This year, we will be traveling up to northern California to be with Lucas’ parents. There will be a lot of missing things. Like the house. It’s gone. And the beds, the kitchen sink (the whole kitchen, actually), the hot tub. Oh, the cat. The cabin on the lower property where Lucas got to play as a kid. It’s all gone – burned up in a fire three months ago.
We’re hoping at some point to go visit the property (his parents are in a rental about 20 minutes from there), just to see it; just to get some closure. It’s all empty because after the fire raged through, people in hazmat suits had to come and take everything that burned. The house was old and had asbestos, so they didn’t want to risk the poison that could have contaminated everything. Along with all the burned possessions, they also took dirt from the entirety of the property, about a foot deep.
It’s so strange not being able to visualize what Thanksgiving will “look” like, since for so long, I imagine cooking with Lorna in her galley kitchen, or hanging out in their living room, playing Legos on the floor with the kids and bonking my head on the low hanging chandelier EVERY TIME I STOOD UP.
I’m sort of cheating here, because while there will be A LOT missing during Thanksgiving, we also have A LOT. Like two parents that are safe and alive. Like a rental that’s bigger than their previous house. Like food, and wine, and conversation, and memories, and lots and lots of kindness and generosity that’s been poured out on us. On them directly, and us indirectly because it always means a great deal when your watch your loved ones get loved on.
Everything will be missing this Thanksgiving. But we will have WAY more than we could want. Except the cat. I will kind of miss the cat.
Emily M.
Missing from Thanksgiving for me this year are dietary restrictions! They have been a major stressor for 8 out of the past 9 Thanksgiving feasts, because I have been either pregnant or nursing. Nursing was a very complicated thing for me. It felt like groping around in the dark for what on earth was upsetting my baby. I felt guilty about eating simple things all the time, but kept trying to figure out if it was all in my head that I really couldn’t touch dairy, or tomatoes, or garlic, or chocolate, or spices, etc without making my baby miserable. After many years of it, I finally found a very restricted nursing diet that I was happy with. I was feeling better than ever a year ago. Until I realized that I was really probably eating too healthy and walling myself into a narrow range of tolerance.
But life itself is even more complicated than my nursing diet, because others were affected by my restrictions. My husband was understanding through it all, but last year he really missed the dairy in our Thanksgiving pie and potatoes. I’m not sure what upset my baby more each Thanksgiving, my indulgences or my stress over causing such a hassle to our hosts. I get uptight just thinking about it. Although, I have to admit there were times when I felt very loved, by my mother-in-law in particular, because of her willingness to love me by accommodating.
Through it all I definitely learned a lot about food being a way to love people. Sometimes that’s through honoring restrictions, other times it’s through indulging. Sometimes I can love my baby through giving up what I want, while making it for those who enjoy it. It’s really, as my husband calls it a “worldly pursuit,” that is only a means for loving.
Cedar
I miss the Idea of hosting my husband’s family for Thanksgiving. When we decided to make an offer on our house—seven years ago … ish?—we walked through the house, imagining the moments that could take place here. Kids playing in the sunroom and the backyard. Cramming relatives into the dining room at Thanksgiving. I have a tablecloth that I never use—it’s for Thanksgiving. There’s logic to our in-between location being the host spot, but … well, how far do logical arguments ever go, anyway. We HAVE hosted Thanksgiving, and maybe we will again, but the default Thanksgiving destination has become Anders’ sister’s house. I like Anders’ sister and I like her house. I look forward to going there. I just miss the Idea of hosting.
I miss having nothing to do over Thanksgiving break. It’s not that I’m swamped with responsibilities this year, it’s just that I’m an adult, with two children. And Anders’ sister has two children, smaller than mine, who demand even more of her attention. So we can’t watch movies and play games all morning and all day and all night. I want to. I want to be lazy. I want to read an entire novel this weekend. I want to stay in pajamas and sit on the couch and crochet for hours and ignore everyone and be ignored. I want to look forward to doing nothing. But I can’t.
My own family is in Arizona and I won’t see them for Thanksgiving. We were a read-out-loud family, and I miss that terribly. I don’t remember whether we read much to each other over Thanksgiving break specifically, but my parents read Treasures of the Snow at Christmastime several years and I miss it. I miss it. Because I want that to happen this weekend too … I want to force my relatives to listen to whole chapters! I want somebody to read and read out loud to me, read to fill up time, read without thinking of other things to do.
Emily H
My expectations for Thanksgiving are fairly simple. The standard fare — turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, potatoes of all kinds, green beans prepared in strange ways, pies with fall-ish flavors — that’s all I crave. That, and the ability to eat those things with people I love, are all that’s necessary to leave me breathing a contented, Thanksgiving-y sigh when I slip into bed at the end of the day. This year is likely to fit the bill quite well.
Thanksgiving will be at my house this year, which is wonderful because I love having people I love in my home, and it’s wonderful because I always feel more cozy and festive at my own house, and it’s wonderful because both my parents and my in-laws can come and I don’t have to feel sad about choosing who to spend the day with, and it’s wonderful because of leftovers. That’s right, leftovers. Something in my brain is trained to be excited about Thanksgiving leftovers, and I can’t turn that something off.
A day like Thanksgiving almost always makes me happy. But my happiest days are often the ones most tinged with a bit of bittersweetness, because I know that the very happiest days aren’t perfection but are only a taste of perfection. Thanksgiving is beautiful and warm and satisfying to both the stomach and the soul, but I will get hungry again and I will have less satisfying days and even when I’m happy I’m also aware that the happiness won’t last forever. And spending the day with people I love so very dearly also reminds me that there are yet more people whom I love just as dearly who aren’t there (notably my sister and her sweet family).
I often find myself wishing desperately that I could have all the people I love living near me in a place I love. And just as often, I’m reminded that what I’m really wishing for is heaven, and that is yet to come. God has so graciously and generously filled my life with amazing people and good things, and in enjoying those things I am given a glimpse of the things to come, when nothing will be missing or lacking, when the happy days won’t be just a taste but will in fact be perfection.
Elisa
The challenge: Describe what’s missing for you at Thanksgiving this year.
20 minutes
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