When she got home from Thanksgiving dinner with her kids, she grabbed her windbreaker and headed straight for the beach.
She had been waiting for this moment all day long and now it was finally here.
Her heart had been full of gratitude and love all morning…and now?
Now it just felt empty.
She knew she wasn’t the only one feeling this way on this fucking Covid Thanksgiving. But she felt alone in this moment and just wanted to go to her church…the beach. To walk alongside the shore, breathe in the salt air, and refill her soul with the love and gratitude she had felt earlier in the day.
Friends near and far had reached out to her that morning to wish her a happy Thanksgiving. Some just wanted to check in on her, some wanted to know her plans for the day and whether or not she would be able to spend some time with her kids, and some just sent a sweet Happy Thanksgiving message.
And there were one or two of her favorite humans she didn’t hear from that she had expected to…and that hurt a little.
But she was getting used to that disappointment. Sadly.
She pulled her jacket tighter around her as she reminded herself of the blessings she received that morning.
In addition to the messages she had received, her lovely neighbors had stopped by the night before with some cookies for her and a wish for a Happy Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving cookies…is that a thing? She wondered.
But of course, it was. Because those same neighbors brought her a warm loaf of fresh-baked bread not long after she moved in, and Halloween cookies less than a month ago. And then as she was pulling out of her driveway today, Mike had stopped her and asked her if it was okay if he hung Christmas lights on her end of their shared townhouse building, because it would look weird if he only hung them on his end and not hers, too.
She smiled again at that. At her telling him how much she had always loved Christmas and all of the decorations that went along with it, but that she just didn’t have the time or inclination to do it this year. He seemed so happy when she told him to feel free to do whatever he wanted.
She also felt gratitude for an amicable relationship with her ex-husband that allowed for both of them to share the holiday with their children. She was so happy at how hard they worked together to create the loving divorce that allowed moments like this to be shared. No matter what anyone else thought about it.
And everyone had opinions about it.
Everyone.
She was grateful for a best friend who she knew would always be in her life. Even as others came and went.
So many came and went.
But her bestie was her person. She was the one who held her up through the last three years. The last three heartbreaks.
Her bestie even seemed to have a sixth sense about when she needed her…and reached out to let her know she was loved when her own heart started questioning — just today — if she would ever feel loved again.
As the waves chased her down the shore, she felt so much gratitude for the beautiful home she had created for herself and her children. Even when they weren’t there, it felt like her safe place, her haven. A space that held her heart and soul when they were hurting and provided a happy, loving sanctuary for those few special souls she invited in to share it with her.
A home that wrapped her in its soft embrace of pillows and blankets and candles and warmth and love and peace and fairy lights and the light and heat of the fireplace. On her worst days, she could come home to this space and feel loved and protected by four walls, if not anything or anyone else.
When there were no arms to hold her in their embrace, her home would still give her the full-body hug she longed for.
She felt the cutting wind as it whipped around her on her walk down the uneven sand…and she felt gratitude even for the chill. Because it meant she was feeling. Not numbing. Not stifling. Instead, allowing all the feelings as they came, physical and emotional.
She thought about the tribe of like-minded souls she found in her online world…so grateful for the creators. The ones who put themselves out there. The ones who took words and photography and clay and paint and food and turned them into works of art.
And more than their art, she was grateful for the artists themselves. Because she had found her tribe. People like her who felt like oddballs and misfits and black sheep…until they found each other.
She wrote often about crushing on them, but she wasn’t flippant about that observation. She felt love for each one of them in ways that she hadn’t experienced before. And she even felt gratitude for social media for bringing them all to her.
As she continued her walk, she realized the wind had become too biting for her to face anymore, and she turned around on the beach and walked back toward home.
Suddenly the wind was at her back, gently pushing her back to where she belonged. Where she had always belonged.
Her heart lifted as she spotted the warm glow of lights in her windows in the distance, beckoning her.
Her guiding lights.
The ones she thought she had lost.
But had actually been there the whole time. They had just gotten muddled by the fog all around her.
And now that fog was clearing.
As she opened her front door and stepped over the threshold, she turned on the fireplace, lit some candles, and sat down to write about love, gratitude…and disappointment.
On this fucking Covid Thanksgiving.