Sunday Suppers

I've been feeling pretty low these past couple weeks and I haven't been able to pinpoint just why I feel that way. Any normal gal might just call it a slump or not delve too deeply into finding out why she feels that way, but unfortunately I'm not able to really ignore emotions like that. I've been trained to be just a bit more intuitive when I find myself in a depressed state- there's just too much DNA in my blood that might cause me to stay wallowing in a puddle. 

This past Sunday, just like every Sunday before, I began to set our dining room table for supper. But this night was different- less napkins, less silver, less settings at the table.  Then the tears hit me. 

She's gone. 

My sister, Alison, has been a staple in our home for the past four years. She lived 5 minutes away, in a little apartment close to the MUSC Dental School, where she poured her whole self into becoming an A+ student and a model dentist, which didn't come easy for her. Looking back I want to say that our Sunday Suppers began as a tradition to give my step-children an example of what it looks  and feels like when a family comes together, puts work and distractions aside, lays cloth napkins in their lap and finds something in life special enough to deserve a toast. The kids have certainly internalized it that way and I cherish how much they look forward to helping with dinner and spending time with us. 

But as I set our table last week for just the four Dudleys I realized that Sunday Suppers initially became an institution in our home for Alison. During her first two years of dental school she would lose count of the days in the lab.  I could hear the exhaustion in her voice as she whispered to answer my phone calls in the library late at night. Knowing that she wasn't eating a full meal all week, my husband and I made such a fuss over "Aunt Ali" coming to dinner with us on Sundays that, even if she wanted to, we made it too much of a production for her to refuse the invitation. Once a week we would lay out the silver, prepare a special meal and let the children regale Ali with their weekly stories. All the while I studied the circles under Ali's eyes and my husband made sure to send her home with leftovers. 

So it functioned over a course of four years, until she graduated. 

Graduation Day. 

Ali packed up all her things and moved onto the next chapter in her life, practicing dentistry in Chapel Hill, NC. She went from five minutes down the road to a city five hours away from me.

It may have broken my heart a bit. 

I realized that we began this family tradition in an effort to feed someone, when in reality her presence in our home was feeding my soul just as much. (Tweet that.)

Holding my sister's hand in my hand as we said the blessing solidified her place at our table, but also made me feel, in a way, like I was holding my father's hand while he lives three hours away, and my mother's hand long gone. With one sister in tow I felt like I had a bit of all my siblings there with us, sharing inside jokes and stories. What began as a family meal quickly became the weekly revitalization my soul needed to feel the magnitude of love in our family. 

On April 3, 2001, my mother wrote in her journal:

“Keep Alison close, sweet Jesus. She is having a hard night. Look after each child when I cannot. I turn their health, happiness and safety to you dear God, please take care.”

Next Sunday Supper I will say a similar prayer, "Keep Alison close to my heart, sweet Jesus. I am having a hard night. Look after us all when we cannot be together. Thank you for this food to nourish our health. Thank you for the happiness we feel together as a family. Separated, we find our safety in you. Dear God, please take care."

I am thankful for the three wonderful loves in my life that grace my table every week. Their constant presence is reason enough to celebrate. I encourage you all to raise a glass to the faces you see around the table every night and to the ones you long for in your heart. 

Cheers to you and yours!

And if you like the dinner photos, you should know about Caroline Howard, the immensely talented photographer that became our colleague when she shared her passion for suicide prevention, our friend when she shot our wedding and part of our family as she continues to photograph our lives.