I can’t say that I have a particularly favorite holiday. I mean I’m not a Christmas fanatic even though I do look forward to it. Easter, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, none of them really stand out much more than the others. But I do have a least favorite… Thanksgiving. It’s not that I hate Thanksgiving. I just think that as a kid I enjoyed it so much, visiting my extended family and going to my great grandma’s farmhouse, that after she passed away I kind of shelved that memory and decided that no Thanksgiving could top the ones I’d spent as a kid.
There is one Thanksgiving that I do recall being the best one of my adult life. Thanksgiving 2004. My dad was fresh out of the hospital after having heart bypass surgery and he had just gotten home the day before. I was only 20 and still living at home. I had spent the last 10 days chatting online with a guy who lived 6 hours away. We would text, call each other nonstop and stay up til the wee hours of the morning on the phone, talking about everything and nothing all at once. So as Thanksgiving got closer, I suggested that he come out here to meet me because I didn’t want to carry on a long-distance relationship and because I just couldn’t wait to actually meet this guy that was so into me.
Since I was still living in my parent’s house and Jason couldn’t afford a hotel, I had to get permission to bring this guy to their house. And for some wild reason I’ll never understand, they both agreed to let him stay in the spare bedroom. Jason also did some convincing of his own and had his friend drive him almost 6 hours to Odessa so he could meet me.
So we talked and texted while he was on his way here and decided that since his friend would need to refuel before heading aback, (yes, he drove from San Marcos to Odessa and back all in one day.) that we should meet at the gas station. When he got into town, my parents and I had already gotten to my Aunt’s house. We were having Thanksgiving with my dad’s side of the family that lived in Odessa, including my grandparents, one uncle, two Aunts, 3 cousins and of course my parents and me. Everyone agreed that I shouldn’t go by myself to pick him up from his friend so my two cousins came with me.
I’ll never forget pulling up in that maroon dodge stratus and swinging that mile long door open, stepping up and making sure I straightened up my sweater as I walked toward him. His shaggy black hair looked so soft, his dark eyes looked so loving, and he came straight toward me and wrapped me up in a hug. I couldn’t believe that this person I’d been obsessing over for the last week and a half was actually here, in the flesh, and in my arms.
Then I remembered that we were in a gas station parking lot and that my two cousins were crammed in the back of my 2 door car and that my entire family was waiting for us to get back. So we got in, did introductions and made our back. I still can’t imagine how he must have felt at that moment, not only meeting me for the first time, but meeting 10 of my family members immediately after. If he was nervous he did a good job of hiding it. I swear he didn’t take his eyes off me once, and he made me feel so very desired and wanted. The rest of that day was a blur, but it makes sense that Thanksgiving, while nowhere near my favorite holiday, always reminds me of the day Jason and I first met.
Subsequent Thanksgiving’s through the years included travel, staying home, seeing family, just being alone with our kiddos, Jason working while the kids and I visited extended family and all of us driving to Arizona to spend the holiday with his brother and sister-in-law. Sometimes we ate traditional food, other times we did Mexican food, a bunch of appetizers or just grabbed wings at a local bar. None of them were all that great and none of them were particularly bad, either.
Then there was Thanksgiving 2021. Six months and 4 days after Jason died. 17 years exactly to the day that we first met. Thanksgiving was on November 25th in 2004, and again in 2021. As the days got closer, it was like a dark cloud rolled in. Which is kinda funny considering the way the weather had been acting. The temperature forecast the day before was supposed to be sunny and 75, followed by a cold front later in the day. Well, the cold front got here early and by 4pm the sky was full of dark gray clouds and I don’t think it got over 60 degrees before the chill set back in.
