Hazel set out the dishes on her long table. It would be hours still before the food was ready but she liked to keep busy and there wasn’t much that needed her attention in the kitchen at the moment. She smiled as she laid down the fine china beside the silk napkins. The silver knives, forks, and spoons came next, followed by her crystal glasses. Most of these pieces had once belonged to her mother, and to her grandmother before her.

The egg timer dinged from within the kitchen and Hazel hurried over to check on the gravy she had simmering on the stove top.

“Almost,” she murmured to herself when she tested its consistency.

Hazel flicked on the oven light and a warm glow illuminated the small turkey she had cooking inside. It was probably the smallest one she’d ever prepared and she worried that she might over cook it. The skin was just starting to darken but the small red button had yet to pop up, indicating that the insides were still uncooked.

“Maybe another ten minutes?”

She crouched down further to peer into the lower of her two ovens. Golden topped rolls greeted her. Cooing, she grabbed her oven mitts and eagerly pulled the rolls out of the oven and placed them on a cooling rack. To top them off she brushed the tops of the rolls with her sweet butter. The smells in the kitchen were almost intoxicating and it was usually about this time that she would have to begin fending off her guests as they would each in turn try to sneak in and steal bites of food.

A tinge of sadness crept into her kitchen and she paused in her work. There would be no guests in her house this year. It would be the first time she could remember that she’d be celebrating alone. And yet even still there was much to be grateful for. Though her family was far away, though she lived alone, she knew she was loved. Not every day could be joyous, otherwise how could she appreciate them?

She set herself back to work, checking again on the gravy and this time finding it to be set up perfectly. She took it off the stove and poured it into its serving dish and set it our on the table. At first she placed the gravy near the center of the table, but upon reconsidering she moved it nearer to where she would be sitting. She had set out all of the place settings as usual, but with her as the only diner it made sense to have everything she’d be eating within her reach. Otherwise she’d be finding herself having to get up and walk around the table every time she needed something.

Of course, she could have set out only one place setting. But her table seemed so empty without the other plates and things. It was still a little empty, without the noise and people to fill it the rest of the way, but it was the best she could do.

Back in the kitchen she checked again on the turkey and this time the red button had popped. She was relieved to see that the skin was perhaps a few minutes shy of becoming too crisp for her liking. With the turkey out of the over she placed it on its cooling rack and while it began to cool she returned to her rolls and began pulling them from their pan and placing them on their serving tray. The rolls steamed deliciously and she had to resist the urge her family so often gave into to sneak a bite before sitting down to the meal properly. Once the rolls were all arrayed, Hazel added them to the table.

Next were the mashed potatoes. They’d been keeping warm on the stove, and she scooped them into a deep, wide serving bowl. A thin layer of grated cheddar and a few sprinkles of chopped green onion finished them off and they, too, were added to the table.

Hazel tapped the turkey gingerly with her finger tips to test the temperature and it was still too hot to handle. To prevent people from eating their desert first she didn’t usually set out her pies until after everyone had eaten their first helping, but given the current circumstances she went to the fridge and pulled out her chocolate cream pie. She’d never been a big fan of hot fruit pies and, with it just being her, she figured she could indulge herself a little by only making this single pie.

Lemon meringue and pumpkin were usually the first pies baked and the first pies to be eaten, followed in turn by her apple spice and cherry rhubarb. She’d once attempted a pecan pie but was left with most of it uneaten and so gave up on that endeavor and instead stuck with her usual assortment. She didn’t usually make a chocolate cream pie. It wasn’t that they were particularly difficult. It was because all of the little children would want a slice. If anyone didn’t get a slice of the chocolate cream pie there would be tears and crying, and to make enough chocolate cream pies for everyone meant that the other pies would begin to look like an afterthought. So she’d stopped making her chocolate cream pie for get togethers and everyone was much happier for it.

This year the chocolate cream pie was given a place of honor, sitting in the very center of the table where the turkey usually sat. This had a double purpose. The first was that she really was excited to be able to have her favorite pie this year. And the second was that by placing it in the center of the table it would be out of arms reach and she would be more likely to follow her own rules and eat her first serving before having any pie.

At last the turkey was cool enough to handle and she began scooping out the stuffing and placing it in its dish. She wondered, as she often did when doing this task, how and why people first began to cook their stuffing this way. Considering that it was called ‘stuffing’ in the first place she suspected that people had been doing it for a long time. Still, who would have though to stuff the inside of a roasting bird with dried bread, seasonings, and whatever else people chose. Hazel had an aunt growing up that liked to add raisins and dates to her stuffing. Her grandmother had liked to add walnuts. Hazel was less adventurous in those ways and tended to limit herself to celery and shredded carrots, though mostly for their bit of color rather than their flavor.

The turkey carved beautifully. The meat was moist and tender and the spices she’d rubbed into it prior to cooking had seeped deep into it. Before she could stop herself she plucked up a thin string of meat and tucked it into her mouth. So many memories of years gone passed flooded her mind. She remembered when she was a little girl and how much simpler things were without all of the technology. But also more complicated. Stoves and ovens were less reliable and even the best cooks ended up with some burnt edges on their dishes. Some of the ingredients she now used were unheard of, or else unavailable this late in the season. Her chocolate cream pie would have been practically unthinkable.

As the years passed and she grew older, the family gatherings grew and shrank and then grew again as families moved, and married, and her own family blossomed. Her own marriage, children, and now grandchildren had brought so much joy to her life, beyond anything she could have known or imagined as a little girl.

It was strange, after all those years surrounded by others, first her siblings and parents, and then her husband and children, to be alone now felt so foreign to her. She remembered a conversation she’d had long ago with her own mother shortly before she died. They were just sitting in the living room, talking, when her mother grew suddenly somber. She turned to her and said, “Hazel, so much of life is about saying hello. Growing up, you go to school and meet all sorts of new people. Then you leave home and there’s even more people to meet. Then you’re having children and getting to say those most precious of hellos…but after a time,” Hazel’s mother went on, “you find that you’re saying hello less and less frequently and in their place your finding more goodbyes.”

At the time she didn’t fully comprehend her mother’s meaning. She thought her mother was simply feeling lonely. Now, however, she understood it more fully. Her siblings were all now passed on, as were her parents, and even her husband. Most of her friends were gone now too. Such good-byes were bitter sweet. For the living it was a time of loss. Yet for those who had passed on, she was seeing it now more as a release. Age brought many wonderful things, but there was also often pain, sickness, and forgetfulness. Those last few months before her husband passed had been terribly difficult as he struggled and suffered. For him, there at the end, death was not a thing to discourage.

Hazel found that she was silently crying onto the now carved turkey. She wiped her eyes and carried the platter over to the table and at last took her seat. It was a small yet elegant dinner. Rather than finding herself imagining her children and grandchildren who would normally be sitting in those empty chairs, she instead remembered the lives of those she loved who had all ready passed on. So many years, decades really, of love and laughter had been given to her by those people whom she loved. She raised her glass to each chair in turn, remembering a different loved one each time, and thanked them for their memories, for their lives lived and shared with her in their own varied ways.

“You have all, so richly blessed my life,” she said through heavy emotion. “And though we have now said our goodbyes, I still feel the warmth of your love and your touch upon my life.”

There was more she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words. So she drank her toast to their memories and as she ate she returned again and again in her mind to memories of those whom she loved and had said goodbye to. She would see her children and grandchildren again. This was no permanent separation they were going through, and so she was comforted in that knowledge. And as she ate she was quite certain that she was not alone that year after all.