THANKS[GIVING] FOR THE MEMORIES

I knew I wasn’t going to be able to make it home for Thanksgiving this year. I didn’t have the money for the flight. I had just flown back home in September for my birthday and realized exactly how much my family means to me. As I get older, I’ve outgrown the childlike theory that the people I know and love will be around forever, and that everything in my life will always be the same. What I’ve realized since I moved so far away from my home is that life is short, and I’m truly missing out on precious minutes of the lives of the people I love. Each time a holiday passes that I can’t attend, or I call my mom and she’s heading out the door to go to one of my cousin's birthday parties, I feel like I should be there, too. My grandpa went into the hospital earlier this year. I tried to remember the last time I had seen him, and wondered if I was ever going to see him again. I get so scared when I wonder just how I’ll get through losing someone close to me. It makes me want to spend as much time with the people I love and care about as possible. I recently found out that he’d been hospitalized again. How many more times am I going to see him if I only come back home for two or three holidays a year? I knew I had to go back for Thanksgiving. I had to make it work somehow, because nothing makes me feel better than going back home and seeing how many people really love me. Sure, there have been trying holiday memories; like when my grandpa and uncle almost got into a fist fight over my aunt’s stuffing, or the time my cousin threw up all over his plate of turkey. But even those times are great memories.