I love a Thanksgiving tradition many of us follow – the one where loved ones gather around the feast table and take a minute before digging in to tell everyone what they are most thankful for.
The pat answer is so common, but heartfelt, nonetheless:
“I’m thankful for everyone who is here at our table today, and for all our loved ones and friends who are celebrating this day at other tables.”
That’s always relevant for families who share their adult children with in-laws – wax on, wax off – and for others who are separated at Thanksgiving for whatever reason.
Take for example, COVID-19’s first dreadful year, before vaccines were available and gatherings were especially dangerous.
Our family Zoomed that year – four households in a combined call – and it actually turned out to be pretty sweet. The young ones did their creative best to entertain when asked to express their thankfulness, and they got the chuckles they were looking for.
It reminds me of a Sunday long ago, when our family’s after-church lunch was hardly thankful, but ended in uproarious laughter, anyway.
I believe I started it:
“I feel like I’m getting a cold.”
“I hardly got any sleep last night,” from our daughter.
“I really think something’s wrong with the car,” from Dad.
And then, our clever middle child held up his arm, showing us an empty sleeve.
“And my hand is missing,” he said plaintively.
We rolled, reminded that an awful lot can be good when things seem bad.
That’s my theme in 2022: At Thanksgiving, I’m tremendously grateful for something that didn’t happen and thankful, too, for something that did.
As my husband reported in an earlier column, he faced a life-threatening emergency on Mother’s Day, when “indigestion” took an agonizing turn. I drove him to the ER at 3 a.m., where an EKG showed his heart was racing at 200 beats a minute. It would take three hours before medication brought his pulse back to normal (after four shocks to his heart failed). In the next week, he would suffer another episode and another ineffective shock, ending with surgery to install an ICD (implantable cardioverter defibrillator).
An earnest cardiologist chilled my blood early on:
“You are very fortunate to be here,” he told my husband.
And then he repeated himself and gave me a lesson on administering CPR.
Needless to say, it was an upsetting start to our summer.
But here it is, six months later.
My husband, a lifelong runner, had to give that up – for now – but has gradually regained strength, graduated from cardiac rehab and exercises daily.
He takes an array of medications to control his ventricular tachycardia (a condition we had never heard of before), monitors his pulse through his “smart” watch, and listens to his body as a way of life.
He isn’t back to his old “normal,” but he has a new normal we’re grateful for. Under the care of gifted doctors and the blessings of medical advancements, he’s here today and has every reason to expect to be here tomorrow.
He’s mending a broken heart and he didn’t die – the thing that didn’t happen. Literally, thank you, Lord.
What did happen – for both of us – is a much deeper appreciation for his life and our lives together.
We’ve been given the gift of time, and just experienced half a year of it.
I’ve always thanked God every night for the day just lived. Anyone who pays attention knows it doesn’t have to turn out that way, and someday will be the last day. So, I say thanks.
But now, as I told my husband the other night, “I just really feel it so much more. I thought I understood, but I don’t think I really did.”
His response:
“What you felt before was conceptual, but now it’s experiential,” he said, acknowledging his intellectualism with a laugh. I laughed, too, because the big words didn’t negate their accuracy.
I used to be complacent about my husband’s health and assumed he’d be the one left to grieve my departure. After all, he exercised assiduously, maintained a healthy weight and diet and has also stayed strong emotionally.
I told him in another late-night conversation that I missed that feeling of complacency and hoped it would return some day.
But you know, not really.
I want to continue to treasure time. If you’re reading this now, it’s something you, too, possess.
Today.
Let’s all be thankful for it.
