flying solo (kind of)

My siblings (or at least the majority of them) are coming to visit for Thanksgiving this week. The last time I made a thanksgiving dinner for my family was two years ago. It was the first year after my mother had passed, and I was a certified mess. That day two years ago, I had a key ingredient that I won't have with me this year: my father.

I've been making the dinners since the year my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Knowing that her oldest daughter was a complete dunce in the kitchen, she turned to me to instill the secret knowledge and intricacies of her famous homemade dressing recipe. And so, since that year she was diagnosed, I picked up more and more of the responsibility surrounding the meal. The last year she was alive, there was only one thing that she did, and I regret that because I still to this day haven't figured out exactly how to make her cheesy asparagus. damn.

Each of those years, though, I always had help. Whether it be from my mom standing beside me, or my father guiding me with the experience that he had gained after years of being my mom's co-pilot in the thanksgiving day festivities. When we made the dinner the year after my mom died, my dad was there with me, guiding me, and helping me with the things that I may not have noticed before or that I didn't think were "important enough" to pick up.

now i'm realizing how important those little things are. like, for instance, exactly how big of a turkey do we need again? I never BOUGHT the turkey. I just fixed it! and, uh, how many potatoes do we need per person? I can peel 'em, cook 'em, and mash them up into a delicious concoction, but I'll be damned if I can't remember how many we use. I've been kind of trying not to think about these (rather important) details, for fear that I might have a panic attack and freak out over the last few weeks. but now, it's time to start thinking about them.

This morning i'm up at an abnormally early hour (probably because I fell asleep on the couch at about 8 last night) and I've spent the last 45 minutes making a grocery list (thanksgiving dinner is serious business, peeps). and as I'm looking through the recipes and the notes that my mom had written down--some for me, some for herself that I had saved--I am seeing little scribbles here and there that I hadn't noticed before. and for the first time in like, MY ENTIRE LIFE, I am so, so happy that my mom was a bit OCD. because written on the top of one of the stuffing sheets is a little note that I had never noticed before (probably because I didn't need it... the turkey had already been purchased by my dad)... STUFFS A 13# TURKEY AND CASSEROLE DISH.

score!

and further down... "peel potatoes (10 large)"

moms are awesome, FTW.

I'm sure there are still going to be a few things that I can't figure out on my own and from my mom's scribbly notes, but that's what I have the internet (and a boss who's like a second mom) for. and I have a new man (much cuter than my dad, I might add) by my side to help me through everything, and I know that the last year and a half of making him help me cook is going to pay off come Thursday. I'm just thankful to his mom that she's letting me have him all to myself for this holiday, because I sure do need him. :) Some day, he and I will be helping our daughters figure out how to clean the turkey and make the stuffing just right. And just now, writing that, it occurred to me for about the millionth time that my parents aren't gone; they live on through me, and through my siblings, and they'll live on through my children some day when I'm gone. And that's a comforting feeling, knowing that they're still here in some way.

This year, preparing for the holidays hasn't been nearly as difficult as I expected it to be. Part of that is because we are still dealing with a lot of estate issues and I know that's preoccupying a lot of our energy and emotions. But part of it is because I'm getting the help that I need to deal with everything, and I can't speak highly enough about my therapist, and about getting help in general, if you think you need it. "How does it feel to be the first person in your family who's getting better?" someone asked me a few weeks ago. and, well, it feels damn good.