Ironically, I’d decided not to celebrate my first Thanksgiving alone after my husband’s death.

The solution was to work on Thanksgiving

I was working as a freelancer at the local newspaper and called my editor. I explained that this was my first Thanksgiving alone after my husband’s death and told her if there was anyone who wanted to spend time with their family, I’d be delighted to cover for them. She promptly gave me a story about a local organization that would take Thanksgiving meals out to the people in need, rather than having them come to their facility.

I had received several invitations for dinner, but politely turned them down. My best friend Helen wouldn’t stand for it. We had a conversation, and she knew my position. I understood her concern and we left it that if I had a change of heart, I could come over, no questions asked.

The plan was not working out

Thanksgiving rolled around and I had all the necessary information to get out and cover the Thanksgiving meal story. Early in the day, I met up with a photographer and we went about our work. We interviewed the organizers and a few recipients who wanted to talk with us. Then, we drove through the roughest part of town and if I been alone, I probably wouldn’t have done it.

After we finished, it was time to write. I made my way back home, and took my time getting to the story. The phone rang and it was the editor who was waiting for my story. It never occurred to me that he’d want to finish up early so that he could get home to his family and dinner.

Quickly, I wrote the story and sent it off. He called back with a couple of questions and the entire story was covered, written, and sent off before 11 a.m. I had the whole rest of the day and I didn’t know what I was going to do on this Thanksgiving alone.

What would I do with the rest of this Thanksgiving day?

Finally, I took my dogs for a leisurely walk and then we headed home. I hadn’t planned my day out very well, and was a bit restless. Brandy Alexanders, a Thanksgiving favorite of Larry’s, were on my mind all week, and I had even bought the ingredients. Suddenly it occurred to me. I’d make a Brandy Alexander and enjoy it with Larry at the cemetery.

I mixed one and hoped I wouldn’t get stopped by the Police along the way. I got to Larry’s grave and sat down on it facing his headstone. Whenever I went to visit him, I always talked out loud to him. I’d tell him what events had happened since the last time I was there and sometimes asked him questions.

I decided to spend it with Larry

Today, I toasted him with my dreadful Brandy Alexander and talked to him about all the previous Thanksgiving memories and how I was spending this Thanksgiving alone. I talked about our times in Homosassa and in Crescent City. About all the friends, neighbors and family members who we’d spent the holiday with. And I talked about the food we’d ate and of course, those Brandy Alexanders. As I spoke, I became more emotional knowing that those times were gone and I’d be making new memories with new people, whoever they might be. I cried and through those tears, I kept talking. I must have looked like a hot mess.

Suddenly, I looked up to see a man walking past the cemetery, just on the other side of the fence. We briefly made eye contact. I must have scared the daylights out of him, because he picked up his pace and made it clear that he had business elsewhere.

I completed my monologue, poured the remaining drink out near his headstone, and told him to enjoy it.

It’s not about being alone

On the way home, I realized that I didn’t want to be home alone on Thanksgiving. I finally decided against staying home. I’d been there enough alone. I ended up having dinner with Bill and Helen and their family and friends and enjoyed myself. I ate well, drank something other than those gawd-awful Brandy Alexanders, and made my first Thanksgiving memory of my own.