Thanksgiving used to be my favorite holiday. I treasured the unifying image of millions of Americans eating the same meal on the same day. I knew exactly why every child out for a stroll on Thanksgiving morning had only one parent in tow. I could almost hear the other adult, back in the kitchen, screaming, “Get the kids out of here so I can make dinner!”

Our family of four – my husband, Greg, and our sons Henry and Danny – spent the holiday at home in Los Angeles, enjoying blue skies, palm trees and blissfully empty streets.

Then my oldest, Henry, was killed on Aug. 29, 2022, in a tragic accident, on his first day of college. His death drained the color from our lives. Songs I used to enjoy became grating, chocolate chip cookies tasted bitter, I could no longer focus, and the future appeared to me as pages and pages of empty black and white calendar squares.

Three months after Henry’s death, Thanksgiving arrived, like a cruel joke. How could anyone celebrate now that my oldest son was gone? What could I possibly be thankful........

© USA TODAY