The Thanksgiving turkey sits in another oven, our family somewhat relieved having migrated to the smells and laughter of a different home. Better to sit and watch another husband still living carve the white and dark rather than to have our table’s head occupied by a replacement.I pondered whether to bring along the silver gravy ladle that had belonged to my great-grandmother. At first thought it seemed having the dented thing with me might sooth the continuing sensation that everything has been destroyed. I tell myself that I finally decided to leave it in the drawer so it would not be lost in the holiday frenzy. In truth, it is because I am too raw to share, too angry to have warm memories occupy another woman’s kitchen.
The four children and I will go to my husband's grave tomorrow. We will pull the soft veil from the stone and stand together. I pray the dank earth will take pity upon me, releasing my grief. I am desperately waiting.
Susan Whitman-Helfgot
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