…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
Nothing Falling Through the Cracks Here, Nope
No, Wait, I’m Pretty Sure We’re Non-Fiction
Welcome, New Readers!