I've always loved Thanksgiving. Family, football, food (and everyone knows calories don't count on holidays) and, for me at least, the official beginning of the Christmas season. I come from high-quality culinary stock. There has never been a shortage of very talented cooks very eager to prepare some very wonderful down-home Southern dishes, so I have never really needed to lend my less-than-stellar skills (one more time, how do you boil an egg?) Thanksgiving generally finds me kicked back, relaxing, enjoying my family, the occasional football game, and sometimes even a book. Until last year, I still went first in line with the kids, since being unmarried and childless made me a kid in their estimation and therefore a de facto member of their club. But last year was different. Last year I was pregnant. I remember thinking, this is the last year I will get to eat at all! Yep, I was paying attention to my sister all those years, where her growing family meant more plates to fix for other people and a secure job as waitress to the kids' table. After getting up and down approximately 37 times to fulfill various requests from said table, she somehow managed to eat a little herself. It was going to be different this year. And I was ready for it. Looking forward to it.
Finlay should have been nearly 5 months old this Thanksgiving. I should have been doing the eat with one arm while holding my adorably clingy daughter in the other thing. But I'm not. And it just isn't right. And it makes me very sad.
After I lost her, the doctors told me that there were going to be tough times in the months and years ahead. I hadn't really expected Thanksgiving to be one of them, but here I sit, typing through my tears. I grieve for my daughter so intensely at times that I can scarcely collect a breath. I am exhausted. Emotionally weary. Physically spent, because every time I was able to doze off last night, I dreamt of her. She was smiling and alive and okay. And then I'd wake up, and I'd lose her all over again. One time last night I dreamt of her and was startled awake by loud, mournful sobs piercing the night's quiet. It took a second to realize that the horrible wailing was coming from me, emanating from somewhere too deep inside my soul. And must have been for quite some time, as my eyes were swollen, face and pillow drenched with tears. Never made it back to sleep after that one. It just hurts too much. Too much.
Today my family is gathering as we do every year, and I am really trying to be excited. I love these people, and they love me. There isn't anywhere I'd rather be than celebrating with them. I just wish I didn't have to be doing it with this giant hole in my heart. Finlay is all over my mind today, and I feel like I'm barely keeping it together. Hanging on by the tiniest of threads. I don't want to cry in front of anyone, especially not the kids. I don't want to bring them down. I hate to worry anyone, particularly my niece and nephews. And I know that the tears will never be too far away today. I miss her. I miss her so much. I know that I have so much to be grateful for, and I am. I really am. But man, I wish I were whole again. I wish my angel could have been here.
