bring up your name. We sit behind smiling masks like actors auditioning for a play. All the while I want to throw my mask to the ground and scream your name. I want people to take the time to think of you. To share stories of past Thanksgivings with you outback along side your brother frying our turkey as I watched your breath makes rings against the frigid air. I want to talk about how you loved Pumpkin Pie and ate an entire pie by yourself as Ray yelled for you to share. I want to remember every little thing you did. I want you to be present even if it’s just in my memories.
This year my mask will be absent. This year I really don’t care about tiptoeing around that elephant. I don’t care who is uncomfortable when I address the elephant letting him know you will never be forgotten and that chair will always belong to you. This Thanksgiving I will be missing a big piece of my heart but the elephant will no longer fill your chair. My memories will. Until we meet again. Happy Thanksgiving in Heaven my beautiful boy.
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