“Before we conclude this evening’s festivities by eating ourselves out of house and home,” he’d say, pausing for a laugh, “I’d like to announce the winner of the Loveliest of the Lovely Love of My Life Perfect Wife award. And the winner is Marjorie Hurlihy, the best gosh darn wife I’ve had all year.”

“She’s the only wife you’ve had all year,” we’d yell.

“Criminy. You’ve got me there.”

As the flashback faded away, I missed my mother all over again. Not just the everyday dull ache of missing her, but the gut-grabbing, heart-wrenching kind that could still sneak up on me.

I tilted my head back, blinked so the tears wouldn’t spill out.

I held up my glass, swallowed the sob stuck in my throat. “To Mom.”

“To Mom,” my brothers and sisters said.

“To Grammy,” the kiddie table said.

Our dad put down his fork. He took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped first one eye, then the other. “I talked to her just last night like I always do. She can’t wait to see me moved in to my man cavern, by the by. She said to wish you all a day to remember. And she wrapped up by saying, ‘Billy, you make sure those precious children and grandchildren of ours don’t forget how to build a good Thanksgiving igloo. I can help you judge from up here by the pearly gates if you need me.’”

“Jesus, Dad,” Billy Jr. said as he dabbed at his eyes with his napkin. “You’re killing me here.”

“Igloo contest!” Christine said when she finished wiping her eyes.

“Timed,” Carol said. “Five minutes only.”

“Winner winner turkey dinner,” Michael said.

“But we already have a turkey dinner,” one of the kids said.

I held up my preschool teacher’s watch with the big analog face. “Ready . . . set . . .”

“Go!” the whole dining room yelled.

Adults and children alike began mounding their potatoes into igloos and shingling them with turkey and fixings. I jumped up, grabbed the huge platter of mashed potatoes John had made and headed for the kiddie table. Maeve and Sydney had both just turned three and were the youngest members of the Hurlihy family, so I spooned up massive scoops of potato and plopped them on the middle of their plates to even out the playing field. I put the platter down so the bigger kids could get more if they needed it.

By the time I sat down at my own place again, I’d decided to use parmesan peas to trim the doors and the windows of my igloo, and pecan halves to shingle the roof. I leaned in front of John to ask Polly to pass the peas, please.