Thanksgiving weekend. After a day of floating on gratitude for what I have, I’ve become immensely grateful for what I didn’t lose.
The week before Thanksgiving, the boys were all in the zone. My eldest son had a new job supervising others, and he was rising to the occasion. My middle son entered a training program; he was so proud, and leaving early every morning telling me he’s going to work. And my youngest got a glowing update from his school; so three check marks on my gratitude list.
Friday ended with the youngest plopping down beside me to tell me all the important things he’s been thinking about and to thank me for everything I’ve done for the family since we moved.
So, I started the weekend thinking about all this coming together for Thanksgiving. I felt downright smug. My boys have challenges, so it’s not often they are all – okay. All three boys are okay! A trifecta! What luck, I’ll take it!
Cut to Saturday, 1am: The youngest comes home bleeding and holding his arm. We spend the night in emerg where I learn that the trickiest bit about a dislocated shoulder is not getting it back in, it’s keeping it there. We walk home at 8:30 on a sunny Sunday morn.
What happened is his story to tell. But right now as I write, he is home, not in a hospital, he is laughing at a goofy cartoon, he is homehomehome.
I’ve never felt so grateful and angry and exasperated and grateful all at the same time. I’ll take it.