In November of 2019, I began a tradition I had been thinking of for some time. I found a long, cream-colored table runner at a craft store and a package of fabric pens. At the Thanksgiving meal, I collected signatures, marking who joined us for the event. It was meant to be a memory maker. Twenty years down the road when we were eating with the grandchildren and in-laws, we would study this centerpiece, reading the scrawl of names. We would reminisce on the past, old customs we shed or still practiced, and new we incorporated. We would remember those who were no longer with us.
Isaiah penned his name proudly that first year, in his perfect, beautiful handwriting. He chose red, his favorite color. And I even thought he might have chosen to make it bigger than everyone else’s, just to get under my skin… one of the many quirks of his condition.
That was the only time I would see his name on the banner.
It is a tradition I wish I could abandon or forget, if I’m honest. I don’t lay the runner on the table like I had planned. I couldn’t bear for his name to catch a stain- a splatter of gravy from an inattentive serving, a smudge of mashed potatoes ruining his perfect print. It isn’t a beautiful sentiment like I had hoped, but a deeply painful one. I keep it folded in a tote all year, hanging with our coats, not in a bin of holiday supplies, as though Isaiah was close beside me, and not in a box in the ground.
These years I don’t cook the whole Thanksgiving meal. I haven’t been able to bring myself to do that since our last one with him. We attend potlucks. I bring cheesecakes and cookies, casseroles and brie. Never the turkey. That would be too difficult. Sheepishly, I carry my cloth from family to family, asking awkwardly for autographs like a yearbook page. Usually, I manage a weak explanation of it being our tradition. Rarely do I reveal the true meaning.
Some people light a candle for their missing loved ones or keep a picture beside an empty chair. This is my way of bringing my son. It has become my tribute to him. My way of honoring him.