Light Today

I was adamant. I would not greet the new day. I kept my eyes closed, felt my way across my bedroom and slid into the shower. I could feel the steam curling over my shoulders and it was chilling. The steam was chilling. The idea of anything curling over my shoulders was chilling.

I didn’t open my eyes until I was clothed and sitting on my window seat. I had a basket’s contents of blankets piled over me, an artificial hug. I opened my eyes, blinked blinked blinked. The sun was just coming up over our neighbor’s tree line, just hitting the semi-frozen lake in that way. You know what I’m talking about, of course you do, how the sun pierces everything at an angle and casts reflected light on everything. That was the first thing I saw on Thanksgiving. Light.

After a week of lying awake, of not sleeping through the night, of dread and fear and memory, it was Thanksgiving.

But plans changed. We weren’t going anymore. Something about the snow, sickness, weighing of pros and cons. Do you know what that kind of relief did to me? It made me feel like I’d already eaten two servings of turkey, two slices of pie. It made me pull my sister – clad in her favorite pink tutu – into a hug when my dad wasn’t looking and dance through the hallways with her. I felt freed.

He’d like me to think that a miracle has occurred. He’d like me to believe in God. But those Novembers in elementary school, I wrote down “what I’m thankful for”, not who I’m thankful to. I assume that means I can send my thank-you’s later, and only worry what they’re going to say.

So I’m thankful for you, Bradley, for taking everything in stride and still holding my hand at the same time.

I’m thankful for you, Naveen, for reminding me of the potential and drive every human possesses somewhere.

I’m thankful for you, Oliver, for loving me when I didn’t think I deserved it and for watching over me when I didn’t think anyone else was.

I’m thankful for you, Evan, for being my rock, my smile, my teacher and my best friend whenever I need you to be.