…a revisiting of one of the first posts I ever wrote for this blog, and one of the many reasons my cup runneth over.
She finished the last round of high-dose chemo on Thanksgiving Day of 1997. We ate Boston Market turkey and stuffing in the hospital playroom while her meds finished running. There were two more years of low-dose chemo to go, but we expected to spend most of that period as out-patients. When we got home that night—home, where we hadn’t spent more than ten days in a row since March—it was late, a cold, clear night, with as many stars as a New York City sky can muster. I remember thinking I couldn’t imagine ever being more thankful for anything than I was to be carrying that little girl up the stairs to our apartment that night.
(Thirteen years later, the Boston Market logo still fills me with a sense of overwhelming gratitude.)
(But then so do a lot of things, including this face.)
A little ham to go with your turkey.
Happy Thanksgiving, friends, wherever you may be.
In With the New
Turn, Turn, Turn
A Forgotten Day Remembered
No, Wait, I’m Pretty Sure We’re Non-Fiction