Home for Thanksgiving

Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door
And under the old roof we gather once more,
Just as we did when the youngsters were small;
Mother's a little bit grayer, that's all.
Father's a little bit older, but still
Ready to romp and to laugh with a will.
Here we are back at the table again,
Telling our stories as women an men.

Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer;
Oh, but we're grateful and glad to be there.
Home from the east and home from the west,
Home with the folks that are dearest and best.
Out of the sham of the cities afar,
We've come for a time to be just what we are.
Here we can talk of ourselves and be frank,
Forgetting position and station and rank.

Give me the end of the year and its fun,
When most of the planning and toiling is done;
Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,
Let me sit down with the ones I love best,
Hear the old voices still ringing with song,
See the old faces unblemished by wrong,
See the old table with all of its chairs,
And I'll put soul in my Thanksgiving prayers.

-- Edgar Albert Guest (1881-1959)
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My mind was filled with memories of my childhood Thanksgivings when I first read the poem
below.  I grew up with a relatively small extended family nearby.  My father's parents moved
to New Orleans when he was a child and my mother moved to New Orleans when she was a
young adult, so most of their families were not in the city.
My parents, my paternal grandparents, my father's sister, Myrtle, her husband, Eddie, her
daughter, Ruthie, Ruthie's husband, Red, and their son, Dennis - these were the people who
surrounded me in my childhood, the people who sat at our Thanksgiving table and praised
my mom's turkey and dressing and had second helpings of her sweet potato pie; the people
who laughed and joked and reminisced about their own childhood Thanksgivings.  These
were the people who formed my childhood world.
Now, of all of those who gathered at my parents' Thanksgiving table every year, Dennis and I
are the only ones left.  For many of us, as the years pass and more family members are
absent from holiday celebrations, the season's joy can often be tinged with sad regret.
I will certainly have regrets as I sit down to Thanksgiving dinner.  But I will, also, have joy.  
Joy will come from the bright and happy memories of all those Thanksgivings past.  
Not long before my father died, he told me that all I had to do was think of him and he would
be there.  This Thanksgiving, I will be thinking of everyone who's not at the table:  Mama,
Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Myrtle, Uncle Eddie, Ruthie and Red.
And, in my mind and in my heart, all the vacant chairs will be filled.
-- Nancy
Home for Thanksgiving