Not only does my mother love to cook, but she is good at it. It matters just as much in the reverse – my mother is good at cooking, and she loves it, so she does it often. She takes care of my family with food that I appreciated when I was little and missed when I left for college. And if everyday food is something to look forward to, what can be said for Thanksgiving? I have never found a sweet potato casserole or stuffing that tastes as good as my mother’s.

And each year I’ve thought, thank goodness for my mother. With her effort, she makes Thanksgiving dinner something to look forward to. And it never occurred to me that it should be anything otherwise…

When I was little, my mother cooked in the warm kitchen all morning (and probably the night before, but I must’ve been in bed by then) while I sat at the kitchen table and drew turkeys by tracing my hand and making lists of thankful-things. Some years, we had Thanksgiving at a relative’s house, but for the most part, this was the order of things. Of course, my mother cooked almost everything. Of course, my Dad helped too. When I got older, I learned that I should also help, and I helped by cleaning up afterward.

But I left the cooking to my mother.

Coming home for break this year, I had a vague sense of wanting to be more involved. Part of things. It might be the nagging sense of impermanence, that the way things are as I have known them will not last forever. It might be that I miss my family, and this year, I wanted to be part of everything they were part of. And for my mother, that is helping prepare Thanksgiving.

So the night before, I helped her with the preparatory work I hadn’t fully realized existed – starting almost everything. She taught me how to make stuffing, and I watched in awe as she made a perfect pie crust. I did not participate in the struggle of putting the turkey into the brine (but I'm sure someday that will be my struggle). And the next day there was still cooking left to do.

I came away with a new respect for my mother – how had she done so much of this herself all these years?? – but I also began to know her joy. There was joy in standing over the stove and watching celery and onions sizzle in butter, in putting together the ingredients of stuffing until it looked like stuffing, in seeing the formation of a perfect pinch-edged pie crust. There was joy in learning from my mother, and joy in knowing who we were preparing it for.

Each year I look forward to Thanksgiving for not only the food but the togetherness. There is something deeply satisfying in coming together for a meal with people you hold dear just to be grateful. Yet helping in the preparation this year deepened the gratefulness and togetherness because I was part of things, and part of things with people I love dearly. I may not have my mother's gift for cooking, but I have my mother to learn from.