Let me summarize how I feel about Thanksgivings:
They were awesome, awesome, awesome.
And then they weren’t.
The awesomeness screeched to a halt in 2012 – the year shit hit the familial fan and came raining down on all of us. It was the year I volunteered for the Salvation Army and it was the year I pretended like Thanksgiving was NOT AT ALL about family and traditions I didn’t have anymore. My best friend in Kentucky invited me to spend it with her. I didn’t want to.
The next Thanksgiving (2013) was a little better. Mom and I went hiking and then ate a fancy $50-a-plate dinner at a restaurant. We acknowledged that it was, in fact, Thanksgiving, but we stuck to the basics.
This year was entirely different.
It was a year of reclamation. A year of softer-than-a-baby’s-bottom newness.
I did something I’ve dreamed of doing.
I took my partner to the place I call my hometown.
We ate dinners with my friends and their extended families.
We walked on campus at my alma mater in the chilling wind.
We drove by many of the houses I used to live in.
We walked along my favorite lake.
We played with my favorite kids and their animals.
We shot guns and drove combines.
We watched animated movies and football games.
We spent time alone and together.
And though we didn’t stand in a circle and hold hands or say the things we were most thankful for, I’ll tell you mine:
I’m thankful for time and the way it passes.
For the way it’s healed me. For the way it’s let go of me. For the way it’s moved me from one place in life to another.
And I’m thankful for the memories of Thanksgivings past.
This is a beautiful life.
And for that, I am thankful.
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