My “peace” of pie…

I’m hosting Thanksgiving for my BF’s family tomorrow, so today I’m doing my baking (or part of it…I baked cookies yesterday, today is pie, cheesecake, and breads.) I realised as I was scraping cherry pie filling into the pie shell, that Thanksgiving is my day of baking for the dead. I knowthat sounds strange, but let me explain a bit…
The Molasses Crinkles I bake are the same recipe my grandmother always used, so when I bake them, I am baking for her. The peanut butter blossoms I bake are the same recipe my dad always tried to steal unwrapped hershey’s kisses from as I baked, so I am baking those for him. I can hear my husband’s voice in my head as I place the pumpkin pies into the oven, saying, “My favorite kind of cake is pie”, and my Dad telling me that Cherry Pie is his favorite…all voices I’ll never hear again in this life, but when I bake my Thanksgiving…just for seconds, it’s a part of them there with me. I see my cousin, dead at 24 from cancer as I spread the cream cheese into the springform pan to make my cheesecake. All those I love, I have at least 1 Thanksgiving memory with. So, for me, even when thankful feels way more forced than bitter…Thanksgiving is my day. I bake and remember. I add new friends and loved ones to my chain of Thanksgiving memories this year, and hope/pray that I will still have them with me next year, even as the shadow of Cancer hangs in the background. I bake, and live and love.
Wishing you peace, and pie.

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