During this week before Thanksgiving, it is expected that writers will put together a post about how grateful they are--for their careers, their time with family, their amazing readers and straight-to-Netflix novels. Every little tweet, post or ‘gram will have some gorgeous image of a intricately designed pie or a crackling fireplace or Martha Stewart-enviable home décor and gush about thanks and gratitude and love.
Ugh.
If you’re following along, you know our family is dealing with the greatest stress of all--a cancer diagnosis and its ensuing treatment and strain. I keep trying to convince myself to be grateful--like I did last year--but it can be difficult. I know there are a million things to be happy about, but you know, some days just suck. Some months are endless. The challenges can be relentless and a recent week took me out.
A nice little remote freelance gig went away after only about four months because they hired on site writers--in Virginia. It’s nearly the end of the semester so that means that paycheck will stop, too, and will hopefully start back up next semester, as long as I’m assigned more classes. I’m still wading through the tasks of finalizing the paperwork and bills from my dad’s death and to top it all off, an event I was giddily excited to attend had the reverse effect and left me overcome with sadness about what’s to come in our lives. (I know, I’m not supposed to think about that, but here we are.) I ended the week in a magnificent meltdown, complete with staying in bed with a nonstop runny nose until nearly noon.
What was I supposed to look for again? Gratitude?
I remember one time years ago I was sitting outside in my backyard, probably smoking a cigarette, and pouring out the despair over my latest hardship into my journal. (Oh, for the good old days of what I thought was hardship.) I was certainly pouting and I tilted my head back with a ponderous sigh and suddenly caught sight of a beautiful spider web in the branches of the tree above me. It was glorious! A spellbinding, lacy wreath of silver strands and pearls of dew hovering nearly within reach of my touch. I sat forward for a second to--what? I don’t know . . . jot it down in my journal? Take a sip of coffee . . . something . . . and when I looked back up--it was gone. I was stunned. Had I hallucinated it? Imagined something beautiful to look at in my anguish? I sat forward, turned in my chair and looked again. There it was. Glistening still. I just hadn’t looked in the right place.
That’s the thing about beauty, isn’t it? It’s always there. It doesn’t go away, but our ability to see it might. We might not always know where--or how--to look for it, but beauty exists in the world whether we’re available for it or not. Gratitude is a choice.
I headed into the holiday week somewhat recovered from my meltdown, when I realized that I had just returned a stack of graded essays to my students; there wouldn’t be a pile of them to grade during the holiday weekend. Also, without the freelance gig, I would have the time to spend focused on the place I am in, rather then spending hours writing about other places I am not. Which is nice, because my brother Richard is here to spend Thanksgiving with us in I don’t know how long and he’s going to be super helpful in the helping-to-take-care of Dad stuff I still have to do. In a surprising turn, a dreaded phone call to the school’s payroll office revealed that due to an oversight, I am owed a bit of money, which will come in handy this holiday season. And Angelo baked an enormous loaf of bread that could suffice for a Thanksgiving dinner in and of itself. (Which may not be a bad idea . . .) Look at that . . . gratitude galore.
(This page is called Silver Linings after all.)
I loved this piece - you captured the unwelcome emotions we know well in a tender light.
You still have gratitude and showed others it is in the little things ❤️🍁