Halleluia, I Made It Through Thanksgiving
By: Jen Mcgahan
Tags: Self Care, Self, Holidays, Life, Grief

What’s not to love about Thanksgiving? The early morning cooking, the Macy’s Parade, the dog show on TV, setting the table… all those past years.

I’d take a short walk outside while the food was warming and simmering and the turkey was still in the oven. And then that sensation of opening the door to all those holiday aromas! Pure delight. Candlelight over dinner, my family all at one table, a rarity, one I cherished if only for one of a handful of days in the year.

Over the years, I was the main harbinger of these traditions. I think my family felt a little sorry for my enthusiasm. No one really took as much joy in Thanksgiving as I. Katie was into it, just enough. Sometimes she’d wander through the kitchen and act interested, or help set the table.

Just last year, 2019 was the first year she arrived early to cook with me. We cranked some tunes. For the first time, I had company in the kitchen. I was overjoyed. She stirred the mushrooms and onions for the green bean casserole we took to a friend’s house. She put her hair up and wore a favorite green sweater, and mingled with my adult friends. It was a nice memory, but not one I wanted to wallow in yesterday.

No, yesterday I just wanted to get through the day without being too sad, like I will do on all the holidays from now on until my heart glues itself back together some.

My Survival Plan

I knew it was coming but averted preparations until the last minute. Then I quickly threw a plan together on Wednesday. Here’s what I did.

The day before, I bought a roasted turkey breast from the heated kiosk where they sell freshly roasted chickens. I bought sourdough bread and ready-made cranberry sauce, sushi, chips, and the makings for queso. I was determined not to cook.

On Wednesday evening, I started watching Queen’s Gambit, on the recommendation of a friend. I put the queso ingredients into a small crockpot and started it warming. I drank some wine.

On Thanksgiving Day, I had chips and queso for breakfast, a meal, and an activity totally out of tradition. I fed and played with the cats.

I lounged around in my bedroom Thursday morning and answered all the holiday group text threads. I binge-watched Drunk History episodes on my phone.

Finally, I got dressed and drove to my favorite trailhead 25 minutes away. I ran around the woods for an hour. Meanwhile, my phone dinged. My 19-yr-old son Will texted me requesting a ride home from East Austin. A neighbor wondered if I’d like to come over and get an extra pumpkin pie they’d made. I said yes to both, then found out, nvm, Will already had a ride.

When I got home, I exchanged a bottle of Malbec for said pumpkin pie from the neighbor’s son, who wore a mask when he opened the door. We thanked each other and wished each other a Happy Thanksgiving.

I took a shower. My son arrived home. His younger brother was still sleeping. I made us both turkey/cranberry sandwiches. This took all of five minutes. Will was surprised I had not cooked anything. He called his dad, then asked me for a ride over there.

Some things you can’t avoid.

He was standing in the driveway when we pull in, soberly wearing a navy blue sweater, the kind a dad wears at Thanksgiving; except never in our house when we were together, the house where we raised our kids.

The sweater bit was new, but expected, considering my ex had just got remarried and so was doing all the holidays in this new way that seems to respect others and traditions. This is odd to me…yet another first this year.

The only reason I mention it is because it fits with my wildly different Thanksgiving experience this year. The boys in my family have never been interested in this holiday. They always took their cue from their dad who played video games and drank until it was time to eat and then, I’m not sure if he really tasted anything. I find my sons mainly do what they saw their dad do on Thanksgiving — and he clearly wasn’t into it. This was always just another day off for him.

During the years we were together, he wore a tee-shirt and baseball cap to the table, breaking away from a video game in his man cave upstairs. He burped at the table. He said the same thing every year; that it was a sign of appreciation. Then I’d clean up the kitchen alone while everyone went their separate ways. Thanksgiving was all my crazy idea in that old house. Silly mom.

So the blue sweater when he met us in the driveway, yes, that was a fresh sight. He asked through the passenger side window if I wanted some turkey jerky. I shrugged and said, “If you want, send it home with Will.”

Memories Are Reasons to Be Grateful

Next, I did something that teetered dangerously close to memories of Katie that cause pain but discovered that it was a different enough experience and that it didn’t hurt much at all.

Since Katie’s death, I’ve reconnected with some of her friends and friend’s parents. One family, neighbors at our old house where the kids grew up, invited me for dinner, then pie and wine by the fire pit. I accepted the fire pit part.

This friend of Katie’s, we’ll call her E, was her favorite girlfriend to get in trouble with. They were famous for smoking weed out of an apple bong on the school bus one day, for example, and both served a 40-day detention off-site from the high school one spring.

But things change. Katie’s gone and her old friend is pregnant now. Her girlfriend's mom Sarah and I are friends now, closer than we’d ever been before Katie’s death.

This sweet family had lit a candle for Katie at dinner (which I purposely missed) and took a picture for me. I arrived at their house in time for the after-party on the deck as the sun set.

I patted the baby bump with just a few tears, and then we sat around the fire and conversed about babies, their family business, local real estate, and a few memories of Katie. All in the midst of the usual chaos that comes with three young adopted children.

The kids swung on the deck swing, and painted their finger and toenails with polish, built legos, and showed me their LOL dolls, while we adults (yes, E qualifies as an adult now — how sweetly strange is that?), we laughed about old times.

It didn’t seem that long ago that Sarah and I were so angry at our girls we couldn’t even communicate properly. Who’s daughter was influencing who? This was never spoken, but it was there. And now here we were, E showing me her old IG posts of Katie that I’d never seen. The laughter was unexpected and nice.

So that was my Thanksgiving… and it was good.

Katie’s dear friend and her mom planned their meal with Katie and me in mind. They sent me home with the floral centerpiece in honor of my daughter and their friend. On the drive home, my phone dinged again. S texted me a few pictures of the evening.

Although I hadn’t eaten much yesterday, I was plenty full. I made some tea and watched another episode of Queen’s Gambit, and went to bed with a book.

I only cried that one time when I patted E’s baby bump, but I made it through the day. She promised to invite me to the baby shower, and I can honestly say that I’m looking forward to that. It was a bountiful day. I thought I’d have to grit my way through it, but with the right amount of planning and averting old traditions, I settled into sleep with many reasons to be thankful — even hopeful — for the future.

What a relief. I have proof that I can do the holidays without my daughter. It may not have been the best Thanksgiving ever, but it was right up there.

Nest challenge, Christmas.