Who knew that turkey gravy could be an emotional trigger?
My mom elevated turkey gravy to unprecedented levels. Flour, drippings, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Pure magic.
I could drink her gravy by the bowl.
These days, making the gravy is my responsibility. Even with the same ingredients, try as I might I’ve yet to replicate her level of mastery. Maybe it’s a Mom thing?
This past Thanksgiving was the second one without Mom. She had long retired from cooking on Thanksgiving, but now she is no longer at the table with us.
I always think of her when I make the gravy. I can still see her at the stove with the metal whisk in her hand effortlessly beating the ingredients into a cohesive submission as the flames danced up the sides of the sauce pan. Not a measuring spoon in sight. She just knew.
It’s always an emotional time for me.
It’s a process, grieving is. A personal process. A non-linear often unpredictable process, often without an end date.
Often processed alone.
There is no one “right” way to grieve. No one “right” way to get to the other side of the pain. I’m not even sure if there is another side to get to.
Often we don’t understand why the hurt still hurts, why the emptiness still feels so empty. Especially when we try to convince Continue reading “Owning The Emptiness and The Permission To Grieve”