And the Grinch, with his Grinch feet ice cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling:
"How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes or bags!"

I feel the marvel of the Grinch this morning, and although my heart had no need to grow three sizes, my spirit did.  

This was not my traditional Thanksgiving.  I did not travel to Maryland to spend the week with Lisa and family, I did not shop and chop and wake up early to get the stuffing in the bird and the bird in the oven.  I did not bake or worry the schedule.  I did not help with the table or arrange the last fall greens and grasses and scavenge a few flowers.  I was not exhausted by the time we finished serving dinner.  I did not spend the weekend with Cheshire and at least one night staying up way too late to solve all the challenges of life.  I did not do what I thought I had to do to feel like it was Thanksgiving.

And still it came.  It came with making only deviled eggs and some cranberry sauce, with an easy day practicing cello, playing Pottermore and reading social studies.  Julia and I went to our friend, Amy’s house and with her family and a few friends, I helped a very little in the kitchen, talked some, listened a lot, and ate and enjoyed.  

And we had Thanksgiving.  

Yes, this is about David and grieving and being so very scared that I would be in that bubble of grief forever.  And scared and insane that if I could not hold onto something that I was sure of, something totally know, I would dissolve.  Perhaps I would have last year or the year before that, but the odd twists of fate, that kept me from the few rituals that I have leaned heavily on for years even before David’s death, pushed me into the new.

So very long ago, when David and I were first together and first figuring out our holidays which were always a blend of our cultures and ethnic roots, and where we lived and how much we wanted to spend time with our families of origin, we experimented.  In those early days, David was the curmudgeon who was unwilling to embrace my Christian traditions and unwilling to celebrate his Jewish traditions.  I wanted to do all and wanted to radically change.  Children, moving, dying friends and family changed what we set down and we changed again.  And again.

I did not know if I could ever again do as much changing as we did together.  

Yesterday, I lived the changing time joyfully.  I missed my dearest ones.  I missed all that I knew of what could make the holiday.  I missed.  I missed.  I missed, but survived.  I changed.  I enjoyed.  It is all bitter sweet, all complex and layered.  There may never again be the pure, simple joy without pain for me, but then, I may be hearing the giggling of the gods when I pronounce my solomon ‘never.’