Photo by Alison Innes

Living Madly: Quiet Blessings

By Emilie-Noelle Provost

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. There’s always been something special about waking up on Thanksgiving morning: the low-slung angle of the sun as it lights up the bare trees, multicolored leaves scattered along the ground, the quiet street, the delicious smell of sage and onions sautéing on the stove.

I love eating anything I want to without feeling guilty about it, and I look forward to spending time with people I don’t see very often. I can drink wine in the daytime, and catch up with my sisters on the back porch, enjoying the cool air away from the heat of the kitchen.

For years, my mother, sisters, and I took turns hosting Thanksgiving dinner, dividing up the work to make celebrating the holiday with our extended family manageable. But I’ve cooked Thanksgiving dinner and hosted my entire family at my house every year since 2019, when my mother was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.

At first, I enjoyed doing it. Hosting Thanksgiving for my family made me feel useful during a difficult time. This was especially true the first couple of years after my mother died, when my stepfather was grieving and alone, the holidays an especially difficult time for him. But as the years passed, Thanksgiving began to feel like a grind. I stopped looking forward to it and instead began to dread it.

Part of the reason for this is because of the large amount of work involved: days of shopping followed by more days of cooking; cleaning my entire house from top to bottom both before and after the event; endless heaps of dirty dishes, and, worst of all, the petty, toxic backbiting among my sisters, nieces, and nephews that began a couple of years ago when my stepfather brought his new girlfriend to Thanksgiving dinner.

Last month, my daughter, Madelaine, who just turned 27, came over to visit. She sat down on the couch, looked at me and said, “I don’t want you to do Thanksgiving this year.”

I began to protest, explaining that I had to do it because one of my sisters does Christmas and the other one now lives two hours away. It wouldn’t be fair to expect someone to host two holidays so close together or to expect people to drive so far.

Madelaine said, “I don’t care. It’s too much for you, and I know you hate it. I don’t want you to do it.”

For a moment, I was speechless. Out of everyone in my extended family, Madelaine is the only person who noticed this, or at least she’s the only one selfless and brave enough to say it out loud.

When I finally agreed, telling Madelaine she was right, I didn’t really want to do it, she smiled and said, “Good.”

She then proceeded to come up with a plan for her, my husband, and myself to celebrate a quiet Thanksgiving together, dividing up the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. There will be no bickering, no drama, just lots of delicious food, love, and each other.

Sometimes, the things we have to be thankful for sneak up behind us on stocking feet.

May you have a happy, safe Thanksgiving full of love, joy, and good things.

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Emilie-Noelle Provost (she/her) – Author of The River Is Everywhere, a National Indie Excellence Award, American Fiction Award, and American Legacy Award finalist, and The Blue Bottle, a middle-grade adventure with sea monsters. Visit her at emilienoelleprovost.com.