I am not sure if I am mature enough, strong enough, tough enough to handle this holiday. My oldest child, a man with a family of his own, is 750 miles away. My youngest who still lives at home at 22, is working until 9:30 pm.

I still bought a 19 lb. turkey. Where are my sisters, laughing with me in the kitchen as we drink wine and dance and cook?

Where is my husband, dicing onions and running errands and when all is said and done smiles at me across the table?

How do I do this? How do I cook a Thanksgiving dinner for two at 9:30 at night and go to work the next morning at 10 with a belly full of rich food eaten too late at night?

Somehow I have to honor myself, be my own friend, spend the alone time enjoying the peace and tranquillity that is so alien to my existance.

I have to make a new tradition. I have to recognise that time has passed and I am no longer a mother responsible for establishing a tradition for her sons.

I have to realise I am no longer a wife with a man beside me to relax with into familiarity.

Somehow I have to transition into what is real, the present moment, and be thankful.

I will remind myself, looking in the mirror, that I love me, just for being here.

Even if I cry into the gravy.