I had plans to spend Thanksgiving day with Jason’s mom, his sister and her boyfriend. As we planned out the details of this meal that I had no desire to cook in the least, I heard a little voice inside of me begging me to make a pie. Sweet potato pie. It’s my favorite, I’d take it over pumpkin any day. It’s the pie I cooked so many thanksgivings in a row, using his mom’s seasoning mix. I’m not sure what gave me this sudden urge to bake, maybe it was the recipe magazine showing off a decadent cranberry glazed cheesecake on the cover (I decided to make that, too!) or maybe it was just some little part of me that wanted some normalcy and some good dessert instead of store bought pies. So I let them know I’d bring the dessert.
I got up early Wednesday morning, fully intending to write for a little while before I started baking. Yet, like for the last few days, I got so distracted I never even sat down to write a single word. Instead I ran around in a scramble, making sure I had all my ingredients, switching out laundry and cleaning the house simultaneously. I had to stop in the middle of all this to go to the salon to fix a client’s hair emergency, pick up a dresser I’d bought online and go back to the salon to get my flowers that were delivered right after I'd left. My last stop on the way home was to pick up the sweet potatoes that my mother in law had offered to let me use.
And it seemed that just like the weather, I predicted my day to be sunny and productive, while the clouds and chill that rolled in were there to prove me otherwise. I didn’t start baking until well after 5pm. It’s like I could feel this heaviness I was trying to avoid. I couldn’t figure out why it was that I’d had this great freaking idea to bake and then when it all boiled down to it I could barely muster the motivation to get in the kitchen let alone actually cook. I skipped steps in the directions, fiddled too long trying to get the pie crust just right, and finally got my first dessert in the oven 2 hours after I’d started.
I seem to work better with some kind of background noise and I have a few favorite stations and playlists that I rotate through. I decided that a little 90’s country sounded good and asked Alexa to play it. I’m picking up some trash and making a little room for the pie to cool and just straightening up the kitchen when I realize the song on the radio sounds nothing like 90’s country. It was too folksy and sounded a lot like some 70’s light rock my dad used to listen to. I stopped and listened for a second, at first irritated thinking that my voice commanded robot didn’t do what I’d asked of her, and then completely blown away by what I was hearing.
Just a few days after Jason died, my friend Miranda told me about a dream she’d had. I don’t really remember the details of the actual dream, but I do remember her sharing this song with me that had been in her dream and then was actually playing when she woke up. I really don’t know if I’d ever heard that song before, as my tear soaked eyes scrolled through apple music app making sure i was playing the right song. I played the song, loud on my surround sound in my living room, my house filled with friends and family, just days after Jason left us.
I slowly turned and rocked and spun around, remembering the days we’d watched dance lessons on youtube and remembering the feeling of him spinning me around in our living room and kitchen. My dress twirled around me and I’m not sure if my family thought i was crazy or beautiful or maybe drunk… but it felt so good to move and let that music sink into me, especially accompanied by the thought that Jason somehow sent this song tyo me in a moment that I really needed to hear it.
“Come a little bit closer
Hear what I have to say.”
Fast forward back to Thanksgiving eve, six months later, in the kitchen surrounded by butter and mixers and brown sugar and dirty dishes… I’m expecting to hear some Trisha Yearwood or Clint Black and instead, Neil Young’s soft sweet melody sliced right through me. I hadn’t heard that song a single time in my life other than when I was the one looking it up to listen to specifically. And I just wanted to jam out to some old music I remember from my childhood, yet here I was, listening to this song that had comforted me in one of the hardest times of my life. I felt an overwhelming feeling that Jason was right there with me, telling me I wasn’t spending the holiday alone… thanking me for continuing the tradition of the sweet potato pie we always liked making together… or he liked eating it after I made it.
“Because I’m still in love with you
I wanna see you dance again
Because I’m still in love with you
On this harvest moon.”
I couldn’t believe it. He had sent me this song right when I needed it and here he was doing it again. I got my second wind, dancing around the kitchen, blaring the songs I really liked, taking my sweet time baking… and I finished both desserts right around 8:00. I thoroughly enjoyed feeling like Jason was with me, helping me, watching me, just being present.
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