The holiday season, a time typically filled with joy and anticipation, carries a different weight this year. It's the first Thanksgiving where our family will gather with an empty chair at the table, a poignant reminder of my father's passing. Six years ago, the first signs of his declining health emerged, subtle at first, but gradually intensifying into a severe form of dementia. What began as misplaced orders at restaurants evolved into hallucinations, unpredictable mood swings, and even disorienting episodes like wandering out of the house in the middle of the night.

Over time, his condition deteriorated, leaving him with little quality of life. Simple daily tasks became insurmountable challenges, and he existed in a state of diminished awareness. I vividly recall a moment just days before he entered hospice care, lying beside him in bed, reminiscing about cherished memories – hunting trips, fishing excursions, even the harrowing experience of a tornado tearing through our home. Little did I know that this would be our last true conversation.

Jay Lowder and his father

Jay Lowder and his father

As Thanksgiving approaches, we brace ourselves for the bittersweet mix of emotions – gratitude for the time we had, intertwined with the grief of his absence. This holiday, however, also presents an opportunity to celebrate his life, to recall the countless ways he enriched our family. My father embodied the spirit of Thanksgiving; his unwavering optimism and gratitude were infectious. He was our steadfast anchor, a source of strength and stability. His faith, his devotion to family, his tireless work ethic – these are the qualities that define his legacy.

While his physical presence is gone, his influence remains deeply woven into the fabric of our lives. His memory is a comforting sanctuary, a place I can always revisit. This Thanksgiving, though marked by his absence, is also a testament to the enduring power of love and memory. He may have changed his address, as I like to think of it, but the hope of reunion sustains us. And for that, I give thanks.