Thanksgiving. Or Giving Thanks.

As I sit at the table in the familiar kitchen of the house where my (large) extended family has spent the past many Thanksgiving holidays celebrating together,  I am struck by how the familiar can exist in the same space as the new.  How the same old jokes and stories can coincide with the obvious hole that now is such a prominent feature in my life.  It's odd really.

Within any family, there are always additions and losses to factor into each passing year.  That's part of life.  I know that.

I just don't necessary like it.

To be honest, completely honest, I don't feel like celebrating or being thankful this year, even though I do know that I have plenty to be thankful for.  Maybe it will just be one year that I feel like this, maybe it will be a few years.  I don't have the answer.  But I do know that no amount of playing with words to create a nicer sounding response or pretending that I'm full of strength and hope or even verbiage that creates the illusion of joy is going to be the answer.  I respect the characteristics of honesty and transparency way too much to do otherwise.

So here, in this space, you will only read words of reality.

So, what the heck am I thankful for this year?

Well, obviously I am most thankful for the years I did have with Bill.  I loved, most of all, creating our family and our world together.  I am thankful for all of those experiences and memories.

I am grateful for my family.  The understanding, the guidance and help, and the acceptance of us has been the hidden blessing of the past year.  There are no words to express my gratitude.  Each one, in their own way, has tried to help me carry this load.  Each one has done so quietly and without need of recognition.

I am thankful for the strangers who have become my friends.  People who have graciously and repeatedly shown my family what love is.  With words, deeds, or sometimes even financially--these people are amazing.  Bill would be so impressed and proud to call you his friends too.

Who else?  Well, certainly my Baker City sisters.  If I ever were to relocate, I think it would be to Baker.  These ladies have generously adopted my family as one of their own and blessed us with a monthly gift of encouragement.  Amazing I tell you.  Just amazing.

I am thankful for our community.  Seriously, never let anyone speak poorly of the Canyon area.  Time and again my family has been shown incredible kindness by members of this community.   Churches, youth sports organizations, school district employees, local business owners, even people I don't even know have all renewed my faith that people are inherently good.

I am thankful for my friends.  Some are old and some are new.  And it doesn't matter which one is which anymore.  There are friends who stayed with me in the hospital and friends who didn't leave my side for months afterwards.  Friends who shared tea and wine with me and friends who just listened.  Friends who walked with me (quite literally) and friends who helped me fix things that were broken.  There were friends who helped with my kids and those who made me laugh.  There were definitely friends who ignored my bouts of insanity and encouraged me to just focus on the next thing.  I have friends who have allowed me to be forgetful and who have not been offended by my behavior.  Friends have shown me forgiveness and understanding time and again.

To me, the definition of a friend is simply a person who is willing to come alongside of you and help to shoulder your burdens.  It is someone who does not require perfection and is willing to overlook your shortcomings.  It is someone who can, at least temporarily, put another person's needs above their own.

The past year I have lived in my worst nightmare.  There is no denying that.   But through the grief and adversity and fear I have learned exactly what is most paramount in life.  It's not stuff or money.  It's not cars and houses and fancy clothes.  It's people.  And the relationships that we create and grow with those people.

For that lesson, I am thankful.

Me and Ozzy Are Together

Riding on that Crazy Train.  Yep, that should definitely be my theme song right now.

Want to hear about my crazy?  Sure you do.

So my neighbor comes into the post office last week.  Nothing unusual about that--the guy has to pick up his mail and everything.  I'm in the back of the office, sorting the mail, when I hear someone say, "Hi, Julie. How are you doing today?"  When I peeked out to see who was talking to me, all I saw is the back of a red and black buffalo checked jacket.  Exactly like Bill's.  My eyes were telling me it was Bill but my mind was strongly disagreeing.  I was confused.  And shocked.  And speechless.  I knew it was my neighbor, I could see him standing right in front of me.  But my (crazy) mind could not make sense of the situation and all I could do was stare.  Oh, and open my mouth repeatedly without finding the ability to actually speak intelligible words.  The poor guy looked so confused and befuddled.  And then I mumbled something to him about crying and ran into the back.  Needless to say he made a hasty exit.

But here's my favorite freak out of the week:

I am a regular church-goer.  Have been for years.  Or at least I was until a few months ago.  One Sunday, out of left field,  I was just smothered by this horrible feeling of sadness whilst sitting through a service.  There was nothing unusually upsetting about the sermon or the music or the people around me.  I was just overcome by sadness.  Grief is stealthy like that.  I was missing Bill something terrible and I was feeling conspicuous over a comment someone had made to me about sitting my hypocritical hind end in a pew (Really, aren't we all guilty of that?!  Isn't that a reason why we go to church?!). So I decided to take a break from it all for a bit.  Just until it felt okay again.  You must understand that my intuition serves me better than my brain these days.

Well, something shifted this weekend and encouraged me to finally go back.  It just felt right.

Pffft.

I got there okay.  Settled the kids in just fine too.  Felt comfortable and pretty chill.  And then I freaked out.  Big time.

I felt all fuzzy-headed and warm.  My heart started pounding and racing.  Then it was like the walls were closing in on me.  I know that sounds so cliche but it is the best description I can come up with.  I ran to the bathroom, threw up, hyperventilated, and then couldn't leave the bathroom.  Honest to goodness, I just stared at the door handle and despite my mind telling my hand to grab the darn thing and turn it, I just couldn't do it.  It took me about 15 minutes before I could escape.  It was a frightening and strange experience.

I know it was a panic attack or some other manifestation of anxiety.  Duh.  I also know that I don't need any help dealing with it.  And I don't need a pill to hide my reality.  Time.  I just need time.

Someday I won't feel the acuteness of loneliness and isolation and grief.  Someday I hope to remember Bill's voice singing the songs and feel the sweetness of happy memories.  Today I just felt the emptiness of nothingness.

Hey, but I put on a good show.