we gather together

Today I really needed the "big Methodist music" that the Catalina Methodist Church is known for and, fortunately, it doesn't take much of it to lift me up out of my November gloominess. As the organ soars and the brass quintet trills, I let in the sense of comfort and sadness that comes from my memories of singing in the choir at United Methodist Church in Elgin, gazing down from the balcony to see my dad as church usher and see my mom standing beside her mother and dad. From those memories, I take strength and appreciate the lessons learned that have helped me these past years.

This third holiday season without my mom is no less sorrowful than the past two. I don't know why this is. I think I expect to have my grief lessened but it doesn't feel less, maybe even heavier this year. My Grandparents Dice have been gone over 35 years and I still miss them, and when there are people who matter in life, their absence is felt and not forgotten. Instead, we go about our daily life with a hollow spot in our souls that doesn't get filled or softened; it just is.

The minister talked about how, at this national holiday, the focus is not on what we "get" (i.e. Christmas) or "do" (4th of July, Memorial and Labor Days). Rather the focus is on what we eat.
And, I would add, it is on with whom we share our table. Is it family, friends, strangers? The worse situation I think would be to be alone--and I know there are many we are. This year, we'll gather at my sister's house and later in the weekend, probably have a second gathering when our sous chef son is able to join us. I have recipes tucked away to review for the holiday season menu, but mostly, I wish the days would be longer, extend past 24 hours, so that more could be experienced at this darkening time of year. In that way, I could collect more memories to treasure--pull them out of my mind with a magic wand as Professor Dumbledore does in the Harry Potter stories: long grey tendrils of brain tissue that, when swirled into a golden bowl, can be relived with complete sensory experience.

But, alas, I lack the magic wand and golden bowl, so I do the best as I can. Such as today, when the notes from the familiar hymns conjure up faces and embraces that make me grateful for the times of the past when we gathered together and grateful for times of the present when we still do.