A Plate of Thankful Memories

My family gathers. Generations of moms and daughters bustle in the kitchen, sharing recipes, cackling about the latest family drama.

Men and children sit by the fire. The game is on. Children play and dream of the mound of mashed potatoes soon to be theirs!

Not all family members are here. Some are too far away. Some have passed on. We laugh and guffaw at the happy memories with a sprinkling of sadness and loss. Always thankful for the memories we have.

Time to eat. Everyone rushes to the table, cackling moms bringing out the last of the dishes. The man of the house drills through the roasted beast. Tasty familiar accompaniments are shoveled on to plates. It's a symphony of clink and clank as the polished silverware forks the good China.

My plate is empty. No glutenous sustenance for me. No. There are only memories on my plate. One empty plate in front of one empty chair. Frequent glances to my plate by my beloved family sparking more stories, more laughs, more grief. They think of me. They remember me. They are sad, but thankful for the memories.