Thanksgiving thoughts

Most of my clients don't mention Thanksgiving; it's an excuse to have a long weekend and they only talk about it after it has happened and only if it was stressful for them. Their stressors mostly and usually centre around Christmas, Easter, Valentines Day, Mothers Day and Fathers Day.

Royalty-free photo from Pixabay
To me, Thanksgiving (in the US, Columbus Day) is bittersweet. In 2013, while my youngest was still alive, and homeless in her car in Edmonton Alberta, I was so discouraged and was thinking of cancelling the big meal. She got wind of it, and pleaded with me: "Oh Mom, don't cancel Thanksgiving. Look at me; I'm living in my car but I'm still thankful. I'm thankful that I have you and Dad, and my friends who love me, and a place to sleep at night. Please Mom. Please." So, touched and moved by her concern for ME, I did Thanksgiving traditions that year. Less than 2 weeks later, she was gone.

So yeah, bittersweet. I still celebrate the holiday, and I think of her a lot ... how she'd enjoy the meal, how she'd play with and mix up her food, fill her mouth and make faces with her mouth full, that kind of thing.

And this year, it's slightly more on my mind because it's almost 10 years since she left us. Yet it doesn't feel like that long. Grief never leaves, according to the literature on the topic. It just takes different forms over time. I'd agree with that.

I find ways to honour her memory in the traditions and rituals. Folks who've never lost a child can't imagine the initial pain that becomes the "new normal", the bittersweet feeling of delayed joy, the constant "if onlies" and similar feelings, the anger / rage at the systems that contributed to her death: homelessness, shelter rules, religious judgments, and even the medical and school systems that did not catch her ADHD at ALL, and labelled her a troublemaker. 

No parent should ever have to bury their child. 

Death is the enemy, I remind myself. But part of me blames those other things and systems for taking her to Death so quickly. I have grieved the grandchildren I will never have, the close conversations I will miss with her about love, life, children, relationships... so Thanksgiving is fraught with mixed feelings ... a mixture of acrimony and nostalgia, of anger and love, of fear and faith.

Still, I listen to my clients - I hear their pain, I sit with them in it - and they are thankful for my presence. And I hear my belle Arielle's voice, "Help someone!" in my memories and I know that by doing what I was made to do, by being a counsellor, I honour her most. I know she is proud of me, as proud (even though she didn't believe it) as I was (and am) of her.

And that's why I still celebrate Thanksgiving.

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