Thanksgiving sneaked up on me as my favorite holiday. It used to be little more than a day off school or work, and really, who can find any fault with a holiday noted for copious consumption of pumpkin pie (preferably with a mountain of whipped cream on top)? Beyond that, though, the entire point of the day was largely lost on me.
Until a few years ago. When Gary came back home right before Thanksgiving, the holiday rocketed up the charts to my top spot. Watching him play in the backyard with the kids, after being separated for so long, clinched it.
I still have a way to go. Anyone who spends much time with me will vouch for the fact that I often forget all I have in my life and may be known occasionally to complain (who, me?)
A few days ago, I read some of my old blog posts and came across one where I wrote that as long as Gary and I have each other, we have a hell of a lot. We are as guilty as anyone for forgetting that, for losing sight of the beautiful relationships we have with each other, with the kids, the moments we share because we are willing to fight for what is right and what we cherish.
This year I want to make it a real Thanksgiving. It’s not about turkey, football, eating until you can’t move without hydraulic equipment to assist, not even about pumpkin pie or whipped cream (no, really). I want to take note of everything and everyone for which I am thankful and hold that in my heart instead of losing sight of it all so easily.
Being thankful isn’t a bunch of flowery words on a glittery Hallmark card. It’s respecting and appreciating those I count as my friends and family and loved ones. It’s opening my eyes to what is right in front of me…and then keeping them open.