The day began with a silence so loud it rang in Julianne’s ears. It was the first Thanksgiving without her mother, and the kitchen, usually a chaotic symphony of clattering pans and Motown records, was terrifyingly quiet.
Julianne stood over the stove, staring at a pot of boiling potatoes. She felt a heavy, crushing weight on her chest—the physical pressure of absence. She wanted to cancel. She wanted to crawl back into bed and let the holiday pass like a storm she could sleep through. She felt entirely alone.
But then, she looked at the recipe card in her hand. It was written in her mother’s looping, confident script. “Add extra butter. Calories don’t count on Thursday.”
A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of Julianne’s mouth. It was a fleeting moment of levity in a sea of grey. And in that split second, she felt a warmth bloom in her chest, sudden and undeniable.
She realized that every time you smile, they are smiling with you. That small smirk wasn’t just hers; it was a reflex she had learned from a lifetime of watching her mother find humor in the mundane.
Julianne wiped her hands on her apron and turned to the window. She saw her elderly neighbor, Mr. Henderson, struggling to drag a heavy recycling bin up his icy driveway.
Without thinking, Julianne abandoned the potatoes. She ran outside in her slippers, grabbing the handle of the bin. “I’ve got it, Mr. Henderson! Go back inside, it’s freezing!”
“Thank you, Jules,” he wheezed, patting her gloved hand. “You have her heart, you know that? She never could sit still if someone needed a hand.”
Julianne walked back to the house, breathless. She realized that the love you shared doesn’t end just because they are no longer here. It had transformed. It wasn’t a static memory; it was an active force. It was kinetic energy.
It will forever live on in you, in all of the choices you make. Her choice to run out into the cold wasn’t just Julianne being nice; it was her mother’s legacy in action. It was evident in the kindness you show.
Back in the kitchen, the grief hit her again, sudden and sharp. The potatoes boiled over, hissing on the burner. Julianne sank to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, and sobbed. She cried for the voice she couldn’t hear and the hands she couldn’t hold.
But as she rocked back and forth, she felt a strange sensation of being grounded. It wasn’t just despair; there was a solidity to it. She remembered reading that every time you cry, they are holding you so tight..even if you cannot see them.
She took a deep breath. She stood up. She cleaned the stove. She wasn’t moving forward because she had forgotten; she was moving forward because she was carrying precious cargo.
She found the strength you find to keep going… despite all of the heartache & sadness that missing them brings.
Julianne turned the music on—The Supremes, her mom’s favorite. She started mashing the potatoes. She wasn’t alone in the kitchen anymore. She was simply the one currently manning the station, keeping the flame lit for the both of them.
