Giving thanks

The mantra, “give thanks, be thankful, give thanks, be thankful,” kept running through my mind yesterday.  I thought, “if i brainwash myself maybe I really will feel thankful.”  The mashed potatoes; fluffy and buttery, freshly made cranberry sauce and New York style cheesecake were made and ready-to-go for the Thanksgiving meal.  The sparkling ciders chilled in the refrigerator.  Everyone showered and dressed, in matching colors, to take a family picture.  It looked Rockwell perfect.

But instead I brooded.  Brooded that I couldn’t see my side of the family.  That I am surrounded by this family day-in and day-out and that one of the few holidays I’d normally split, visiting both sides, was taken away from me.  If you aren’t going to stay, don’t even bother to come was the mantra that played 0ver-and-over in my head and when the suggestion was made that I could visit my family, tomorrow, I left the dining area and sat outside to cool off and brought the wine glass with me.

On the drive home I stoically sat.  The hubby knew.  I could feel the quiet sadness that surrounded him; knowing my unhappiness as I voiced it aloud within the confines of our car.  But, God did bless me.  My middle son quipped, “but Mom, WE are your family.  The five of us.  Don’t be sad.”   And three hands/arms reached from the car’s second row and grabbed my arm and shoulder.   And I silently gave thanks for the warmth of my sons.


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