Melancholy is the word of the week. I feel melancholy, defined in part as pensive reflection or contemplation, depression of spirits. Thought I was doing well navigating the stages of profound grief. But, my body is slapping me silly with a very rare sore throat, scratchy eyes, mean-spirited sinuses and fatigue. I’ve been trying to just soldier on, moving forward, contemplating my blessings.
Thanksgiving has, for the past 19 years, been our holiday. We loved gathering our loved ones in our home, cooking for them, laughing and loving.
After my mom passed away at Christmas time 2016, weeks ago continued to host Thanksgiving. Then, in 2020, COVID restrictions took that away from us. We were not able to bring our remaining parents together again. Denial that the conclusion of life as we knew it continued until two years ago. None could travel any longer. Health deterioration - mental and physical sent us spiraling. Then beginning the day a cargo ship caused the collapse of the Francis Scott Key Bridge in Baltimore, my father-in-law, a good hearted man with an incomparable sense of humor left us, followed by my Aunt Virginia in July, my mother-in-law in August and my dad in September. I know we were blessed to have them with us as long as we did, but the pain lies under the surface, at the edge of consciousness, ready to send us into the depths of sadness and despair just at the smell of a pie baking or a song playing or a memory emerging. Melancholy. That is where I am.