This Thanksgiving

The Thanksgiving season is over. The fussing over whether or not the turkey will be moist enough, whether or not the stuffing will be too dry, or the cranberry sauce too tart, has come to an end. And, thankfully so, in my opinion.

I don't mean to be negative. I really don't. I don't wish to spread discord among anyone, or take away from the joy of my fellows. However, Thanksgiving this year was difficult for me. And that, my friends, is an understatement.

I was fortunate enough to not have to cook at all this year. This fact alone, I'm sure, will have women across the globe screaming "how dare you complain, one iota about ANYTHING"? The fact is, I'm not the best cook in the family. In fact, I've done the Thanksgiving feast probably only once in the last five years. I must say, my turkey did turn out quite well, although there are those in my family who can do better.

I arrived at my in-laws house, in order to partake in the festivities. I will spare the readers the nature of my spouse's and my relationship, for now. That will come later. At best, we are good friends, and co-parents, and I will leave it at that. My in-laws have been wonderful to me. They have stepped forward, and become a family to me, when my own family has become all but non-existent.

I was seated in the living room , chatting with my sister-in-law, when I was overcome with the urge to sleep. I don't know what happened. I wasn't feeling particularly unwell, and I had had plenty of sleep the night before. I laid down on the couch, and napped for a bit, until my daughter asked me to move, so she could watch television. I went to another bed then, laid my head on the yellow, fluffy pillow, and feel back to sleep. I had no idea what was to come.

I was suddenly at my aunt's house, Although, not long before my uncle died, that house was sold. But there I was, nonetheless. I always wanted to live in that house. It wasn't the most impressive house I have ever been in. However, to me, it was fabulous. They had TWO living rooms...TWO! And the ceiling was high enough to accommodate a 12 foot high Christmas tree. I was never much of a materialist, but I often wondered what life would've been like if I had had the opportunity to be my aunt and uncle's daughter. After all, I was born out of wedlock, back in the 1970's, and that was extremely frowned upon, to say the least. From what I've been told, my aunt and uncle offered to adopt me. However, my mother decided that she could do it all on her own. Of course, and I'm sure this is not true in all instances, she made my life a living hell. I longed for a chance with other parents, throughout my life. My grandparents were the only stability I ever had. They would take me, for long periods of time, away from my mother, and raise me in a stable home. These are the happiest memories of my childhood. This is where, what happened next, after I fell back to sleep, comes in.

Like I said before, there I was, at my aunt and uncle's house. I remember their kitchen, so warm and inviting. Not unlike my grandparents house, although much bigger, and full of more people. And, there they were...my Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa, who I lost when I was only 17 years old, no longer needed his oxygen, and looked as vibrant as I remember as a young child. Grandma sat there, with her tight little "old -lady perm", that we used to tease her about, smiling. They never said a word. They just smiled. They somehow delved into my subconscious, just to let me know that they were okay. It was like they wanted to let me know that, no matter how much I missed them, and no matter how much I felt like an "orphan", life was not all for naught. I HAD to go on. There were memories for my children to make, of me, their father, and their grandparents, and that it was no longer all about me.

I wanted so desperately to stay with them. I wanted to go back to the Thanksgivings they had at their house, with the papier-mache turkey centerpiece (that was probably pretty cheap, but I though was the most beautiful thing), and to taste my Grandma's stuffing. Also, her pumpkin pie. I have never had pumpkin pie, ever in my life, better than my Grandma's. But, I have her old cookbooks. If I take the time, maybe I can find the recipe, and come close.

When I woke up, I didn't wan't to eat. In fact, I almost didn't want to go on, just to be with them. However, I know that's not what they would've wanted. They would want me to be strong. They would want me to try to live a life worth living, and to fight, just as hard as I could. They would want me to provide the memories for my children, that they provided for me.

This weekend, I went to their graves. I cried, probably more than I ever have in my life. I told them how much I missed them. And the most frustrating thing was, I knew they weren't there. Or, perhaps, they were.
For I know now, they are everywhere. They are in the wind. They are in the rain. And, most importantly, they are in my heart.