Yesterday was Thanksgiving.
The day started out okay. Normal stuff for me - up at 5:30, coffee in the bedroom as I start the day slowly, morning toast.
By 8am I had the turkey all dressed up and in the oven.
By 8:30am I realized I was in the middle of a bona fide anxiety attack.
No explanation for that while it was happening, it just came up out of nowhere. It was just going to be the two of us so it wasn't like I was panicking about the details that come with having company. I've cooked turkeys and Thanksgiving meals dozens of time so it wasn't that either. Weird. Later in the day I would understand why this happened.
No explanation for that while it was happening, it just came up out of nowhere. It was just going to be the two of us so it wasn't like I was panicking about the details that come with having company. I've cooked turkeys and Thanksgiving meals dozens of time so it wasn't that either. Weird. Later in the day I would understand why this happened.
Eventually the anxiety attack passed and the rest of the morning was spent doing just a bit more meal prep (I'd cooked most of everything the day before) and playing around with artwork. At some point I mentioned to JP that I didn't want either of us to dwell on not having family or friends to share the day with as we often tend to lament about on special days. Sort of like: "This food is great, the house looks beautiful. Too bad we don't have people to share it with." That's the sort of thing that always gets said on every birthday, holiday, Arbor Day, Groundhog Day, etc.
But the truth is, even if one of us isn't saying it, we are both definitely thinking it.
For a little bit I had the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on the television which brought back a flood of memories for me: being a little kid and going to the parade with my father, freezing to death until he bought me hot pretzels from the street cart man and a steamy hot chocolate with tons of whipped cream on top; taking Sherb to the parade when she was little, bundling her up in twelve layers of clothing.
Moving on from the parade memories to remembering my mother getting mad if you didn't want to eat a particular Thanksgiving food that she thought you should be eating (I used to not like sweet potatoes which bothered her as if it were something personal) and also her annual attempt at making stuffing which everyone referred to as "wet bread". Thinking about the corny joke that we still laugh about that my beloved and estranged nephew made on Thanksgiving about geting more turnips on his "next turn up" to get a second helping.
Moving on from the parade memories to remembering my mother getting mad if you didn't want to eat a particular Thanksgiving food that she thought you should be eating (I used to not like sweet potatoes which bothered her as if it were something personal) and also her annual attempt at making stuffing which everyone referred to as "wet bread". Thinking about the corny joke that we still laugh about that my beloved and estranged nephew made on Thanksgiving about geting more turnips on his "next turn up" to get a second helping.
You know, the bittersweet kind of memories.
I cook my turkeys with all the gross stuff (neck, innards, etc) in the pan for flavoring the juices so that the gravy I make from them is extra delicious. My aunt taught me to do this. When I was young and had an intact family with minimal dysfunction, my entire family would be together on Thanksgiving. When it was held at my aunt's house she would call me to come quickly into the kitchen where she would pick off some of the meat from the cooked turkey neck to share with me. Her co-conspirator with eating a bit of turkey together before the big meal.
She died a few years ago but yesterday I made sure to pick off some of the meat from the turkey neck with an out-loud "this is for you, Chuch" (that's what I called her - Polish for Cioci - pronounced "chuchi", which means aunt) and eating a few bites even though my throat felt a little tight from holding in the tears. What I wouldn't do to have those days again...days of an intact family.
She died a few years ago but yesterday I made sure to pick off some of the meat from the turkey neck with an out-loud "this is for you, Chuch" (that's what I called her - Polish for Cioci - pronounced "chuchi", which means aunt) and eating a few bites even though my throat felt a little tight from holding in the tears. What I wouldn't do to have those days again...days of an intact family.
JP and I ate our Thanksgiving meal around 2:30pm and the food was great, I did a good job all around.
We sat at the little table because there was no reason to set the dining table for just the two of us.
Two days of prep, over in 20 minutes.
No extended noisy conversations and laughter-filled rooms, no groanings of full and satisfied bellies from well-fed guests.
JP fell asleep right after eating and I cleaned the kitchen. Silence.
JP fell asleep right after eating and I cleaned the kitchen. Silence.
Afterward I let Luna outside to do her business and that's when I saw that our very quiet cul-de-sac was filled with a bunch of parked cars of the guests of neighbors. Their houses bright with all the room lights turned on which is what houses look like when there's company. I saw people coming and going, heard their voices, their laughter. It felt like and sounded like...love.
I called the dog back inside and retreated to the bedroom where I sat on the edge of the bed and let loose the tears I'd been holding in for most of the day. The reason for that morning's anxiety attack becoming much more clear.
I called the dog back inside and retreated to the bedroom where I sat on the edge of the bed and let loose the tears I'd been holding in for most of the day. The reason for that morning's anxiety attack becoming much more clear.
I know I have a ton of things to be thankful for, please don't get me wrong about that.
But glossing over or ignoring what hurts is never a good idea even while acknowledging your blessings.
But glossing over or ignoring what hurts is never a good idea even while acknowledging your blessings.
Holidays and other special days are always very hard for me and some years are sometimes worse than others. It looks like this is going to be one of those worse years.
I love to entertain, to feed people, to gift people with presents I've given thought to that I think they'll love.
Not having anyone to entertain, feed, and bestow gifts upon is more than just hard...it's emptiness. Especially when holidays used to be filled with family and friends and all of the festivities that come with that. And it's terrible. Losing my sense of smell in 2009 has made holidays even more empty since I can no longer connect via smell to scent-related pleasures or long ago memories. I can't smell turkey roasting or Christmas trees or cookies or pies or any of the people I love. And that's just the tip of the scentless (senseless?) iceberg.
The one thing that's left that I still can look forward to is Christmas lights and we did go out at night last night to see some (after I stopped crying), which was a tradition going back to when I was little. Piling into Daddy's car in pajamas on Thanksgiving night to ride through uptown Elizabeth, New Jersey (we didn't call it downtown) which is when the city switched the Christmas lights on. Poof! Welcome to Christmas! It was magical. And the memories of it are, again, bittersweet. I'd like to be able to share those memories with the people who were there for them but some of them are passed and the other ones are....well, let's just say not available.
I'm extremely proficient at turning my frown upside down. I am a professional at pulling my own self up by my own bootstraps. I'll do a lot of these things throughout the holiday season and I'll make it nice for those in what's left of our very small circle. But without question there'll be some sessions of retreating to my bedroom where I will sit on the edge of the bed with a box of tissues and let loose the tears of grief and loneliness and sadness and even anger. Of what could still be..."if only ...".
I don't really have any clever parting words to end this except to say let yourself acknowledge what you might be feeling this holiday season. Don't get caught up in "oh, I shouldn't be feeling sorry for myself" or "oh, but others have it worse than me".
Those things might be true but you're still you, living your life, feeling your feelings, and all of that is okay. Just try not to stay stuck.
Those things might be true but you're still you, living your life, feeling your feelings, and all of that is okay. Just try not to stay stuck.
A can (or five) of whipped cream can help, too. Make sure you have some on hand.
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