November with a slice of pie

Does anyone else feel like this year has just flown? I have to pinch myself to believe that it’s already November and that, no, I’m not dreaming about it. The holidays are seriously upon us.

I had so many expectations for this holiday season, and lately I’ve had to force my mind and body to do the motions of preparations because my heart is barely in it. I remind myself that by bemoaning the fact that I won’t hear through Thanksgiving, I will bring a dark cloud on every other person’s otherwise joyous occasion. Holidays are meant to be enjoyed with family, full of reminiscing about times of old, forgetting grudges and unforgiven pasts, to enjoy a meal prepared with nothing short of hard work and a whole lot of love.

I tell myself that, but it’s still hard. As much as I center my thoughts where I need them to be, the reality is that in a few unguarded moments, I have to shake my head, shed just one tear, or take a deep cleansing breath to wash my mind of what I know I’m missing. Even as I sit here, I refuse to cry about it. It doesn’t matter that these moments come once a year. What matters is all the years I still have left to enjoy all of this, even if I miss it this time around. More than that? It’s not about me at all. It’s about giving myself to my family so that my children and husband remember a good year, happy memories, and not a weepy depressed mommy or wife. I want that for them much more than I want to feel sorry for myself.

This week has been testing my patience, and as we enter the weekend and my surgery remains unscheduled, I kick myself into high gear and fill my day with things that lift my mood.

One thing I love to do is bake. It’s something my grandmother and my mom must have passed in their genes to me, I’m certain. Being November, I decided today that I wanted something to help me remember how much I enjoy Thanksgiving, hearing or no. In my home, at this very moment, is a smell that’s unmistakably sweet and full of spice, all at the same time. If you walked in my door, I doubt you’d see the opened can of pumpkin on my counter before you recognized the age old scent of a freshly baking pumpkin pie. There’s just nothing like it.

The thing I like most about baking? Most would think it’s the first bite into whatever is created in my oven, but somehow I don’t think so. I enjoy it more because of the flavorful aroma that perfumes my home long after the baking is over. It’s warm, many times sweet, and always full of love.

As I sit here writing, I take a deep breath to discover the very familiar scent of a dozen Thanksgivings past, and I remind myself that whether I hear or not, I will choose to enjoy this year. After all, once this year is past, I can never repeat it. I will lift my eyes from the troubles around me, and focus on the joy garnered from my very boisterous young children and a husband I so greatly admire.


One response to this post.

  1. […] last year, as much as I wanted to hate the holidays, I do love them. I love spending time with family, enjoying their company, and hearing kids squeal […]


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