There is an event that happened on Thanksgiving many years ago which brings about a story you may not know of me.  It isn’t something I generally bring up unless I find the perspective to be a relevant and important one, and I do for this Thanksgiving more than ever.

It happened when I was fifteen years old.  And for you to understand the significance in the end of this story, we have to first go back to how Thanksgiving in my home was taken place. Entertaining our guests was a big part of the holidays in our home. We would have business associates, friends, and family members at our house for libations, h’or d’oeuvres, and a dinner designed for royalty.

Getting the house prepared, the silverware polished, the napkins folded, and of course the food prepared would involve much time and planning. It was almost routine we did this so often for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. All the food was prepared, save for what needed to be made just before serving. Everything was ready in the refrigerator or freezer for proper warming up when the time came.

Now back to when I was fifteen and was enjoying the simple pleasures of a holiday break from school. Be forewarned this story is a very personal look into my life, but reveals a strong greatness rising out of a deep sadness. Balancing school with the events made for a strict schedule, and now I could finally relax and enjoy my silence and time a bit more and without a care. I loved this season. I remember going to bed that evening, having said goodnight to my Auntie, and worrying not of the morning to follow. Now was the time to rest, snuggle up in the coziness of my bed, and sleep until I wanted to wake up.

It would have been that simple if it hadn’t been for the soreness in my throat that woke me up in the odd hours of the morning. Frustrated with the idea of ruining the holiday with a sickness, for some reason or other it seemed like a good idea to get out of the house and get some fresh air.

Let me explain the thinking in that. It turns out that I was not catching a cold, but rather that my bedroom had been completely filled with smoke and my throat was sore from the heat. Something about sleeping in a bed with smoke filling in can make you delusional. That, I very much was. Delusional, but awake.

I remember getting out of the house, and as I took a step to get up I smelled something that I feared was a gas leak. I told myself not to touch anything metal, because if I caused a spark it could be disastrous. Seriously I was out of my head, but whatever logic I came up with did get me out of the house. I had been so accustomed to the smoke in my sleep, that in my awakened state I only “thought” there might be some small amount of smoke when I called the fire department.

The next thing I remember is the fire truck arriving and upon opening the doors, just tons of black smoke billowing out like a storm. I found myself coughing black ash for quite some time. Aparently the smoke naturally makes you fall asleep, and my waking up was beyond natural.

My mother and father were not in the house that evening, but my Aunt was and did not make it out. She had passed before I had awoken..and with her bedroom only steps away from mine I was very close behind. Only one of our pets, a very clever siamese cat, survived the event with me. We both sat outside covered in black watching it all unfold.

What would otherwise be considered a horrible event has another perspective within it, and another event that holds an even stronger memory with me from that very same day.

You see, our house was in a U-shape, with the bedrooms on one far end, office and entertaining areas in the middle, and dinning and kitchen at the other end. The fire had begun in the furthest bedroom and had never made it into the kitchen. In the kitchen where the previously prepared food still remained, untouched, and ready to be remembered.

This was my last meal prepared by us all, but enjoyed with only those closest to me instead of the crowd. I’ll never forget that moment, sitting on the floor of what was left of our home, with beautiful dishes and incredible food. Nothing has ever topped that meal for me, or the happiness combined with the tastes within that memory. This was the first time my mother and I had enjoyed the food we worked so hard on just on our own with no distractions- the focus was pure gratitude.

My aunt who had passed away was with us that moment as well through the food she had prepared, and I like to think of it as a happy and grateful time as she has given me so much. Everything happens for a reason and I am grateful for them all.

In the only room left undamaged in the house, where no one else would join us, it was the most magnificent meal in honor of thanks, in the simplest of settings and the closest of connections.

Life is amazing and there is always so much to be grateful for, even when we least expect to find it. It is there and it is strongest in those moments. I share this story with you because I hope the perspective and insight strengthens the things you are most grateful for- the times, the people, the memories, and your life. It is up to you to make it the greatest, and there are people there to create that path along with you.

I lost nearly all my physical possessions that day, but gained more than I was even aware I had. Amazing how you can lose so much and yet gain unbelievable amounts more all in one moment. My eyes opened in a new way that Thanksgiving, and my life has become stronger from it.