The First of Many After’s. Our first Thanksgiving without mom.

The holidays are a tough time of year for everyone. There is never enough time to do what you want. Parties, kids’ programs, holiday dinners, bouncing between your family and in-laws. And then there are the people facing the holiday season without loved ones.

Covid changed those busy months for all of us. 2020 became the year we stayed home. By the time the holidays rolled around things had settled a little. Not normal, just better than the chaos at the start of the year.

That year was my first Thanksgiving without my mom. She had been gone just a little over a month. It was also the first time I’d spent the holidays away from my extended family. The year, before, I still had my mom, and we were preparing for the usual Thanksgivings festivities with everyone gathered under one roof.

This year, the house was quiet and without the usual festivities. It felt wrong and lonely. I had my own family with me, but my mom had always been the one who pushed the big holiday get-togethers. Because of the state of the world that year, we canceled everything and stayed home with our immediate families.

This was going to suck. All the long-standing traditions were gone. The familiar chaos, laying the turkey out to thaw and the yearly panic that it might not thaw in time. Wasn’t anymore.

The yearly argument over when to put the tree up, before or after Thanksgiving didn’t happen. And there was no “butt crack of dawn” moment with my mom waking up early and making my husband get up because the turkey was too heavy for her lift into the oven.

The amazing beef noodles my aunt would make. And the butter bowls we’d use to stash away for later, weren’t there. Neither was the yearly arguments over my mom’s very sacred deviled eggs.

The memories we’d share, never agreeing on how anything actually happened, were missing too. So was the talk about the plans for the next couple of days, the familiar noise and rhythm of it all.

It was all different, and I couldn’t find any real good in it. I just wasn’t up for the holiday cheer. Neither were my daughter or husband.

A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, I finally had a weekend off. Our house was in desperate need of groceries, so off to the Walmart I went.

It was unusually calm in the store, which, honestly I didn’t mind at all. I was making my way through the frozen food section when I came across the turkeys.

I immediately thought of the year before. When Mom was healthy and vibrant, we were arguing over which turkey was the biggest and best deal, and where we were even going to fit it in the freezer.

Me” “You can’t get a 22 pound turkey, Mom. We don’t have room.”

Her: “Yes we can. We’ll make room. And we need to get a big one, the whole family is coming. Tell your husband to lay something out for dinner each night this week. Then we’ll have room.”

“Okay, Mom, but don’t make a dry turkey this year.”

She’d laugh, shake her head and tell me to make the dang thing myself.

I always loved to poke at her just to get her going. She alway took it well and barely paid any mind to me at all.

If I hadn’t been standing in the middle of the turkey section, I probably would’ve shed a couple tears.

But then I could almost feel her beside me, smiling and saying, “You complained the turkey was too dry. Buy one and make it yourself and see how it goes, Dani. I bet you’ll do great with it. And you can make it your way!”

Like all great moms, she could make anything amazing. She was always happiest when she was baking, cooking and making her deviled eggs. She was the best.

I didn’t really want to make a turkey, but I also didn’t want my family to be any more sad than they already were.

In all my 40 years at that point, I had never baked a turkey. Mom or my aunts always handled that part.

But I could practically feel her poking fun at me, so I figured, okay. I’ll try. Jut for you, Mom.

I stood there staring at the turkeys, trying to decide how big to buy. And in true tradition, arguing with my mom even when wasn’t there. I grabbed the big guy. Twenty pounds.

I wasn’t thrilled about it, but for her, and my little family, I’d do it. Even if was just the 3 of us this year. This was our new life without her, and I wanted to make the best of it.

I probably said it out loud. I don’t even remember, but I stood there thinking. Okay, mom I am going to make a different kind of turkey.

A few weeks earlier, I’d seen a recipe for a citrus holiday turkey, and that’s the one I decided to try.

I found the recipe again and started tracking down the ingredients. As I was choosing the rosemary, I thought this was the perfect way to start a new holiday tradition.

I could feel her beside me again. This time smiling even more. I knew I was on the right track. She would’ve like the new tradition.

I didn’t tell my husband or daughter what I planned. I knew they’d just be happy I wasn’t moping around and depressed.

I finished shopping and headed home. I was unloading the groceries when my best friend at the time popped over.

One of the biggest blessings from that time was my best friend lived right beside me. We didn’t know each other when we first moved in, but we because legendary besties fast and so did our kids.

Another idea hit me. I asked if they had any plans that year. She said nope, and just like that I knew I had the perfect audience to test out my turkey recipe on. Plus, spending the holiday with my bestie and her family alongside mine felt right.

It felt like the perfect way to spend our first Thanksgiving without mom, and the first after Covid.

Part 2 drops Tuesday evening! Thanks for reading.