Front Porch: Empty chair chance for reflection on blessings

If Thanksgiving was a test, then I failed it.

Oh, the turkey turned out perfectly golden brown; the potatoes were fluffy – the gravy lump-free. But if the apple pies tasted a bit salty, I have to confess the secret ingredient was tears.

It was my first Thanksgiving without all four of my sons at my table. In April, our second son, Alex, moved to Houston. In case you’re wondering that’s 2,123 miles from Spokane.

I thought I was prepared; after all I’d made it through his birthday, Easter and the Fourth of July without him. But I should have known it was going to be rough when I got teary in the grocery store while buying apples. Apple pie is Alex’s favorite and I made him one for his last meal at home before his cross-country move.

He’s working 60 hours a week plus training for a new position, so his phone calls are infrequent and brief. We’ve received a couple of letters, which are precious, but he has no Internet access, so no Facebook or emails. I miss seeing his face. I miss his fierce hugs that lift me off the ground.

My phone rang while I was shopping the day before Thanksgiving, and when I saw the Houston area code, I was ecstatic – until my phone dropped the call.

That was the last straw for this mama. After days of putting on a brave face, I barely made it to my car, where I laid my head on the steering wheel and cried like a baby. Or like a mom who misses her baby, even if that baby is 22.

I pulled myself together and did enjoy Thanksgiving with my family. The fact that Alex was celebrating a Seahawks win with us, while deep in the heart of Texas, made him feel a bit closer.

Now, as Christmas approaches, there are plenty of opportunities to miss my brown-haired boy. His box of ornaments remains packed away with his Christmas stocking. He won’t be here to decorate cookies or steal pieces of fudge, but for some reason the sting of his absence doesn’t feel as sharp as it did on Thanksgiving.

Giving myself permission to cry helped. I’m usually so worried about making everyone else feel OK, that I don’t often have time to let myself be sad. I also talked about missing Alex, instead of pretending that my heart wasn’t sore – and those conversations gave me perspective that I wouldn’t have, if I’d stayed silent.

Friends with empty nests offered consolation. One said, “Hold Ethan, Zachary and Sam even tighter. Be glad of their presence because they may move away someday, too.”

True, but ouch!

Another acquaintance brushed off my blues. “It gets better. Before you know it, he’ll return with a wife and bunch of babies.”

Well, that has been her experience, but I have many friends whose adult kids have chosen not to marry or have children. Life doesn’t always turn out the way we expect it.

And as the conversation ebbed and flowed, others became more vulnerable.

“My daughter doesn’t talk to me – hasn’t for years.”

“My sons will be at their dad’s on Christmas morning.”

“We always fight on Christmas because we spend too much money. Frankly, I dread it.”

And then the talk turned to those who are experiencing their first Christmas since the death of a loved one. Thinking about those empty chairs at tables across the city takes my breath away.

Yes, I still miss my son, but I know ours is a temporary separation. Even if he chooses to stay in Texas permanently, our hearts are connected across the miles and I’ll see him when we visit this spring.

Gratitude filled my heart as I thought about the blessings that overflow in my life. Four healthy sons, a loving husband, two funny cats, a host of extended family nearby, a job I love. With eyes wide open I anticipate the joys of Christmas morning.

It seems Thanksgiving came to me a bit late this year.