Last weekend my family, including cousins, in-laws, offspring, plus ones, and other loose bits gathered for a large Thanksgiving celebration; the first of this kind for us in over twenty years. At this particular country cottage location we enjoy a certain deconstruction to our get-togethers. There is a loosely designated arrival time which can vary by as much as an hour and a half to either side. There is no seating arrangement. Food is put on the table and people take a plate when they want to eat. There are never enough chairs so it’s wise to stake out your spot and clearly mark it. Drinks are poured willy nilly. Don’t put yours down because it will be absconded by someone else who had put theirs down. Kids run through from entrance to exit intent on chase and exploration. Conversations are held in pockets and clusters both small and large. When the mood hits, people launch themselves outside for the requisite walk along well loved paths. 

We don’t affectionately call it a Hellfest for nothing. We wouldn’t change the nature of the beast even if we thought we could.

This past summer was bookended for my family with a wedding for my niece and a funeral for my nephew. In the midst of all this we were welcoming a biological son/brother/nephew/cousin into the fold.

But… how could we not notice who was missing? It was an odd jumbled up mix of feelings to bring under one roof. 

But… it was a lovely gathering. The weather was lousy and the atmosphere was great. To hold a Thanksgiving at this particular time in the family history turned out to be comforting. Poignant and bittersweet all at once.   

Families morph. Sometimes it hurts. If my family were the sort to takes turns going around the table, each person saying what they’re thankful for, (we’re so not that sort), I would have said I’m grateful for all my family — the old ones, the new ones, and sadly, all the missing ones.

Keep your joy.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger, unless it’s a holiday weekend. Or summertime. Facebook or email.