Some food experts are calling Thanksgiving 2025 the most food-insecure holiday in recent US history. The contributing factors are rising food prices and reduced government benefits that are making it more challenging for many low-income families to afford holiday meals. In view of this food insecurity, I have committed to donating money to a church, whose members have the comfort of their homes threatened as well as fears about a lack of food. I donate to families who have less than I to promote mental and physical health that can lead to improved outcomes.

As Thanksgiving approaches this year, I find myself drifting back 20 years in time to September 2005, when the sizzling summer temperatures had cooled off, and I was looking forward to autumn as the colors of the changing scenery would add beauty to my trip from New Jersey to Long Island, New York, for my weekly visit to my mother in a nursing home. My mom, who had Parkinson’s Disease, had been declining in health and her extremities began to swell. She could not take care of her personal needs.

One week I stopped off to buy her lunch of shrimp salad that she liked, but as I approached the George Washington Bridge, my car that I had purchased from my mother when she could no longer drive, began to smoke. This forced me to find a gas station near the last exit before the bridge. I did not know where to go in Fort Lee, NJ, but made a left turn at the exit light.

It was a surprise for me to find a gas station close by on a busy street, and I stopped in to ask the attendant if he could help me. He directed me to the mechanic inside the garage. After I explained to him that I was on my way to visit my mother who was unwell, he readily raised the hood of my car and diagnosed the problem as a missing radiator cap. He told me not to worry because he had the exact cap for my car model in his garage. He quickly replaced it and kindly sent me on my way without charging me and wishing my mother well.

At the nursing home, while feeding my mom in bed because she could not hold the utensils with her swollen right hand, I posed a question to her, asking: Mom, if you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?” Her answer was to be able to walk to the adjoining semi-private bathroom by herself. She deplored the idea of using a bedpan, being so restrained, and losing her independence.

By this time, many of my mom’s possessions and freedoms were already taken from her, including her beloved sewing box and prized scissors. She had been a great seamstress in her life, winning a first-place prize for making her graduation dress by hand in the eight grade and by routinely sewing and refitting her five children’s clothing to fit just right.

One of the major concerns for my mom on this day was a loss of memory, for she always prided herself on being able to recite the Gettysburg Address since childhood but now had trouble remembering the words she used to recite on her birthday, which was on Memorial Day, May 30.

When I was a young child, my mom often related to me and my siblings the oral history of our family and how we were descendants of the Mayflower from her side of our family. To change the subject on this day, I switched the conversation to what she could recall, that was, how she prepared our Thanksgiving dinners over the years. With this, she remembered all the ingredients, the timings of the oven and pots on the stove, the dressing of the turkey and the spices in the stuffing. Her recollections were perfect on how to prepare and lovingly serve her family of five children and many guests of relatives and friends. She had no counter space, dishwasher, or microwave oven.

This was an important and memorable conversation I had with my mom on that day, although I did not know it at the time, because it was our last one. The next week I got caught in a traffic jam on the Long Island Expressway for five hours caused by an oil slick. I never got to visit her again before she died the following week, just two months before Thanksgiving.

What are the Thanksgiving memories of my childhood past that sustain me in 2025?

As I look back to memories of Thanksgivings past, so many thoughts flood my mind, but they are good and sustain me. From my earliest years, I remember helping my mom prepare the food, back to when I was five. Even at a young age, my mother showed me how I could help polish the silverware for the dinner table. Taking all the tarnish off the knives, forks and spoons was a task but we would apply a pink cleaner and would shine up the utensils to look new. The cotton table linens were ironed and pressed neatly, along with cloth napkins. We always had decorations my mother designed to adorn our table and make it festive.

My brother and I, the two youngest in our family of five children, would go to the supermarket with my parents some days before the holiday. We would wait in anticipation for my dad to come home from his second job to shop at the A&P supermarket nearby to purchase food for the celebration. A large turkey was always at the top of the list, the dressing, cranberries, ingredients for pumpkin and apple pies, appetizers at the deli, fresh vegetables, sweet potatoes, as well as bread for stuffing and spices.

When my brother and I were older we were asked to grind the coffee beans of a specialty blend in the machine at the A&P so that my mom could percolate it for our adult guests. This was a big responsibility for us that we took seriously, even though we did not drink coffee as children.

My mom would tell us of how my-great-grandmother killed and plucked her own turkey, after she cut off its head and watched it run about afterwards. She said this is where we get the expression of “running around like a chicken without a head.” She remembered watching this as a child and being petrified by it.

By the time we finished shopping, the cart was filled to the brim with food, and the cash register receipt was so long it had to be folded to fit in my mom’s purse. My working-class parents felt proud that they could afford to celebrate with family on this special day.

I had my job preparing the table

At 6:00 am my mother would arise to prep the turkey and to place it in the oven. My fondest memory was learning how to set the table for the festivities. Since my mother was a waitress, she was very particular as to where the folks, knives, and spoons went as well as the placement of the napkins and glasses. As I grew older, I was assigned to deshell the green peas, and to chop up the parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme for the spices in the dressing. When I asked if I was finished, being somewhat tired, I can still hear my mom say: “Nope, chop it finer!” I’d watch her make the crust for the pumpkin and apple pies and then place the filling in with care. I loved the fragrant scents of the turkey cooking, but my   favorite part was licking the blades of the hand-held beater clean after I spent much time making stiff peaks of whipped cream or “Schlage” for the desserts and coffee she served with it.

But what I loved with the warmth of the celebration with my paternal grandfather speaking in his native tongue German, although his country origin was Hungary, to our family friend, Gretta. Her mom lived in East Germany and when she sent care packages with food and clothing the security guard would take it away, so she went hungry. My paternal grandmother was sweet but quiet. She had a large lift on one shoe and walked with a limp from childhood polio. My aunt and uncle came with my cousin, and we would play together. My oldest sister, who died last year, would tell jokes and make us laugh. The day would always end with a feeling of satiety and gratitude, with all of us as stuffed as the turkey.

In 2025, how can we give help and reach out to those who have food insecurity?

• Call Hunger’s Free Hotline to be connected with food providers and resources in your community.
• Contact local food banks and pantries, which provide special Thanksgiving meals for families.
• For those looking to help, donate non-perishable food to the food banks.
• Make a monetary contribution to a charitable organization that provides food assistance during the holidays, so we all take part in Earth’s abundance.

May we all be blessed with food, community, gratitude, and love throughout this blessed season, and always remember and value with fondness the Thanksgivings of the past that sustain us year after year.

As for me, I still hold my mom’s knife she used for chopping the herbs and spices that she handed down to me. It fits just right in my hand, and when holding it, she is with me.