Thanksgiving Dawn

Dear Joseph,

It has been a couple of years since I have wandered back to this blog and felt the urge to write. This Thanksgiving morning dawns crisp and clear outside, the sun a thin but promising glow across the horizon. I have candles lit and our house smells like holidays. The Christmas tree went up early this year. Times of Covid has meant, for me, the dismissal of some boundaries in order to embrace the happiness that is readily available. It is the low hanging fruit, waiting to be plucked. I refuse to yearn too hard for the things out of reach - travel, big family gatherings, people who aren't with us anymore. Those things will come back around. Every single one of them, you included. The "I can hardly wait" feelings of the past that held so much pain, sorrow and anger have softened at the edges and I feel more and more secure in my relationship with you now than I believed possible when you first died. 

Since I last wrote, we have adopted Gimli, a wonderful little Dachshund mix who fills our house with laughter, silliness, grunting and barking and joy. In many ways he brings the spirit of you back into my life. He has been a good companion for Big Joe since he retired and a ready hugger and kisser for me. Layla has learned to tolerate him and we have a happy little household. I know you would have loved him to death and that the two of you would have been just crazy silly together.

I went yesterday to find your ornament for your tree this year and a funny thing happened. My heart told me it was done. There aren't any more ornaments left to get. It makes sense really. This January will mark that you have been gone from us longer than you lived. There are only so many Pokemon and robots and angels and things that I can cram onto that little tree. It has captured the essence of who you were and we don't get to know now who you would have been. It was a tearful realization in the store, but it doesn't come without its blessings too, in its own way. I knew you, through and through. Nothing will ever take that or change that. I have everything I need in this moment and while I miss you with every ounce of my being and yearn for you pretty much every single day, I have also found a place of peace and faith. Your death took me deeper into myself and over the years that has tempered and honed me into a person that I am pleased to be. You changed me permanently. How gratifying to know it was only in good ways. I am awake now.

I was up before dawn this morning, having coffee and holding the furry creatures on my lap. It was warm and secure. I am safe. A pandemic rages outside this home, as does social injustices and politics I can hardly stomach to watch. But in here, in my home and in my heart, I have peace beyond understanding this morning. Thank you for coming to see me. I miss you every day and I will every day of my life. Keep walking with me and one day I will find my way home to you.

Love, Momma

Wishing the world a very, very happy, humble Thanksgiving. May your blessings find you, wherever you may be.