We have to eat, right?! The planned dinner, with side dishes still sitting at the ready in the refrigerator, prepped the preceding night, before I knew what lay ahead. ![]() I slide the buttery bird back in its heated cave. How many times have I cried to the Lord, “am I doing the right thing? Give me wisdom!” But it turns out that at 2am I was tossing and turning in a rigid recliner pulled alongside my son’s stretcher, wrapping a blanket tighter around my ears to cushion the sound of nurses’ laughter or the cursing screams from the head-banging, combative neighbor next door. Opting to celebrate the holiday early since I’d spend the actual day at work, I had planned to put the turkey in the oven at 2am. Thanksgiving, a time to reflect on the gifts we have been given. Rivers of tears over driving to the hospital with my child, but leaving without them. ![]() My eyes burn as I go about the task, gritty from lack of sleep after sitting in the psych hold of the local ER all night, but more so still on fire after so many torrents of tears spent. I baste the bird, liquid butter with bits of garlic poured out over the bulging breasts of our Thanksgiving turkey.
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