Last year I purposefully painted the kitchen floor (silver
glitter sparkles!) making it "impossible" to cook a traditional
meal.
I felt rebellious, angry, and sad,
as we marked and endured the 2nd Thanksgiving after our son's suicide.
John bought frozen turkey potpies and the
four of us left at home sat solemnly around the table.
A month ago, right after Halloween, I turned over in bed and
announced to my husband of 27.5 years that we needed to have a social
Thanksgiving. Invite strangers over that
would make us duty-bound to celebrate.
Our Utah
children were at my parents in SLC, cared for, fed, a chair for them at the
table. I was not worried about
them. Samuel is Elder Landbeck in Arizona,
and I was confident one of the members was taking care of him and his
companion. We had our daughter home from
her mission and our 15 year old baby.
Again, four of us, which seems like every dinner every night.
We invited two families from church with young children, an
older couple with family out of state, and a young widower, 22 people! Twin toddlers, an au pair from Argentina,
happy kids on the trampoline and swings in our backyard were wonderfully noisy
and full of life. I gave away the
plaster horse bust, made sure left-overs were bagged and in the fridge ready to
go home with everyone. I was so busy Thanksgiving Day that there was
no time to mourn, no time to grieve or be sentimental about missing
anyone.
It was not until 2:30 am,
after the flurry of cooking and chatting and cleaning up and 5 hours of sleep,
that I had time to be still. As a family
we read Matthew 15 (or 16?) last night
and the theme was "Abide." I
have never thought of that word as something I wanted to do. It sounds too much like being still. I caught myself in another scripture: the
commandment to "be still." Jesus Christ urges us to "abide"
with Him. That sounds so quiet, relaxed
and not busy, really not me.
John eventually woke up from his cough medicine-induced
sleep and I told him my middle of the night thoughts. I had spent the whole Thanksgiving Day
purposefully busy and full of strangers that left no time to think of Maxwell
or dwell on him missing from the table.
Asking for help to apply the Atonement to my grief, my missing Max,
praying for others who have lost loved ones--hoping they are okay this weekend
and comforted, knowing their holiday dinners are lacking everyone they wished
were there, too…
John pointed out the burden of Martha (Martha & Mary,
sisters) of staying busy, worried about details, maybe sharing that driven, and
work ethic of busy-ness that I feel all the time. I have to stay working because there is always
more to do, more to take care of, and stopping makes me have to think,
crescendos the feelings of sadness and loss.
Talking about feelings makes me feel them stronger. I wallow, and am swallowed up in the
intensity and become non-functional, unable to continue to do, work, move. The work keeps me balanced, but it can be
frustrating for John who wants to discuss, draw out the thoughts and feelings, analyze
and put in perspective what is happening.
I want the words to disappear sometimes.
I do not want to sit still, by discipline or knowing that it will be
harder to start working again. John
wants to plan, be thoughtful and make sure the discussion covers all
contingencies, order the tasks, and visit, plan for the after action reports,
etc.
How do I take time to be in the moment, be quiet and feel
the Holy Ghost testifying that Heavenly Father loves me, knows my sadness? For me, it is the middle of the night prayers
with me begging for understanding and comfort.
Tears run into my ears as I try not to move or wake up my husband. He wakes up anyway, listens to my thoughts,
and gives me hugs.
Next year, what will we do for Thanksgiving? I know we need to reach out. I need to overcome my
nerdy-rather-read-a-book holiday anti-social celebrating. Work hard, delegate more, and not be selfish
in my grieving/missing. Open up our home
to others struggling to overcome their grief, gather and count blessings. Cook as much before hand, like a good Martha,
and then settle and visit and be still and abide with those who come with heavy
hearts, loneliness, sadness and fears.
