Thanks To Give?

For the past few days I've been thinking that I should write a gratitude list to help me feel something close to thankful as Thanksgiving approaches.
But every time I start to think of the hundred things that would go on that list,
Because there really are probably a hundred things,
I get annoyed, and keep coming back to the very real fact that

My Baby Girl is not here with me this Thanksgiving
As I'd imagined she might be,
And that just makes me sad.

But for the sake of the exercise, I'll see how much gratitude I can come up with,
And I will probably surprise myself because maybe it will actually feel good to write,
Or at least it will help me have a good cry...

This year, I am grateful, I am thankful for (in no particular order):

Dahlia in all her robust and sometimes troubled glory, for continuing to love me and need me even though I am not the same as I was before.
My sweet husband Dave, for being patient with my ups and downs and ups and downs and downs and downs, for holding me and holding me up, for loving me unconditionally on this complex grown-up journey.
Family - holding us together and sticking close by, no matter what.
Community - close and lasting, ever expanding, holding me gently and solidly through this sad and messy terrain.
A warm cozy home to give me sanctuary.
The heated seats in my car on a cold gray morning.
The fact that I actually got a job in this terrible economy, doing work I am good at, in a caring environment, and with a part-time schedule that will still allow me time for myself and my family.
My body's health, and the fact that I am healthier now than I have been in probably ten years.
My father's health, his constant presence in my life, and the love he gives by visiting Tikva at the cemetery and reading her Goodnight Moon every time he drives up to see us.
My sweet wise solid as a rock sister, who lives just on the other side of town.
The incredible care we received at UCSF before and when Tikva was alive, and still.
Dahlia's incredible school and all of their support.
The beauty and specialness of San Francisco, the ocean, the park, the funkiness, the Bay Area.
Karina living close by for the first time in years.
My go-to gals who are always there for me in all my muddled emotions.
The nourishment of yoga and walks in the park, and the strong body that allows me to take that in.

Breath. I am thankful for breath.

The reality that Tikva lived...

I am so deeply grateful for that,
For being able to hold her,
To touch her,
To pour my love all over her and into her heart.
I am so deeply thankful that she got to grow by taking in my milk,
That she felt my bare skin against hers,
That she knew my voice
And looked into my eyes.
I feel so much gratitude that I got to know her,
That my life has been touched by her sweet spirit.

That I got to know a love unlike any I have ever known,
Pure and whole and free and eternal.

And I am so sad angry frustrated longing broken missing grieving confused crying empty pissed off weepy lost
That she didn't get to stay,
That she was born so sick,
That she had to struggle so much for those 8 weeks and 2 days of life,
That she couldn't stay,
That she isn't here
To spend Thanksgiving with me.

And yet if I had the choice of forgetting all the sorrow and all the grief,
But at the same time I would forget that Tikva ever came through my life,
Touched and cracked open my heart,
I would never give that away.
I would rather carry this pain for the rest of my life,
Even if it hurts so much.
SO MUCH.

I've never really cared one way or the other about Thanksgiving.
We didn't really do Thanksgiving when I was a kid,
Except that sometimes my mother felt inspired to make chicken
Because she found turkey too dry.
After my mom left, my dad and sister and I became Thanksgiving orphans,
Enjoying the holiday in the homes of various friends over the years,
Never having to cook anything, just eating the food.
Thanksgiving became more of a holiday for me when I met Dave
And joined his sweet family for a big boisterous meal,
Serenaded by football on the big screen.
Going around the table at a Thanksgiving dinner
And saying what I was thankful for always felt a bit strange,
Made me feel self-conscious,
Aware that this was not the only day of the year to feel gratitude.
But until now, Thanksgiving kind of just was,
Neither here nor there.

A year ago we were in Israel for Thanksgiving,
Celebrating with other Americans and some Brits at the home of sweet friends we met there
Who made a turkey and hired a DJ.
Dave and I danced, and I wondered why my shoulder and elbow were feeling sore.
The next day I realized that I had the beginnings of shingles.
That's what I mostly remember about last Thanksgiving...

And this: I was already anticipating spending our next Thanksgiving in Cincinnati
With our new baby in a high chair at the family table,
Maybe even two babies.

I guess it's no wonder I am feeling so sad this time around.
I guess it's understandable that Thanksgiving is so acutely reminding me that Tikva isn't here.
I guess I should be gentle and loving with myself for feeling so confused about where I want to spend the holiday this year,
Because there will only be one sweet beautiful baby at the family table this year,
And I feel so stupid for feeling afraid to be with him
Because I don't know what emotions will come up in me that might feel too big to hold,
And I so don't want to be the one to bring the party down
When there is so much reason to celebrate.

It all just makes me want to bury my head in a deep hole and hide.

I just wanted my Baby Girl to be there.
I just wanted her to live.
I just wanted her to be healthy.
How do I make that desire go away?
I'm all in support of desire,
That thing that propels us forward toward our potential.
But what do you do with desire that can't be fulfilled,
Especially when it feels so strong?

Last night Dave said, "This has been a shitty year."
He's right, it has.
And 2008 is the year that Tikva lived and died.
I don't think I have had a bigger year than this one,
And I can't imagine what could make any year still to come big in the way this one was big.

Big like when you're on stage in a play and the spotlight is on you,
Bright and clear and undisturbed,
And the whole theater is silent,
Watching and listening to you.

Then the play ends and the lights go out and it's still quiet but now you're alone,
And a chill runs up your spine as you realize the show's over.
That's how I feel right now,
After the chill when the let-down comes
And it's not a special show anymore
And I'm just me again,
Costumes off, wig off, makeup off,
Bare...
And waiting to be cast in my next role.

To feel that spotlight of grace again...