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So it was Thanksgiving and Justin had died last February. Last Thanksgiving he was still here, sick, but here.

This wasn't the first holiday without him, but it was the first big one. Yes, they had gotten through his birthday and the picnics on the Fourth of July and Labor Day, but this was the big family holiday. This was the one where people traveled across hundreds and thousands of miles through crummy weather and crowded roads to make sure the turkey would be eaten with everyone who mattered. That was the way is was supposed to be-every Hallmark card and Martha Stewart special said so…

The year had been as bad as they thought it would be.

Worse, really.

Sure, they knew it would be lonely and that there would be holes in their hearts and lives and the empty place at the table and silence on too long evenings and weekends, but no one had really explained that it wouldn't get better; that it would get worse and grow in ways they hadn't anticipated.

To be fair to everyone who cared about what happened, maybe no one could explain what it would be like. Maybe it was something you had to go through and do the best you could, right? And it wasn't like they weren't keeping busy. They were busy-there were always things to do, friends calling, work, laundry, kids, reading the mail, washing the car. There was a lot to keep them all busy. Their lives hadn't stopped, not really, not actually. Day by day, life went by like it always did.

It wasn't the same, and though they knew it wouldn't be, they hadn't understood just how it would be different.

The day to day stuff was all there, but it was like they had taken that detour into another reality where you were always either a little numb or about to cry and you couldn't understand how the sun was shining and people were still stopping for the light and going through the grocery checkout line and doing homework like nothing had changed.

It had changed, everything that mattered had changed and not just because Justin had died; but, yes that was the catalyst and they all knew it.

Three years.

That was what the grief counselor had told them it could take. That was the amount of time it took to process what happened and accept it. That was how long it would likely be before it would seem like summer was warm and not just a period of the year when it was too hot and humid or that the sun made things bright and not just glary. Three years before they could expect to wake up and not have to remember all over again that he wouldn't be there for breakfast. Three years before they really began to move on and in the meantime everything seemed to take a back seat.

But then again-no.

It wasn't that simple.

Some people would take three years. Some people would take three months. Some were over it as soon as they left the funeral and some would never crawl out of the hole of sadness and sorrow and loss.

And meanwhile things still needed to be done.

Molly's private school announced it was closing last spring, just a few days before the end of the term. It wasn't completely unexpected, but no one thought it would happen, either. Attendance was down, bills couldn't be paid and though they finished out the year, the students and faculty and families had less than two weeks between the closing notice and the doors being permanently locked. Jenn had looked for other schools, but they were too far away or too expensive or too full and Molly ended up transferring to the local public school and despised it.

Then there had been the night Jenn had called her down to dinner during the summer and gotten no response. She'd called again and then again. Finally Molly had appeared, angry, sullen and tongue lashed her mother for almost two hours, venting every slight and perceived lack of attention and the days there simply hadn't been time for her all through Justin's illness. She cited every missed school play and soccer game, every teacher's conference that had to be cancelled, every overnight with her friends she couldn't attend because someone had to be there in case Justin needed something and Jenn had to be somewhere else, every birthday celebrated a week late or not at all. She lambasted Jenn about being ignored and being shoved into the background because Justin was more important, more needy, more special and while Jenn knew Molly understood why things had played out the way they had and that Molly both loved and missed her brother, it was weeks before they could sit at the kitchen table again without tension.

Brian buried himself in his work, and business thrived but Brian seemed to disappear. He sold his interest in the club and spent impossible hours traveling to win new accounts. He made more money than he had thought possible and spent almost none of it, too busy hiding in his work to care. He rarely went to Deb's for dinners and almost never stopped in at the diner for breakfast, as he used to do almost daily. When Linds or Ted or Michael called he was always polite, which was frightening in itself, but usually declined to join them for the movies or a weekend somewhere. He withdrew and when they did manage to get him in the same room with everyone, he was evasive and vague, always assuring everyone he was fine and keeping busy. They shouldn't worry about him, he'd been taking care of himself since he was fifteen and he could take care of himself now.

Then Jenn began to focus on how people were starting to forget Justin, starting to move on and she couldn't accept that; she couldn't let that happen. She began concentrating her attention and energy on raising money for the charity Justin had wanted to start so they could raise money for pediatric cancer research. She made hundreds of calls and friends tried to help as much as they were allowed, but Jenn seemed to need to do most of it herself, of course. Still reeling from shock and grief, she was too scattered for a long time and people stepped in to run the art auction with her nominally at the head of the committee.

Disorganized, but pulled together at the last minute, it raised thirty thousand dollars that were donated to Sloan-Kettering in the fall, earmarked for the pediatric research people there and directed by two of Justin's doctors. They'd made a lot of mistakes, but they'd know better how to run things next year. By the way, did you know that September is Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month? Well, it is. That's why they had the auction in September.

That's something else they all learned-just how many cancer charities there are. A lot of them are under the umbrella of the American Cancer Society (or the New York or Pennsylvania or whatever Cancer Society) and that's for a good reason. There's a lot of paperwork involved in a charity and the ACC will do it for you and direct donations where you want them to go. It's called Dedicated Gifting and it really works, just write and tell them which fund should get your money. Plus working through The Cancer Society gives you instant credibility.

