As families in the United States gather to celebrate Thanksgiving, people far and wide take a moment to consider and share the things they are grateful for. An opportunity for warm remembrance, it also casts in sharp relief both distance and absence. For the bereaved and estranged, this obvious observation sits like a razor blade embedded in the edge of all holidays.
Yet this is not the full story of gratitude, which is also the engine that drives resilience. Gratitude allows us to identify the solid post within the maelstrom, the good thing that is a good thing and not just a silver lining. The problem is that the silver lining exists only because of the storm cloud.
I recently wrote this post–that I invite people to read and share–for St. Jude’s Perspectives blog series about our experience at the hospital. These thoughts about gratitude sat at the center of the piece implicitly but I never exposed them as an idea. We are grateful for many aspects of our experience with St. Jude, including the gift of a good death.
We should all be grateful when we or those we love have a good death. It is no silver lining; it is the last thing any of us will experience and that experience remains with those who outlive us.
My Thanksgiving gratitude may seem macabre or even unseasonal, but that is because it occupies the spaces that we are culturally uncomfortable discussing. These conversations don’t fit neatly in a Tweet, nor do they belong in a pithy statement laid over the picture of a roasted turkey. But they do belong somewhere.
The things we are grateful for are central, not incidental, to the human experience. This is why gratitude is fierce and why it can carry a heavy burden when times are tough. Let it be the beast that stands by your side and gnashes its teeth at the misfortunes that come your way. May all your days bring the gift of gratitude.
Miss seeing you in person