Skimming over Facebook posts. The night before Thanksgiving. All the talk is about turkeys in the oven and pies cooling on the counter. Potatoes being peeled and cheesecakes setting in the fridge. And I think,
“I put my turkey in the brine . . . . four hours after I meant to. Does that count for anything?”
I probably won’t even start cooking until tomorrow afternoon.
And suddenly I miss the three year old boy who should be here.
The weight of missing him is crushing. I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s unexpected. Like the day I opened a bag and found his hair, still caked in blood, in a little plastic bag from the hospital. And the tears come in choking gasps as they did while I washed it out.
And I am so thankful. Thankful beyond words.
Thankful that this . . . this pain, these tears, this death . . . this is not the end of the story.
Happy Thanksgiving and God bless.