Remember; You Have the Universe

[ 33 ]

Of all the
holidays
(which I'm not
really a huge
fan of
anyway),
Thanksgiving
is by far
the worst.
Watching everyone
else
stuff themselves
into food comas
while I pick
small handfuls of
whatever looks
the best
and try to
save room for
dessert
is not actually
as fun as
it sounds.
And then
my grandpa
makes us go around
the table
and say what
we're grateful for.
Back when
I was first
diagnosed,
all the aunts
and uncles
and even
my pretty much deaf
great-grandma
were grateful
for a country
with health insurance
and doctors
to save my life
and campaigns
to make people
aware of
the dangers
of smoking.
My mom and I
were glad that
Dad wasn't
with us
at Thanksgiving
dinner
that year—
for his sake,
not ours.
I was fourteen,
angsty,
and wondered
what I had
to be grateful for
when it felt like
everything
had been
taken away from me.
Until it was
Mom's turn.
She talked about
how grateful
she was
for me
and for my doctors,
but only
briefly.
I guess because
everyone else
already had that
covered.
She praised
the universe
for giving her
brothers and
a sister,
and good parents
and grandparents.
She was
grateful that
we weren't homeless like
the people
we'd helped feed
earlier that week,
and that we had
neighbors
who fundraised
to help ease
the costs
I'd racked up.
She was
thankful that
there were people who
loved their religion
and wanted
to share
their joy
with anyone
and everyone
(we'd just had
some missionaries over
not because
we were interested
in changing
our beliefs,
but because
my mom
wouldn't stand for
boys just out of
high school
going hungry
or eating alone
in a foreign country
around Thanksgiving.)
My mom had
so much
to be grateful for,
I couldn't
bring myself
to say something bratty like,
"I'm grateful
for my
bed."
Even though
my lungs were
on fire
and I'd had
an IV earlier
that day
and it was
my first
Thanksgiving where
I couldn't
eat much
and Cadence and I
had gotten in
a fight
because I was
grouchy in
general
so I just wanted
to sleep.