It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning that my grandparents were gone, and I openly confess I rolled over and had a good cry. When my grandfather passed this year, I found myself totally unprepared for the grief it brought for my grandmother as well; she died a couple years ago. He was my living link to her, and until he was gone, I had never realized it.
It seems like a somber subject to start this Thanksgiving letter with, my extreme grief. But somehow in my thinking, the holidays are always tied to my memories of them. Even seemingly trivial remembrances bring them flooding back into my heart. Take black olives, for example. My grandfather loved black olives. There was not a Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner that did not include the dish of black olives. It seems silly really that I'd think of that this morning. Yet I know on November 26th as we prepare the food for the table, the abundance of the present will somehow be dwarfed for me, by that one small dish.
I lay there this morning and struggled with my sadness. The Thanksgiving table seems emptier with the loss of their two chairs. Without Granddaddy there to insist we clean our plates, to ask, "What's for dessert?", without my Grandmother's smiling face and fierce hug, will Thanksgiving ever really be the same? For me, I think not.
Oh, don't get me wrong. In my future are many wonderful holidays filled with joy and happiness, great food, and family and friends. We'll smile and laugh and eat until we almost pop. I fully expect years brimming with God's grace and abundance. (He is my rock, my ever faithful heavenly Father.) Yet inside, I will never forget these two people who mean so much to me. And if occasionally, I have a good cry again at their loss, I think that's okay. It seems like part of being grateful to never let myself forget how much I loved them.
Suzanne Williams Photography
Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.
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