Spending my fall semester abroad meant I would be giving up Thanksgiving with my family which, honestly, did not seem such a loss to me. The holiday itself is not something we celebrate so much as taking advantage of the day off to reconnect and celebrate each other, our small bunch.
My family’s Thanksgiving preparations started the night before with my aunt showing up at our doorstep with our two, yes two, turkeys. My mom and aunt began prepping the turkeys for their overnight brining before the three of us and my brother settled in for some board games and laughs.
Upon arising on Thursday we would venture to Krispy Kreme to retrieve two, yes two, dozen donuts for our morning and afternoon snacking.
With those warm pillows of dough devoured, my mom, aunt, and myself began preparing the feast, chopping vegetables, basting turkeys, seasoning to perfection the stuffing, potatoes, and gravy. It was eight hours of madness soundtracked with all of our indie holiday favorites and alternative motivators.
We’d sit down to our meal with my grandma, grandpa, brother, and father, dishes rotating until every plate contained a kaleidoscopic smattering of all the offerings; stuffing and mashed potatoes, turkey and brussel sprouts, cranberry sauce and rolls, a gravy river winding through the entire plate.
Following the savory meal were pumpkin pie, chocolate pie, pumpkin spice roll, and pecan bars, all decadent treats that left everyone satisfied and purring like a newborn kitten after a bowl of cream.
With the grandparents gone we busted out more board games, relying on friendly competition to burn off some of the calories before we all slipped into our Turkey induced sleep.
That is the Thanksgiving I was supposed to miss while being abroad, but that Thanksgiving didn’t happen, and it won’t ever happen like that again.
We lost my aunt unexpectedly in June.
This year there were no turkeys to brine, no potatoes to mash, no pies to bake.
Spending this first holiday without my aunt proved harder than I thought it would, even 3000 miles away. Especially 3000 miles away.
I turned to the friends I have made here for solace and support, leaning on them the way I would have leaned against my aunt in the kitchen after the table had been cleared and we all moaned about our full stomachs. I didn’t reach out to my family, an action I regret and encourage anyone who is spending that first holiday apart to do.
Find the time to grieve or cry, but do no rest in that isolation. Rejoice in the memory of the holidays spent together, and do not prematurely mourn those that will now be spent apart.