There are a million charities, right? And lots of them are good causes. We have some serious donor fatigue-how many begathon letters do you get very month? The environment, the Humane Society, natural disasters, politicians, your local fire department, the kid with leukemia in town, Doctors Without Borders, Unicef, Planned Parenthood, money for the arts, local scholarships and on and on. You get what I mean? You need a big, well known charity name to bring in the money that is needed or you get lost in the crowd.

You see, when someone losses a child (or a wife or mother or husband or friend) to cancer, it's hard-really hard-to accept that they're gone and for something as impersonal and random as cancer. I mean really gone, never talk to them again, never see their grandchildren, cross them off the Christmas list gone. You want to cry and scream about how unfair it all is and, of course, it's neither fair nor unfair. It simply is. There is often neither rhyme nor reason and that's one of the hardest things to accept, especially when dealing with the loss of a child. An argument can be made that a smoker may have brought lung cancer on himself or that someone who worked with toxic chemicals or something should have known the risks-not that it makes it any easier, but you can almost rationalize it.

But when it's a kid-shit.

So you can't accept that a child, a kid who never hurt anyone and who never did a million things we all take for granted goes through this sort of hell, well, then you can't bear to think that they'll be forgotten.

But they are, of course. No, no-that's not what I mean. They're not forgotten, not by the people who knew them and who they mattered to, but the plain fact is that life does go on and after a while people accept it and get on with their lives and that can be a knife in the gut to the ones who are still reeling.

But let's get past that for right now, okay?

Now, you have to understand that good things happened during the almost year as well as the bad stuff. Things happened which made Jenn and Brian cry with happiness and gratitude for the people responsible-though Brian would do so in private.

There was the girl-Corey-a classmate of Justin's who presented Jenn with a scrapbook of both candid pictures and letters from his friends, each one recounting a story or memory about Justin, many of which his family had never heard.

On Justin's birthday, the same girl arranged for his old friends, friends he'd grown up with in the old neighborhood to each chip in five dollars so that an actual star would be named in his honor. The certificate arrived on what would have been his twentieth birthday.

But Jenn, God.

I've got to tell you that I'm really worried about her. She's not even starting to move on and it's scary to see and, hell, I'm really worried about her.

There was a wedding last summer, over Fourth of July weekend and all the usual family was there. It was a nice wedding, tasteful, happy, pretty bride, handsome groom, great food and music. I happened to walk out with Jenn and she asked me what would happen to the flowers on the tables. I said they'd probably be thrown out if no one claimed them so she emptied a few small vases 'for Justin'. I know she stopped at his grave on her way home and it about killed me. Then a few days ago on Thanksgiving she showed up with Molly for dinner with the family and had a dozen long stemmed white roses with her-beautiful things-so that 'Justin will be here with us'. I found her a vase and put it near the table.

But you see what I mean?

And she's not dealing well with Brian, either. They're butting heads and I think they don't speak a lot. He's hurting too, you know, but he's got his work and sees people all day long, but Jenn is spending a lot of time in her house. I know her friends invite her out and stuff, but-shit. She cancels a lot at the last minute and no one says anything. Maybe they should, I guess but I don't think she'd accept delivery. She's always nice and polite in that Jenn way, but she won't be pushed by anyone, no matter how good the intentions.

Hell, that's the other thing I wanted to tell you about Jenn and Molly. When she was so busy with Justin, Mol learned how to do for herself. She sort of had to and now that Jenn is back she's feeling sort of superfluous as a mother and a caretaker, I think. She gave up her job to help Justin, though she's starting work again part time. She's back now and time just didn't stand still. Molly flat out doesn't need her like she used to. The kid can make her own dinner and clean her own room and get herself to school. She loves her Mom, sure, but she doesn't need her like she used to and that's killing Jenn; she doesn't know what to do with herself.

For four years she took care of Justin, so now she's not only lost her son, she's lost her roll of Mom with Molly as well. Okay, she's still 'Mom', but Molly can take care of herself and it happened while Jenn was away and so she's lost more than just one child-you see what I mean?

So they showed up for Thanksgiving and Jenn walked in with a dozen long stemmed white roses-beautiful things. She asked for and was found a vase and said, quietly, "This way Justin will be with us, too." White roses were what everyone placed on the coffin before it was lowered in to the grave.

Now no one said anything, of course-what the hell could you say? The flowers were there all through dinner and the games afterwards but when everyone left they forgot to take the roses-Jenn had said everyone should take one with them as a remembrance, but in the bustle and cleaning up and getting of coats and all, they were simply forgotten and I feel badly about that, though I was the one who ended up with the flowers, and they still look fresh.

Jenn is brittle now, and fragile and I'm worried about what will happen. Brian is coping-grieving, of course, and his heart is broken, but he's still alive. There's something in Jenn which seems to be desperately trying to find a reason to still get up in the morning and I think if she doesn't find it soon, it will be-what will it be? Bad? Sure. But it's more than that.

Something very real died in Jenn with Justin and I wish I knew-or someone knew how to spark it again.

If that's possible.

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