That November holiday

            Thanksgiving has always held a very special place in my heart. It's the one holiday where family and friends can gather in the glee of celebration, eat, drink and be merry, without the pressure of having gifts to buy. It's a form of Christmas that replaces greed with that other favorite...gluttony. Hey, none of us are perfect. The holiday season is really the only time of the year when I wish I owned a large home. I've always imagined celebrating the holidays in the likes of one of my favorite holiday movies, Christmas Vacation. The Griswold's had the right idea, even though things went slightly askew, they were still together through the ups and downs, that come with the holidays and large family gatherings. One day I'd like to have my parents, all of my brothers, their significant others, nieces, nephews and all our dogs and cats fighting under the same roof, spending the entire week of Thanksgiving and Christmas running around the various rooms and hallways of the house without a real care in the world for those two weeks. Unfortunately, that time was not now and my little one bedroom apartment can only hold so many people at once. With my oldest brother awaiting to have his second child any day now and my two youngest brothers tied to work so soon before and after the Thanksgiving holiday, it just wasn't going to be the holiday we have made a tradition of putting together every year, or the one I imagine having one day. This year, it was going to be a quiet little gathering held on the fourth floor of my humble little abode with me, my parents, their overweight Pomeranian, uncle Tony and my territorial cat Gizmo.

            For the last two days before Thanksgiving, I had been cleaning the fur balls that were beginning to follow me like tumbleweeds across the living room whenever I walked past and carefully pulling out the holiday decorations from the jenga stack in my closet, praying it didn't all come tumbling over my head, burring me alive. Last year, I had my tree up before Thanksgiving and enjoyed its festive glow for two glorious months with no one judging my holiday cheer, but I was the only one who got to see it. This year I was going to be able to share it with my family who already knew how much I loved the holidays and would be expecting nothing less than a large tree and lights in every corner. I was excited to do something for my parents this year and give them a break from the responsibility of feeding a large crowd this time around. My mother still sweat over her delicious turkey and stuffing, which she lugged over in the same twelve serving amount, forgetting she was only feeding four of us this year, but I joyfully made the rest of our meal for the holiday. This was also my chance to prove my culinary skills to my father, the thirty-two year veteran cook and my lifelong, home cooking mother of four. Although I spent most of the day in the kitchen, it was such a heartwarming feeling to hear their voices in the other room. While I peeled sweet potatoes and stirred the green bean casserole, their voices floated into the room while the smell of roasting turkey swam through the air like potpourri. I've always loved cooking but I don't really get the chance to do it enough. It's a lot of work for just one person to eat, but when there are other people to feed, it's an opportunity to pull out those recipes I've been dying to try.

            In my little one bedroom apartment, my father, uncle, mother and I sat at the little table topped with a Thanksgiving feast my mother and I slaved over with all our love and strength for this moment. I wanted to freeze time and hold the image of us, of her, as well as she will ever be, and reminisce a little while longer before the meal was finished and the day was over. For over two years my mother has been sword fighting cancer and keeping it at bay with everything she has, but everyday she seems to wither a little more and I try to ignore it because there is nothing I can do. I find myself angry when I see her struggle with the little things sometimes and it takes everything I have not to take it out on the people I love, especially her. However, the anger slips out at times and she ignores my frustration, like I try to ignore her pain. However, her cancer was there, like an unwanted visitor in the room, sitting at the table with us and all I wanted to do was pour hot gravy over its lap and make it run for the hills, but I couldn't. What she struggles with is really only something she would know, because as far as the rest of us are aware, it's only what she chooses for us to see that we do. The world only gets to see her smile and carry on, ignorant to what she really struggles with inside. My father and I, close as we are to her, only get glimpses of her pain when it's more than she can bear and she lets her guard down. I'm just so grateful that my mother has a man like my father by her side. I have never seen a greater love with my own two eyes than that of my parents. They are my daily reminder and testament that true love really does exist. Stories such as The Notebook, had to come from somewhere, and if I had to compare any story to their own, that would be the one. If anyone in the world knew what my mother was thinking, it could only be my father. For as long as they've both been alive, you would always see one beside the other. After meeting as young teenagers in a strange new land, far from everything they had ever known, they found each other from across a room. From that day forward, they have never known the world without one beside the other. Through times of great celebration and great tragedy, they have dealt with each moment, hand and hand and side by side, and my father has been the Noah by her side from day one. When people tell me that love, like in the movies, doesn't exist, I can agree that it might not be that way anymore. However, it does still exist and my parents are the proof that anyone can see. They are the reason I hold out for "the one." If I never find that kind of love in my lifetime, then that's all right. But I just cannot settle for anything less than the kind of love that they share between each other. It's not always chocolates and roses, most of the time it isn't. However, it's what they do when the chocolates and roses are on back order that matter. Their last two years are what have mattered.

            As I sat across that little table with the loves of my life, I thanked God I had the parents that I do. My brothers and I never lacked for a single thing when we were growing up. Our home was always filled with so much laughter, warmth and love. We didn't have fancy things but we appreciated what we had because of that. How grateful was I in that moment that I had another Thanksgiving to celebrate with them together, only God really knew.

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That November Holiday

It's comfort like your favorite sweater, like being wrapped in a blanket, like slipping into a warm bath.

It's the colors, the enchanting glow of lights, sparkling from the corners of your eyes.

It's the anticipation of what is still to come.

It's seeing the faces that never let you down, the people who always welcome you with open arms.

It's the celebration of food that heart, hands and mind band to produce what will be savored by hungry souls, nearly frost bitten by the weathered world around them.

It's like growing backwards, like stepping into a dream. 

It's a crowded couch, a hope, a wonder, a sigh.

It's the one thing you cannot grasp hold of hard enough.

It's too short, a twinkle, precious time that feels the closest to what paradise might be like.

It's like that.

That moment.

That feeling.

That November holiday.

It's like that.