It’s the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The sky is clear with few clouds. The sun is bright adding a sparkle to everything touched by its rays. The remaining leaves on the trees dance in the cool breeze that remind you it’s the autumn season. The leaves on the ground mix with the grass forming a rainbow of earth tones. The neighborhood is quiet and the visiting guests have returned to their homes. It’s a good day to write, reflect and create. 

It’s only natural for me to reminisce of our family gatherings and contemplate the things that make Thanksgiving a holiday I look forward to. Tasty food, family stories, kids running around playing, honest conversation, pictures and new memories to cherish are ingredients for a recipe of gratitude. Yet it is still bitter sweet. For me, it doesn’t feel like a normal Thanksgiving. This is my second Thanksgiving without my dad. Even with all the laughter and good times, it doesn’t feel like a normal holiday celebration. I’ll admit I have not gotten used to him not being around. Sitting around with family listening to different versions of the same story, I wish my dad was here to chime in on the conversation. Since he’s not, I just sat quietly while my tears fell as I remembered the sound of his laughter. 

Overall it was a good weekend. Maybe one day it will seem normal that my dad is not here for special occasions. I’m glad I made it through the day without crying the whole time. I have a lot to be thankful for, I just wish my dad was here to share it with me. So my journey continues.