Is there an American anywhere who doesn't instantly recognize this scene as "post Thanksgiving dinner coma"? (Karen's, last year)

For as long as I can remember, our family's Thanksgivings have been either a curse or a blessing. Sometimes both. If you think about it, that's pretty much the way the original first Thanksgiving must have been.

We too have shared our bounty, endured tragic loss, been embraced by loved ones, filled our tables with laughter, choked back tears and anger, rejoiced, coped, celebrated. Mourned.

And, in our own traditional Jewish version of the holiday, we've never let anything stop us from cooking and consuming vast quantities of food.

We've made the most of the good times, even when they carried shadows of pain from the past or to come. And we've manned up during the bad times, finding silver linings in simple pleasures or sometimes, even solitude.

Traditions
We've always taken in strays -- lonely neighbors, older relatives, less fortunate friends. Among family members, whoever could come, came. If you had a better offer (a new boyfriend, a trip to Jamaica), you were off the hook, guilt-free.

As we all grew up, married and had kids, my mother made it a fun family party, turning the cooking over to excellent caterers as we piled our plates high with food and gathered around the big dining table. Talking and eating non-stop.

Some years we came in droves. Other years, oh the empty chairs of those not on a cool trip, not with a new love, but gone. Too soon. Too close to Thanksgiving. No matter when the loss, it seems somehow sharpest at Thanksgiving.

Eventually I took over the hosting, made my signature down-home American feast, the real deal, start to finish. Picky eaters, kids or adults, might need a little coaxing, but quickly become devoted converts to turkey, old fashioned stuffing and sweet potatoes with toasted marshmallows.

It's the one day of the year in our crowd that food and family is highlighted just for the hell of it. Really, for the joy of it. No religious overtones, no crass commercialized hype, no one turned away, no one obligated to show up. Cook, cater, order pizza. Dress up, dress down.

No rules, just leave your crap at the door and feel the love. Plus, eat til you drop.

First, Loss and Losers
Too often, though, there's been loss. And because we've always treated Thanksgiving as an easy breezy holiday blessing, the years we've been cursed have stood out in stark relief.

It's always the first year of an empty chair that packs the biggest wallop. My first childhood Thanksgiving after my biological father's suicide was dreadful, off kilter, out of whack.

The very next year was the Kennedy assassination, complete with a wedding in our family, "Mad Men" style. A triple whammy of Why Give Thanks For Anything.

When I was in my 20's I dated a man I knew was bad for me but oh-he-felt-so-good. Then I got a serious reality check. Having blown off family and friends to join him for a "special" Thanksgiving dinner, I found myself waiting, waiting, finally, alone. Stood up. Forgotten. Humiliated.

I eventually stopped waiting, made a batch of peanut butter fudge brownies (his favorite) and ate the whole thing myself. When he called the next day filled with dastardly lying innocence, "Oh did we have plans?" ... I kicked him to the curb. Hard.

Family Drama
The next Thanksgiving my future (and current) husband came to my parent's Thanksgiving, two months before our wedding. He and his parents arrived to a caterwauling choir, my mother and her daughters engaged in a verbal brawl upstairs, our enraged screams echoing throughout the house.

None of us can remember the reason for that epic fight. (Which ended in tears and laughter, as always). I'm just grateful he hung in there for the meal, the wedding and beyond after such a dramatic preview of our family's wide open emotional doors.

Lasts
There are plenty of other examples, but you know the one that hurts most this Thanksgiving. Several years ago I passed the  hostess mantle to my niece Karen (though I was still drafted to bring my stuffing). Last year was filled with the usual hilarity and belly-busting great food.

Still, we all knew it would be her final Thanksgiving. She would not survive to see this year's celebration. We pushed that knowledge down deep, but the pain was there, hovering, twanging at our nerves.

Maybe that's why it was the best Thanksgiving ever. We accepted it would be her last and made the most of the opportunity to celebrate our family's love and devotion for each other, for our brave, treasured Karen. For her example of continuing to count her blessings even as she fought deadly cancer.

First, Again
This year. Well. A major first. Thanksgiving without a seminal figure. To her husband, her 12 and 14 year old children. Her mother. Her father and brother. And me, fighting pain so sharp it could cut hot turkey.

By default I'm the hostess once again. We're not ready to gather around the table in their house, her empty chair a reminder and a rebuke. Forget Thanksgiving, no one has sat in that chair since Karen entered hospice in August.

But we're determined, the beat goes on. There's been planning, shopping, cooking. There will be food in abundance. More, there will be abundant love and support and comfort.

It's the first Thanksgiving without Alex and Amy's Mommy. Bob's wife. Judy's daughter. My special niece and dear friend.

This is the first Thanksgiving without a loved one for many of you. It won't be the last. Learn from our experience. Endure the pain and embrace the future.

Because yes, it will get easier. Life does go on. Traditions endure and new ones are born.

Hope
At our house, right on cue this year. One of my nieces and her husband moved back from Israel and are living with us until they find a place of their own. It's their first American Thanksgiving in a long time. And it's the very first Thanksgiving for their 16 month old son.

Nothing reminds us of promise and possibility more than a happy, healthy (adorable) baby.

So Thursday night when we gather as a family, we will honor an empty chair and its former occupant. We will give thanks that we still have each other. Plus a lifetime of beautiful memories. And we will welcome new members and traditions to the table.

We will reaffirm we are still a loving, growing family, blessed more than cursed.

First, last and always.