I finally paid the bill yet I still do not hear a ring.

It’s time to admit that I had a good Thanksgiving week. I kinda don’t want to because then I also have to admit that I was shutting myself off on purpose, that I was extending suffering because I needed it instead of taking opportunities.

Who wants to admit that right? That I could have lived an adjusted life with moments of brevity and laughter, with snapshots of connection and not sit in the dark and wait for it to get even darker. I mean who wants to say that? Makes you look a little crazy.

For those of you who aren’t Black Thanksgiving on the whole has a different context than Pilgrims and Indians. While the concept of connecting with ‘family’ is not unique to Blacks, it is not so much a celebration of history as it is when we reconnect and restore bonds. We don’t often talk about what happens when those bonds are too tight and hurt us, instead we keep looking for a turkey and ask who made the potato salad.

Thanksgiving for me ended when Catherine, my grandmother, was no longer able to make the trip to Limekiln Pike. HOW my house ended up the Thanksgiving house is another story, but up until her last 2 years here Catherine was put into a car and shipped to our house. With mom-mom as I called her also came Valerie and her brood. When mom-mom was still able to attend, I didn’t hate the event. When she was no longer able to sit at the head of that ridiculous table Bonnie had, I was checked out. I had no desire to cook dress up and clean up for Valerie. It was always her because Aunt Doris rarely attended and that rarely became 0 when Catherine was gone.

The lead up to it was annoying. Shopping, chopping, planning. Cleaning pulling the china out the breakfront. I didn’t understand it or desire it because well me. When I was able to work I did. The first time was waiting tables. That was cash money day. I’d make more in that day than I did for the month of November. When I was taking 911 calls, the city needed me! All of it was better than enduring the complaints of the aunt, the complaints of the Bonnie and the apathy of those younger than me.

When I moved to Godfrey Ave I invited them all over, why? I wanted to show I was a real adult doing real adult things. I called Bonnie and asked her how to make the turkey. She told me to put in the oven overnight. I did. That was the dryest motherfucking turkey ever and I never heard the end of it. If she could speak now she’d tell you I don’t know how to cook a turkey, after listening to her direction over 20 years ago.

After I evicted Clyde from the uterus I decided that I would have traditions of my own, which did NOT include all those other people I didn’t give a fuck about.

There was a time around 2010 that I thought it would be a thing again. I thought the 3 of us would be a family and that it would be alright to dream of that happy holiday again, absent the chaos of what it used to be for me. That never manifested and I gave up on the idea. Clyde didn’t give a shit anyhow. We’d spend our time doing what we did and watching Elmo and eating what he wanted to eat. I loved those days.

After Bonnie’s stroke I didn’t even bother. The first year was spent getting rid of Valerie, the rest didn’t matter. I was able to make the decision that I could make cornbread stuffing in August if I wanted to. Bonnie would ask for that other part of the family and I’d have to remind her but even that wasn’t bad. It hurt me to have to keep repeating why no one was there but us, yet having no one there but us mattered.

After the incident I shut all the way down. No celebrations Nicole you are without family. I carried that for quite some time. Punishing myself for the actions of another and not being able to counter them. You will have no joy while they are not with you. I lived by that! I told myself that it was about not wanting to be reminded of what was not present in my life but it was me being bad to me.

As the years added up, and I figured out what living looks like I still clung to that. I told myself I was not a Thanksgiving person, and I am really not but it was more about denying myself a happy moment then it was me not being built for the day.

It wasn’t until this year that I admitted who and what I was and what I was doing and made the effort to alter it. I accepted an invitation and I followed up on that invitation. I showed up and was present and enjoyed the evening for the most part. It wasn’t the holiday media tells you that should be happening it was a moment with friends that is more a realistic idea of who I am. No turkey. Margaritas. Karaoke. Conversation.

I was sore as fuck by the end of the night because the day before I’d done a lot. I never did try the bread pudding but I will blame that on the roommate. Even the anti social pre teen did a couple songs. The cats aren’t normal they are big as fuck, but I even got one of them to sniff me.

While it might not be the moment you capture for an Xmas card it was still a moment. It was me rewriting and me redirecting and me living. I think it helped that this is my last Thanksgiving while living on the East Coast. Next year I will have a California zip code, so it was simple in a way to give myself permission to enjoy a day I’d prior denied to myself.

I didn’t die. I did have a sore throat 2 days later and I woke Friday thinking it was Sunday.

I wrote a post a while back called Cranberry Sauce. That was me daring to dream I would have the Thanksgiving you see on the Hallmark Channel. This year there was no cranberry sauce, but next year there might. If for some reason I choose not to celebrate next year, I may still get the Ocean Spray for myself. That shit is delicious and it’s okay if I am the only one eating it. I’ve proven to myself that I can choose differently.

Forward.