From Thanksgiving To Giving Thanks

This Thanksgiving was honestly the hardest one for me. I really missed my Pops this year. This was our holiday to catch up, the day he would brag about how good the food was, the day I would fill him up with to-go plates, tell him my goals for the new year, and listen as he awkwardly told me how proud he was of me. Those words mattered. He mattered.

He was a double-kidney transplant recipient and diabetic, the one person I would excuse for a single day to dive face-first into pies, cakes, and anything he shouldn’t have been eating. And I missed the hard, back-breaking slap that came with the hug of a man I truly loved to see. Memories of him echoed through my mind as I sat with my sister and auntie for a brief gathering at her place. But even with the ache, I was thankful.

Later, as we headed to my wife’s siblings’ house for the second leg of our “turkey tour,” I couldn’t help but miss her dad’s presence too. I’m not the holiday person in the family, that role belongs to my beautiful and extroverted wife, but this year was a little heavier on my soul.

My daughter was home from school, which always brightens my mood. My other baby girl FaceTimed from her boyfriend’s family’s home in North Carolina, which put a smile on my face. But there were still certain people whose absence sat quietly in the room with us.

As I spent time with family this year, I tried my best to balance the memories of who we’ve lost with being present for who is still here. And later that night, as my family slept and I lay under the covers, I made a quiet oath: to be more intentional, more present, more awake to what matters.

My dad used to say, “Just keep living,” whenever I’d clown him and call him “old man” at the door. Well, I have, and he was right. Life moves fast. One minute you’re changing diapers; the next you’re pre-empty-nesters wondering where the time went. Life lessons hit from a different place now.

In just a few days, me and my ride-or-die will celebrate 27 years of marriage, and it still feels surreal. As we sat reminiscing about my mother-in-law’s desserts and the Thanksgiving delicacies of years past, I found myself full, not just from food but from gratitude. Gratitude to still be on this side of the ground. Gratitude to still recognize that, once again, I overdid it with the plates. Gratitude for my wife’s subtle reminders, “Should you really eat that, honey?”, that I respectfully chose to ignore.

I soaked in the laughter and chaos from the games being played, the wishy-washy football part-timers pretending to care about the game on the TV, and the half-sleep relatives drifting in and out of consciousness as the “itis” claimed its annual victims. These are the things that make holidays what they are.

And this morning, as I let my dog out into the eight inches of fresh snow our city got overnight, I watched him roll around like it was his own personal playground. And again, I felt grateful.

Grateful for my children, who sleep way longer than I do.

Grateful for my wife, who keeps the bed warm for me while I make breakfast.

Grateful for the time I had with a loving father and in-laws who made me feel like I was truly family.

Grateful that even though there were more empty seats at the table this year, the love in the room was still overflowing.

I’m grateful for my sister-in-law and her husband, who came over and saved me from eating leftovers until Christmas. I’m grateful for a woman who has loved me half her life, or, according to her, half of my life since she claims she doesn’t age.

I’m grateful for relationships that have stood the test of time, and for the kids who used to sit at the kiddie table and giggle now bringing their boyfriends and girlfriends to dinner like they’re grown.

Most of all, I’m grateful for this year, the joy, the ache, the growth, the lessons. Because Thanksgiving is a day, but giving thanks is intentional. And this year, I’m learning that grief and gratitude can sit at the same table. One reminds you of what you’ve lost; the other reminds you of what remains.

So today, I choose both.

I choose memory.

I choose presence.

I choose thanks. And I choose to have a slice of Molasses Sweet Potato Pie for breakfast before my wife comes downstairs.

And I look forward to tomorrow. Love you family. Miss you Chuck.