Thanksgiving in the time of COVID.
As I have said, time and time again (and will continue to say): I am a sucker for nostalgia. I just can’t help it – anything that has a tradition attached, or a whiff of times past… I get all gloopy and sappy and attached. I have always been like this, but having a child certainly hasn’t diminished the feelings. I struggle with any change to traditions, even when I know that it’s because we’re all growing up, expanding our families, and/or being responsible and safe. The reality of the situation is that I love all of the individual pieces that make up our new traditions, but I always have a nagging sense of nostalgia about anything that has changed – even if it means we get multiple “Christmas mornings.” Of course, this year has been a masterclass for all of us in Navigating Change and Accepting Hard Things, so I knew that going into the holidays was going to be no different.
For years, we (Rick and I) have juggled the multiple-dinner-Thanksgiving situation. Since our parents lived ten minutes apart, this wasn’t difficult early on. In fact, even after we moved into our current house and started hosting for Rick’s family, there was a huge upside to the shuffle: we would eat at our house, leave, and his family would relax for a while and clean up dishes. Thanksgiving dinner without the cleanup? Yes, please. As November approached this year, Rick’s mom broached the idea that perhaps this year, since we have an infant, we would rather split up the gathering to provide less stress and baby wrangling. We loosely planned for a brunch at our house and then dinner at my parents, but I think even then I had a feeling that things were not going to work out that way. Halloween came and went, and we started to see growing indications that things were headed in the wrong direction. About two weeks before Thanksgiving, we made the decision that (unlike a #blessed rustic sign from Homegoods would suggest) we were not going to gather for Thanksgiving at all.
I don’t really want to get into the nitty gritty of the decision-making process here – I’ve rehashed it about a thousand times in my real life. Suffice it to say that the whole thing was hard. In fact, it sucked. For everyone involved, I think. Once the decision was made, though, I felt good. As a (mostly) fastidious rule-follower, I felt encouraged every time I read a recommendation regarding limiting gatherings – I felt like we were doing the right thing for our situation and taking the steps that we needed to. Layer onto all of this that my brother-in-law is an ER nurse and that some unforeseen medical issues resulted in Rick’s grandfather being in a skilled nursing facility and unable to see us, and things wouldn’t have been “normal” in any event.
Thanksgiving Day came and we spent time watching the parade, enjoying the dog show, and paying rent to the the Duwamish. I enjoyed making a pie and some sides, and Rick made an adorable little turkey breast. We made turkey hands with the baby – traditional décor at my house growing up and a tradition I was tickled to be able to carry on. I texted with my mom and my sisters, and we had phone calls with Rick’s family. I have to be honest, it was a pretty lovely day. I insisted that we all get dressed up for dinner, and that we plate food on the table (not just in the cooking vessels) – I was determined to elevate our meal above the everyday, even if it was just the three of us sitting down to dinner. When everything was ready, we turned on some music and turned down the lights a little bit and sat down – and, for the first time all day, I was sad.
The emotion was… not necessarily fleeting, but manageable. I mentioned it later to Rick and he agreed that he felt the same. I think that in that moment, we both recognized a bit of loss. Not an earth-shaking, heart-wrecking Loss-with-a-capital-L, but a quiet acknowledgement of the little losses of tradition and carefreeness that we have admittedly taken for granted. The food was there – the potatoes and ambrosia and even a modified green-bean-casserole. We had cranberry sauce, and there was still turkey (albeit no drumsticks) – there were even two pies ready and waiting for dessert. We were dressed up, the tablecloth was on, and we had candles lit and music playing. All of the ingredients for a traditional Thanksgiving were there, except our families. Our families, who were not across the country, but only a few miles down the road. It was weird, and it felt a little empty.
Then, just as I was about to pick up my fork, baby girl decided she was hungry and was over sitting in the bouncer. I laughed and rolled my eyes and picked her up to nurse. Rick snapped a picture and we carried on, happily helping ourselves to seconds and thirds, not having to worry about leaving the last bite for someone else. After dinner, we had a quick video call with my family – getting to peek into my sister’s kitchen and my parents’ preparations, before putting the baby to bed and cutting ourselves generous slices of pie. We snuggled up on the couch and watched Home Alone and then called it a night. Right about when my parents and younger sister were eating dinner, we were brushing our teeth and climbing into bed.
As I listened to the ever-present “whoosh” of the sound machine, I felt a little guilty – even with the sadness, even with missing the people we love the most, it had been a really good day. I appreciated the slow, relaxed experience of not having to worry about what time people were arriving at the house, or when we had to leave, or even really when the food was going to be done. I appreciated sharing the kitchen with my husband to clean up (which I often don’t, so that in itself was a Thanksgiving miracle) and I hadn’t watched Home Alone in years. I missed our normal traditions, absolutely, but I was proud of us for building some new ones. I have no idea what Thanksgiving 2021 will look like, though I have high hopes and Rick has declared that he’s getting a whole turkey, no matter what. Regardless, I think that my nostalgic heart will always have a little spot for Thanksgiving 2020 – after all, Rick and I may have eaten dinner without our families, but we were not alone: right there next to us was the little girl for whom I am most thankful, that day and always.
Hickmans at Home 