11/27/2025
EMPTY CHAIRS
I was talking to my nephew the other day as he attempted to make my Mom’s dressing for Thanksgiving. I casually mentioned maybe I could host Thanksgiving one day and cook for them. He enthusiastically agreed, then I laughed and said, “I’ll have to buy more chairs, though, I only have one.”
After we said our goodbyes, I thought about my lone chair. Sure, I used to have more, but as they got old, wobbly, and beyond repair, they made their way to the trash heap. Besides, it’s just me, so why buy more chairs? They sat empty anyways.
So many chairs sit empty around tables this year, loved ones who no longer grace us with their big laugh or silly jokes. Empty chairs filled with memories of days gone by of Mom yelling at us to stop stealing the deviled eggs! No Nanny sitting at the table telling us of the latest Elvis sighting she read about in The Enquirer. Dad’s empty chair where he watched the Macy’s Day Parade.
These chairs are empty around my table. But in my mind, they’re filled and full of life. There’s Grandpa Stinson, telling us about the time he only had a possum and a couple potatoes for Thanksgiving. And Grandma showing off her mile-high meringue. There’s Nanny Thornton making those delicious candied sweet potatoes that I couldn’t wait to eat for dessert and Papa headed to the recliner for his after dinner nap. There’s Dad telling everyone he gets the dressing corner. There’s Bernie sticking black olives up his nose, waiting for us to notice. And Bronson doing any number of silly things, mostly stealing bacon and Mamaw yelling at him to knock it off.
Then there’s Mom. Standing at the kitchen counter, tee towel thrown over her shoulder, barefoot and wearing shorts with the kitchen window open because Dad has the fire so hot we’re all dying! She’s motioning to me.
“C’mon, sis, time to make the dressing.”
She put the ingredients and initial seasoning together, then ask me to taste and see what more it needed. Sometimes a little more poultry seasoning, others a little more sage. Maybe a dash of garlic salt.
We approached “the making of the dressing” like an award-winning Michelin recipe, guarding the secret combination with our lives. Me and Mom, we were always a team and knew the dressing would be perfect because we did it together.
Such a simple, yet powerful memory of time spent with those that we loved and have lost. My chairs may be empty as my days grow shorter, but my heart is full of the memories that sustain me, filling me with gratitude of knowing love.
Happy Thanksgiving. 🍁