What’s Left

I confess up front that I’m a bit strange, but maybe there are others who share my post-Thanksgiving travels. Being a dedicated non-shopper, my travels don’t take me to malls or outlets or catalogs or even on-line. I don’t get in the car or hop on my bike. I simply walk through the house and collect what’s left. Lest I sound like a retired empty-nester with too much time on her hands, I assure you this is a long-time practice. There’s always been a mixed place inside of me as the kids, when younger went back to school, and now, pack their cars or catch a flight. The mixture is one of sadness at the thought of their leaving and gratitude for time shared and the quiet days ahead. I look forward to the quiet not because I need a break from the chaos of holiday gatherings (although that’s kinda nice), but for the joy of having time to remember. Over the weekend I had separate occasions to tell two of our children that the feeling of loss we experience when a loved one is gone or far away is also a loving opportunity to recognize the importance of our relationships. Today I practice what I preach. I miss the laughter and quiet conversations. I miss sibling rivalries and wrestling and winning at Spades then losing at Bocce. I hold that empty place inside of me and walk through the house. I find a purple fleece, a pack of gum, a razor. Pennies and nickels under furniture. I gaze into the refrigerator which holds a gallon ziploc with turkey parts, one serving of green beans, enough mashed potatoes for my lunch, and Indian Pudding to remind me that we were too full to eat dessert. There’s more. Not-so-fresh cut flowers on the dining room table which still hosts a few bread crumbs and nut shells, a book, a hand-held chess game, and a pair of shoes. And sure, dirty towels, sheets and napkins. What’s left when all of the traveling and cooking and napping and cleaning and preparations and dishes are done? For me it’s a lump in my throat, a smile on my face, a tear in my eye and a day for thanks-giving.