thankful

Similar to last year, I talked my family in to having our Thanksgiving gathering the Saturday before the actual day. It didn’t really take much convincing; I sent a group text and told them ‘We’re going to celebrate our Thanksgiving on Saturday the 22nd. More to come’. End of discussion. No one protested.

My side of the family is very small. I have two brothers, one of whom is married, one sister (unmarried), myself, my husband, our son and daughter-in-law and our two grandchildren. That’s us.

My husbands family is enormous. Overwhelmingly, assertively, incomprehensibly enormous. He has 6 siblings; one is widowed, one unmarried so 5 in-laws married to the sibs; between the 7 1st generation adults there are 18 in the 2nd generation, 12 of which are married or in committed relationships (adding 12 more bodies) and of those 12 couples, 5 have multiple children, adding 12 tinies in the 3rd generation. I promise this is going somewhere.

So on my side of the family we number 10. It’s completely manageable, and while it’s bit draining, I feel ok after spending time with them. On my husbands side of the family, there are 55. And for Thanksgiving this year, 7 of them were not there. That gathering, as you can imagine, is VERY loud. And I, a classic introvert, do not like loud. Being with them leaves me overwhelmed, head pounding, and feeling like I need a deprivation chamber to climb in to for recovery.

Splitting up the gatherings makes it easier for me to take time to recover in the way that introverts need. And last year was perfect. My husband and I spent a quiet Thanksgiving alone. We took a long hike through the state park near us, we watched a movie, we had food in the fridge for dinner and we had a calm quiet atmosphere. It makes facing his gigantic family just a touch easier when I have a day of down time preceding it.

So we did it again this year. Snow swept in to Minnesota the day before Thanksgiving and the thermometer plunged. Turkey Day was quite cold and blustery but we bundled up and took a long walk along the quiet country roads around our home. On our walk, we talked about what we’re thankful for this year.

My husband is not the most eloquent with his words. He’s more an action kind of guy; he does things for me that he knows I don’t like or am not skilled at, and I do the same for him. We balance each other quite nicely. In our exchange as we walked the blustery road, he told me that he’s grateful for how I keep us nourished with good food, that I take care of the grocery shopping, that I always keep things stocked that we need, that I manage the laundry and pet care, and a multitude of other accolades to the things I do for our every day life.

“But what about me?” I asked, “You mentioned what I do, but you didn’t mention that you’re grateful for me.” He chuckled and said ‘Of course I’m grateful for you. None of this wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for you.”

It was an answer that satisfied me enough, and I didn’t think much more of it until the next day, as we were driving home in silence after five hours in a house with 48 other people. We needed that silence, yes; but he clearly had something on his mind.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked him. It’s a question we ask of each other often, a conversation starter, a way to discern thoughts and feelings, a means to connect. And since we live so far away from almost everything we do regularly, it’s a good way to pass time in the car.

“You.” he said, without hesitation.

“Yeah? What about?” He shifted in the seat.

“Because of who you are,” he began, reaching for my hand. “Yesterday I said all those things that I was thankful for that you do for us, for our home, and you asked why I didn’t say I was thankful for you. I should have said something but I just didn’t have the words then.” He squeezed my fingers.

“You’re just a really wonderful person. You’re kind, and compassionate and empathetic. You love deeply and you care about everyone in such a gentle and complete way. And all of the things that you do to love and support others, you do because of who you are. And I’m so blessed that I get to spend my life with you. And I should have said this all yesterday, but I didn’t, so I’m saying it now.”

Of course, the tears are drifting down my cheeks as he’s speaking.

“Thank you.” I whispered. There really wasn’t much more to say beyond that.

The daylight faded as we drove, moving from that muted gray of a late November afternoon to dusky blue, the roads lined with the bare black sentinels of empty trees standing at attention as we passed, a half moon hanging bright in the purple-blue sky. I struggled for something to say that would be a good follow-up to that and I had nothing, so we drove along in silence, hands entwined in my lap. Every so often I would glance over at him, and when I did, I could see the corner of his mouth turn up slightly, acknowledging that he knew I was looking, but never taking his eyes off the road. Driving along near empty country roads in the gloaming of the day is one of my most favorite things, especially with fresh snow covering the fields, showing the silhouettes of deer as they roam the dormant land. I was filled up with good food, the happiness of a noisy, healthy family, the promise of the newest generation learning how to be cousins together, to play and share and talk as children do.

The gratitude ran deep, and it filled me to brim. I hope you all had space and opportunity to talk of what leaves you feeling content and happy, what brings peace to your heart and what moments of thanks and gratitude you’ve found in the past year.

Thanks for reading,

Kate