Thanksgiving 2014/ The Best Is Yet To Come

I love when my family is together.
There is nothing like an almost full house.
I wake up knowing bedrooms are warm with silent breathing.

I love holidays.
I'm that mom who decorates and cooks and bakes
and enjoys every moment.

It's Thanksgiving.
Bedroom doors are opening.
Low conversations can be heard in the background.
Turkey aroma fills our house -

I am thankful.
I am thankful for my husband (who is still sleeping,)
for my children.
These are the greatest treasures in my life.

I love the memories we share -
I think about Caleb.

I smile.
I cry.
There is sweet sorrow to the memories.
He was part of years and years of Thanksgivings
and times, like -
'Mom, I'm hungry! When are we going to eat...'
when I thought the turkey was completely thawed but no, it wasn't, and it still needs to cook some more (I think we ate like at 4:30.)

Or the time when Caleb came home with the turkey he shot -
we had two turkeys that year.

All the times of sitting around the table passing the green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes....
Silent eating that would break into laughing and joking and listening to Caleb's stories.

I sigh.
I cry.
I miss him so much.
We all do.

I bought a candle in a glass container.
The inscription on it - "The Best Is Yet To Come."
I didn't really think too much about it
till this morning when I saw it on the counter.

 It was like Caleb was whispering -
Yes, Mom. Enjoy this day with the family, and tell everybody I love 'em.
Oh,
I know it's hard for you.
I know you all miss me.
But, remember -
this world isn't all there is.
You're all on this journey and one day -
yes, one day we will all be together.

Remember Mom,
the best is yet to come.

With that thought, I begin my day.

The best times here are being with my family.

We are blessed.
Today, Thanksgiving,
we will sit around the table, and pass the green bean casserole and mashed potatoes.
There will be a short silence as we pray and eat, and then we will break into conversation and laughter.
There will probably be some Caleb stories.
There will be a candle lit for Caleb because his life and light are always with us.

I baste the turkey in the roaster -
the roaster Caleb and Collen gave me for Christmas
not that long ago.

Yes.  I will enjoy today, - these are the best days here with my family.
 I will also remember -
The Best Is Yet To Come .

It helps to know -
that one day we will all be together and will have the biggest, and best Thanksgiving feast ever, forever!

Selah.

Beyond The Welcome Door

Last week I opened the
'Welcome' door and
BAM!

Ok.
I'll explain from the beginning.
Once in a while I have these bursts of energy where it's like I wake up and see things for the first time.
Of course, I've really been walking around these 'things' in a fog - not really noticing them for, let's see, how long?
There are unfinished projects, and just things I need to do, and suddenly I have energy to burn.
What brought it on?
It was the day the heater stopped working, and I was waiting for the repairman.

I went downstairs to the furnace room.
Hmmm....
Maybe I should move the totes so the guy can have more room.

That's when I got that rare burst of energy.

I started moving stuff and throwing things away.
I didn't stop with the furnace room.
I came upstairs and started working on the hall closets, the bedrooms.

After the repairman left, I went back downstairs and decided I would clean a little behind
THAT door in the tiny storage room.

The door seemed to have an invisible "Welcome" light, blinking off and on, inviting me to come in.
I used to look forward to opening that door, till Caleb.......

I can do this, I convinced myself.
Actually, I didn't think,
I just opened the door.

That's when it hit.
BAM.

I was hit with a blast so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet.
Floods of memories bombarded my being, ripping my torn heart to shreds.
I stood there for a moment, letting it all sink in.

Maybe I should've been prepared, but I wasn't.
How could I know that opening the door would release a lifetime of Christmases
all in one hurricane wind?
Who would ever understand how just peeking in a room could bring me to tears?
Memories.
So sweet.
So heartbreaking.


A lifetime of memories was inside that tiny room, in every tote.
Every Christmas craft made in school, every  homemade ornament with  a history of little faces glued to canning lids, and little Christmas wreaths....
Every Hallmark ornament.
Everything had Caleb stamped on it.
He was a part of everything in that space.
Every single thing in there cried out for the normalcy we once owned, and celebrated without fail, year after year...

I pulled out a basket full of odds and ends -
oh, and a few boxes teetering on the edge.
I re-arranged the basket.
I swept.

I left the basement.

I still have to put those things back.
But,
I can hardly bare to look at them.
They're just ornaments to anyone else.
but they are filled with our family Christmas stories.

I don't know how or why I opened that door.
It was not a good idea.

I love our memories.
There was lots of love and laughter.
It was good.
But for some reason,
right now,
the visual is just too much.
It hurts too much to see those tangible reminders.

Last year I merely glanced at that door, and that was hard enough.
No way was I venturing in there.
Why did I think it would be different this year?
Maybe I wanted to sink into what normal used to be,
only I can't.
It's not there anymore.
That hurts more than I can say.

Maybe someday.
I don't know.

I will shut that door once I put things away.
I don't know when I will open it again.
I do know, it won't be
for a while.

I hold my precious family close to my heart.
We are bound by a link of memories that only we share.
We don't have to see inside the totes.
We see in our hearts everyday -
where we were,
where we are,
and
tucked inside our hearts is our
love for Caleb,
our love for each other -
a love that goes beyond this life
to forever,
where we will be together again
in a place where memories are always now.
There will be no need for doors,
and best of all -
we will never be apart,
ever again.