This Thursday is Thanksgiving. It is exactly five years from the worst time in my life – when my wife was dying from lung cancer and suffering horribly. On the day of her birthday, that November, we decided to stop treatment and get hospice. Thanksgiving will never be special to me again.
However, surprisingly, I don’t feel sad this year. This is the 2nd year in a row when I feel…nothing.
Nothing is good. It is better than the painful memories of that awful time.
Mostly, I feel irritation that all pools are closed on Thanksgiving Day and that I have to got to my backup pool the day after – which, as of last week, was ice cold due to a heater problem.
Cry me a river, right?
I won’t be making a turkey this year. Last year I did and realized that I don’t really like most of the turkey – just the breast. And this year, I cannot be bothered. I’ll eat my usual meatballs for dinner instead.
I have befriended a few lifeguards who are getting together for Thanksgiving. I might get an invitation to join them – because they are friendly and kind and know I have no plans. But there’s no way I’ll go.
I’m fine with the holidays not being special -especially since they are no longer gut-wrenchingly sad.