Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was hard. It always is. It was Mom’s favorite holiday and we used to make the most amazing turkey, and host the nicest Thanksgiving day celebration for family. I have the fondest memories of waking up on Thanksgiving day and hearing the Macy’s Day parade playing from the living room. I remember the thrill of Mom and Josh working on brining the turkey, then her and I stuffing it with herbs and vegetables. She used a french recipe that I can’t find, and it was the most succulent, flavorful turkey ever. Our parties were thrown outside on big tables, there was laughter and people who didn’t want to leave when it was over so they just lingered in the dining room until it was nearly dark. We would sing, tell stories…

The last two years of her life I didn’t get to spend Thanksgiving with her. It makes me feel guilty and broken hearted. I miss her enthusiasm, the party, the turkey. The way she decorated the house that now sits undecorated and cold without her presence. I wish Polly had gotten to experience just one Thanksgiving with her healthy, I feel cheated that she never will. 

This Thanksgiving was harder than last Thanksgiving because last Thanksgiving all my family had Covid and I didn’t even get to see them. So it felt like the holiday wasn’t really happening. This year, though. It happened. Tripp’s parents hosted Thanksgiving at their house and Polly was very overwhelmed by all the new people, so I played upstairs alone with her and felt very lonesome for my old life. I cried in secret and let her play and nap and didn’t come down till most people had gone and she had napped for a while. The holidays just don’t feel special at all anymore.

 I have this idea in my head that once we have all our kids and they are 8 years old and up and we have our own house then we can start those traditions like hosting our own celebration, and let the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade play while we cook in the morning and it will feel better. I could be disillusioned, but I hope that healing can come in the form of taking the old traditions I so loved and doing them over with our children. 

After Thanksgiving day we spent Friday evening and Saturday with Mimi and Poppa and it was the kind if restoration I needed. Tripp and I went to Easy Street and talked. I cried to a George Strait song (Daddy’s Love, if you must know) and Tripp commented that I was learning empathy. It struck up a series of very good conversation, deep conversation with connection that I had been missing. I missed Tripp. I miss him when we’re deep in the groove of work and housework an d normal life. It’s hard to bond when your one year old is slinging food all over the kitchen and herself, so to have two hours of time for uninterrupted talk was honestly more filling than the food ever could have been. 

Now we’re home, Polly is sleeping, Tripp is taking homemade chicken noodle soup to Jenna who is sick and we’re going to watch Lord of the Rings and eat and look forward to church tomorrow. 

From Thanksgiving 💚