We pulled the box down from the attic.

I wasn’t ready, I thought.

And then this emerged.

I had forgotten.

It will sit on my shelf despite the fact that it’s not trendy or appeasing to the designers.

It’s old, worn and even childish.

But it reminds me of a woman that was wiser than words and loved deeper than the sea.

And suddenly I remember Thanksgiving with my gram.

I remember taking the dusty heavy silver box from the hutch, tucked way behind, carefully removing too many fragile things before I could get to it. Taking my time not to break them.

This is one place I know I was being taught patience.

Slowly opening the box as though it held secrets, beautiful silverware was revealed. Laid in the velvet, I retrieved the soft and too small cloth, doing exactly as I was told, shining up each piece.

She slaved away in the kitchen, humming or whistling and a peace surrounded me that I’ve never felt since.

After the work was done, we rested. She went to her davenport and directed me that it was time for a nap. I was amazed to be honest. It felt so odd and although my spirit fought it, rest finally came.

If I had My Thanksgiving, in this day and age, it would look like a bunch of misfits, some family and some not, to be honest, surrounding a table, eating, laughing, drinking, joking and telling stories of our own.

But life doesn’t work that way anymore. Rules and expectations have been established. Expectations have been laid upon us to even prove this.

Thanksgiving with my grandma was more about the time we spent prepping, the time we spent together, preparing to serve others. Honestly, I don’t even remember the actual meals.

But I do know, without a doubt, that someday I’ll be able to have My Thanksgiving. It will include all those dearest to my heart. We will sit together, tell endless stories of our past and thoroughly enjoy the time that will never have an ending.

I am going to spend my time here emulating this the best I can. I won’t do it well, I won’t do it near the same, I won’t even come close, but comparison or fear of man will kill me and if this decade has taught me anything, it’s that.

She has taught me so much, how can I not put my next foot in front of the other?