THE MISSING PIECE OF PIE

There is a missing piece of pie served at my Holiday Feast, and I’m not sure why.

• Did someone sneak into the refrigerator last night for a midnight snack?

• Did someone skip the ham and go straight to dessert?

• Maybe someone dropped the pie and returned what was left to cover their tracks?

All the pies served at my Holiday Feast are missing a piece, and I‘m not sure why.

• There is a big piece missing from the Apple Pie.  Apple Pie was my Father’s favorite pie.

• There is a slender piece of pie missing from the Blueberry Pie.  Blueberry Pie was my Mother’s favorite pie.

• Nearly a quarter of the pie is missing from the Mincemeat Pie.   Mincemeat pie was my Grandfather’s and Grandmother’s favorite pie.

There are missing pieces of pies in all the pies, but that is not all that is missing from the Holiday Feast.

• My Father loved our Holiday Feasts.  He would laugh and tell stories all night long.  I can see him right now dressed in his cardigan red sweater, wearing a Christmas tie with red little Santas and green and white Christmas Trees.

• After working so hard to cook a wonderful feast, my mother would toast to everyone’s happiness and blessings. With her loving smile, she sat at the table, happy and proud. 

• My Grandfather and Grandmother would tell stories of times long past.  My Grandfather would talk about attending a one-room schoolhouse and working long into the night to change homes from gas lighting to the “new” electrical lighting.  My Grandmother listened intently to everyone’s stories and would add her own stories of being one of the first AT&T Phone Operators.

My smile and laughter are now missing at my Holiday Feast, replaced by tears streaming down my swollen face. As I look upon each pie, now missing a piece, I recall the stories, laughter, and love of those missing from the table and my life.

The missing piece of pie.

Until Next Friday,

Photo by sheri silver on Unsplash