When Thanksgiving Expectations Fail

Thanksgiving will be here soon, and then everything will be all right.

That was my mantra during the autumn of 2004.

It began with Hurricane Charley, which sent us scurrying to a nearby elementary school for shelter. While we hunkered down in the cafeteria, Charley pulled a few shingles off our roof and caused other minor damage. But nothing was too serious, and once the electricity was restored, life returned to normal.

About three weeks later, Hurricane Frances followed. We took her arrival in stride with a quick adjustment of plans. Instead of me driving our high school graduate to college by myself, her dad and younger brother came along too. So did the dogs. By the time we got home, all seemed well except for a few more missing shingles and scattered debris.

Life soon returned to normal aside from the worry we endured when Hurricane Ivan headed up Florida’s west coast toward Pensacola.

Where our grad was a college freshman.

She survived, and so did we. Once again, other than the adjustment of having another child gone from the family nest, life returned to normal.

When another hurricane threatened, we packed both cars again, loaded up the dogs, and hightailed it to Tampa. The damage from Hurricane Jeanne, though not extensive, still made the house uninhabitable until repairs were completed.

And of course, hundreds of homes throughout Florida needed repairs after being pummeled by one hurricane after another in just a few short weeks.

At the time, we owned two houses—the one that had been our home for the past ten years, and another one we were building. But the new home wasn’t ready, so we moved into a motel, the only one I could find that allowed pets, on the other side of the county from where we belonged.

Thanksgiving will be here soon . . .

I longed for that day, praying and hoping we’d be in our new house by then. I imagined our Thanksgiving feast, the gathering of friends and family, and the peace of being settled once again.

Thanksgiving will be here soon . . .

The mantra whispered in my heart as my middle schooler and I left the motel before the sun was up to make the long drive to his school before the tardy bell rang.

The mantra sustained me when I drove the forty-five minutes from my office to our temporary home, and we managed supper and homework and walking the dogs.

But even as I inwardly repeated my hopeful mantra, my mom’s voice whispered simultaneously, Don’t wish your life away.

I wanted to heed her words, but I was physically and mentally exhausted. I wanted to feel sorry for myself, but I couldn’t because so many families were in situations much tougher than mine.

So I yearned for Thanksgiving, confident that by then, life would be normal again.

In the weeks after Hurricane Jeanne’s devastation, we found a contractor to repair our house and readied it for sale to friends. We signed the final papers on our new home and moved in the last week of October.

If this was a short story, I’d end with the memorable Thanksgiving holiday that was all I’d dreamed it would be. A happy ending to my tale.

Or perhaps I’d end with a twist—another hurricane comes into town just as the turkey comes out of the oven, and our family flees its new home. A sad and poignant ending to my tale.

In the years prior to that one, our family of five was usually joined by my best friend and her two sons plus other young adults on Thanksgiving. That was the kind of Thanksgiving I envisioned during my temporary exile from a house of my own.

But this Thanksgiving was nothing like my imaginings.

Our older daughter, a newlywed, had dinner with her in-laws. It was our first holiday without her.

Our younger daughter, the college freshman, attended a school that prohibited students from traveling over the holiday weekend. Yes, you read that right. Their annual alumni days coincided with Thanksgiving, and they wanted the student body present for all the events. It was our first holiday without her.

My best friend’s two sons spent the holiday with their father. It was her first holiday without them.

I suppose if I’d been more enterprising, I’d have invited other people to join us. But after what we’d been through the previous weeks—moving out of a damaged house without saying a proper goodbye, six weeks in a dank motel, keeping in touch with the contractor, concerned about the settlement from the insurance company, and settling into our new home—it was more than I could do.

Thanksgiving is here . . .

I tried not to cry when my daughters phoned, and my friend tried not to cry when she talked to her sons.

We filled our plates and took turns sharing what we were thankful for. After dinner, my son and his dad watched football games. My friend and I cleaned up the kitchen, then settled on the couch to talk about the kids who should have been with us but weren’t.

I wanted to wallow in self-pity, but I resisted.

It may have been the saddest Thanksgiving of my life, but that’s only true because of the many very happy Thanksgiving memories I have tucked away.

Besides, God blessed us in countless ways during those hurricane-laden weeks.

Thanksgiving came and Thanksgiving went.

And life returned to a different kind of normal, another kind of Thanksgiving.

Johnnie Alexander writes historical and contemporary romances. She is the author of the novels Where Treasure Hides and Where She Belongs. Johnnie treasures family memories, classic movies, road trips, and stacks of books. Her home is near Memphis with Rugby, a princely Papillon known for treeing raccoons, and a herd of alpaca. She blogs at johnnie-alexander.com.

Photograph by MJ Patter.