Grief and Gratitude

As I write this, I’m sitting in a poorly maintained Air BnB in Spokane, Washington, getting ready to cook Thanksgiving dinner with Emma and her boyfriend Karson. This is our first holiday without Samia - it’s the first holiday ever for Emma and Lara without their mother. We’re all sad today, but for me at least, there’s also some gratitude. There are reasons I’m thankful alongside my grief.

First, why Spokane? Emma is still in college - nearly halfway through her junior year at University of Idaho. This fall, she brought her dog Sage back to Moscow with her (which has been great for both of them). But having a dog also means flying home for a few days is out of the question. So I came up here. Sami and I drove to Moscow last Thanksgiving - and so Emma and I decided it would be difficult to celebrate in her apartment without Sami with us. Spokane seemed like a doable alternative.

For me, Thanksgiving always helps me think about the people that produced the food we serve (today and all year long). I’m grateful to count myself in that group - tonight, we’ll enjoy rack of lamb from our own flock, along with winter squash from my garden. All day, we’ve snacked on mandarins from our friends Bob and Shandy Bonk (Snow’s Citrus Court) and pickled wax peppers (also from my garden). Tomorrow morning, we’ll have venison sausage from last year’s buck with our eggs (store-bought - I wasn’t brave enough to bring eggs on the airplane).

After the year we’ve experienced, I’m incredibly grateful to my friends and family, too. When I get home, the woodshed will be full, the animals will have been cared for, and I’ll pull a homemade, ready-to-eat meal out of the freezer. Yes, the house will be 50°F (or colder) inside, but a few hours with a good fire in the wood stove will make the house comfortable. I’ll be happy to scratch Mae behind the ears after we check on the sheep.

I’m also blessed to have a job that provides solid health insurance and the flexibility that allowed me to be with Sami throughout her illness. I can’t imagine what this would have been like if it had resulted both in Sami’s death and in our bankruptcy. I can’t imagine having to chose between keeping my job and caring for my wife. I’m grateful to my supervisor for her understanding, and to my colleagues for picking up the slack - and for picking me up when I was especially down.

This last week, I heard from a friend whose spouse died from the same insidious condition. He was unable to get out of bed for 8 months. Sami’s last two months were incredibly difficult, but in some ways, I’m grateful that her suffering wasn’t more prolonged. Ultimately, nobody survives a glioblastoma diagnosis; the progression of the disease can be even more cruel than Sami experienced.

Finally, I’m grateful that I got to spend 35 years (33 of them married) with Sami. Our’s was not a perfect marriage (I’m convinced that perfect marriages are a myth); our 35 years together is more an example of persistence and forgiveness than perfection. I’m grateful that we had a chance to raise two exceptional girls who have grown into strong and exceptional women. I’m grateful to see Sami when I watch Lara and Emma.

Grief and sadness are part of my daily experience - and probably will be for the rest of my life. I regret that Sami isn’t here with us today. I regret that the girls won’t get to see their mother grow old. I’ll be sad when I return to an empty and lonely house on Saturday. But I’m beginning to realize that I often feel more than one emotion at a time - I can be (and often am) sad and thankful. I can be lonely and enjoy being alone. I can show gratitude even while I’m grieving. Happy Thanksgiving 2023, everyone.