Before the Table Is Set — The Grief We Don’t Talk About
Tonight, kitchens are busy.
Families are prepping early.
Groceries sit crowded on counters, ovens warming up, voices moving through homes with laughter and lists and timing and plans.
And somewhere — maybe with a candle burning, maybe in the quiet — there’s you.
Sitting in a space that feels familiar
but different than last year.
There’s a specific kind of ache that shows up the night before Thanksgiving.
A stillness.
A realization.
A memory you didn’t ask for but it finds you anyway.
Because tonight is the first marker of the holiday season —
the first moment you feel the absence of someone you thought would still be here.
Last year, you may have imagined sharing this season with them.
Last year, they were a part of your world, your story, your future.
And now this year looks nothing like you thought it would.
That’s grief.
That’s growth.
That’s life moving forward even when your heart wants one more pause.
Everyone else is setting the table — but you’re learning to let go.
Maybe you scroll through old messages.
Maybe you laugh at a memory you forgot you had.
Maybe you cry because you needed to.
Maybe you feel nothing at all — which is its own kind of pain.
Letting go doesn’t happen all at once.
It happens in moments like this:
When you don’t text them even though you miss them.
When you set one less plate than you used to.
When the tradition feels quieter than it did last year.
When you realize healing isn’t forgetting — it’s remembering without breaking.
Tonight isn’t about pretending you're fine.
It’s about acknowledging what changed
and still showing up for the life that’s here.
If nobody tells you this — I will:
You are allowed to miss someone who’s no longer yours.
You are allowed to wish they could see you now.
You are allowed to grieve what you hoped would happen this year.
But you’re also allowed to grow beyond that moment.
To wake up tomorrow and choose presence.
To make memories with the people who stayed.
To create a holiday that honors your heart — not your hurt.
Tomorrow may bring warmth, conversation, comfort, or even chaos.
But tonight is yours.
Tonight is for reflection.
Tonight is for softness.
Tonight is for honoring what was
while stepping gently into what is.
If this season feels different, it’s okay.
It means you’re healing — not repeating.
