Thanksgiving Pomegranate Paloma

 

I’ve been thinking about this word: Grateful. I’ve been seeing it everywhere.

In hashtags: #simplygrateful.

In Louisa’s schoolwork: “Write three things you are grateful for.” Her answers were, nature, my house, and my mom; in that order.

Even in Black Friday ads (gross).

I’ve been trying to hone in on what that word means to me, to my family, to this country during this week of such enormous turmoil. A week where we are supposed to be coming together to share good food and love but in reality there are so many people hurting, struggling with reality of what it means to be them in this world.

Yesterday as I was prepping the turkey and listening to NPR there was a story about a father, a musician, who had just released his first album since the death of his daughter who was killed in the Sandy Hook tragedy. And then, all of the sudden, there I was, standing there, covered in achiote paste, knee-deep in turkey, I remembered what the word means.

I am grateful.

If all else fails I can hold my babies in my arms before they go to bed at night. I can rest my head on my husband’s shoulder. That man on the radio can’t do that anymore. Michael Brown’s mama can’t do that anymore. Too many mothers and wives and children of police officers killed in the line of duty can’t do that anymore.

Good Lord, I am grateful.

So tomorrow when we’re toasting and eating and celebrating let’s remember how blessed we are. Let’s be grateful.

 

 

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