This is that special time of year, after all.
A year ago, I was blessed. Really, I was. And I knew it. Even if the day before Thanksgiving we came home at 9 pm to a darkened house…the power had been cut off, we couldn’t pay the bill.
By all rights, I should have had the kids that night. It was during the week, it was Wednesday, and they should have been with me. It was cold. It was so cold. Our little house stayed frigid most of the time, and without the power…it would have seen us all huddled on our bed wrapped in quilts and seeing our breath. But by a blessing the kids had gone for early Thanksgiving with Nana, and the cold cut only the two of us.
We wrote a check we knew would bounce to turn on power that we couldn’t afford.
I sat on the bed in the middle of rebirthed artificial light, and I cried for the Thanksgiving day we were going to have. False smiles and lies that pretended to be reality.
This year, we’ve passed many roadblocks and while I’m grateful for our electricity, I’m more grateful to be alive. This man who is now my husband has pulled me through one of the darkest periods of my life. The loss of a job I loved and that we depended on, the diagnosis of a restrictive handicap, and massive depression that I’m not even really sure he realized was there.
I’m blessed by my family. With every crayon drawing, every kiss, and every hug…I’m more blessed.