As we are planning our Thanksgiving dinner this year, I can’t help but think about who will be sitting around the table. My sister, Sarah, hosts Thanksgiving at her house, and I host Christmas at mine. While figuring out seating for a few extras joining us, I found myself remembering past holidays and how our family and our circle of loved ones have changed over the years.
Thanksgiving 1982 comes to mind first. A few days before we gathered, my Grandma Herklotz passed away. She was the matriarch and heart of our family. That year, Aunt Ruth stepped in to host, and everyone still gathered around the table, sharing stories and laughter. At the time, I could not understand how life could keep going. That chair next to Grandpa’s felt so empty, as did my heart. But looking back, I realize that gathering together was part of how we all healed.
Fast forward to Thanksgiving 2012. A few months earlier, my brother-in-law had tragically died in a motorcycle accident. That holiday season was heavy, yet when we came together, we shared memories, jokes, and even some of Dean’s legendary nonsense. His chair was empty, yes, but his spirit filled the room. (and it was a big, 6’5” spirit!)
Thanksgiving 2020, my dad’s chair sat empty. In 2023, it was my mom’s. And now, in 2025, we need another table and more chairs to fit everyone. This year, our table will be full, not just with family, but with friends who feel like family. My granddaughter Adelaide will be there, full of energy and singing about eating apples and bananas and doggies in the window, reminding all of us that life keeps moving forward and joy keeps growing.
Even our little quirks make the holiday special. Although Sarah is a vegetarian, she generously lets me take over cooking the turkeys (the one year she attempted to make a tofurkey, it was it for her!). Dogs will be underfoot, hoping for scraps, adding to the joyful chaos. Later, I know we will be sitting on the porch, sipping our autumn sangria as the boys play "homerun" derby just as they have every Thanksgiving since they were little. The smell of roasting turkeys will fill the house, the clatter of pots and pans will echo, and the laughter of friends and family will weave through it all.
Empty chairs are never really empty; they come and go as family changes, but love, laughter, and memories always fill them. This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for a family that is so perfectly imperfect, for friends who have become family, and for the little ones whose giggles bring the kind of joy you cannot put into words. As Psalm 107:1 reminds us, “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever.” I wish each of you a Thanksgiving full of love, laughter, and gratitude.
This is the Good Life