For the past several years, as we gathered in my grandparent’s eat-in-kitchen, we would hold hands and say a prayer. My grandfather would always give it, and he would ask for blessings over the food that we were about to eat, and he would give thanks. In the long, beautiful list of everything that he would express gratitude for, he would give thanks that we all were there, surrounding the room for another year. Every year, the prayer had that. At Thanksgiving, Christmas, any event that we all gathered at and a great deal of food was present. And every year it hurt more and more, because we all knew that this could be the last prayer.
This year, my older brother said the prayer. He also carved the turkey, which had also always been my grandfather’s job. The day had a weight on it. Everything that I wanted to be easy, felt hard. Every hug meant more. Every voice was a little bit quieter. But, it was a good day.
I was able to go home for a couple of days before Thanksgiving, which I’m very grateful about. My mom and I got to have our favorite salads, and we sat in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace and looked at Christmas magazines together. I celebrated a best friend and the baby boy(!) that she will be having in the spring.
I have so many things to be thankful for. But right in this moment, I am grateful for my husband. He loves me in my lowest lows and my highest highs. Happy Thanksgiving, to you and yours from me and mine.