Four years ago, an angel came for my mom, took her by the hand, and led her to heaven where she belonged.
Since then, the months between November and January have carried a different weight.
People who know me understand that I rarely take the internet seriously. But during the holidays, when strangers write about the people they’ve lost, I understand it. Loss recognizes loss.
My way of dealing with it has always been simple. I pull inward. I stay quiet. I sit alone and let the memories come.
Today I’m breaking my own rule and writing something serious in a place I usually ignore. Maybe one day someone will stumble across this after I’m gone and understand who I really was—rather than the version people imagined.
My best memories from this season all lead back to my grandmother’s house down the street. A massive old round table. Plates and bowls of food assembled by the women of the family like small works of art.
We devoured everything.
Then came Christmas, when we did it all again.
January meant Mom’s birthday.
Back then, I had no idea that those ordinary days would one day become priceless memories.
Mom is gone now. Gran too. Peggy, Ken, and Toots are gone. Linda is struggling with Alzheimer’s. Bobby is losing his memory while doing his best to care for both of them and hold on to what remains of life as it once was.
Time moves forward whether we are ready or not.
Grief becomes a companion you never invited. It sits quietly beside you, waiting for the moment when a memory catches you off guard.
These days, the feral cats outside my house seem to understand life better than most people. Their philosophy is simple: survive another day and find something to eat.
Raw. Honest. Uncomplicated.
I respect that.
A neighbor recently asked if I would look after her cat while her family travels for Thanksgiving. Of course, I said yes.
What she doesn’t realize is that caring for another living being during times like this is a gift to me. She believes I’m helping her. In truth, she’s helping me.
The cat’s name is Peanut.
He probably doesn’t know it, but for a little while each day, he reminds me that life is still happening.
And that’s enough.
The holidays can be hard, but I still feel grateful. I read about families preparing big dinners and gathering around their tables, and the memories of when that was my reality come flooding back.
Memories hurt sometimes.
But they are also proof that something beautiful once existed.
I know I’m not truly alone. God walks beside me every step I take, and that has been enough to get me through another day.
Sometimes that’s all life really asks of us.
Just take the next step.
To everyone sitting around those big family tables this year—keep making those memories.
One day, they may be the most valuable things you have.
I miss you, Mom.
But God is here, and I’m still okay.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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