My days are different now—nothing like I ever imagined or planned. Life has a way of charting its own course, never asking for our permission or input.
With Thanksgiving fast approaching, I’m doing my best to help my foster children understand what the day is truly about. Pilgrims, the Mayflower, Native Americans, turkey, dressing, pumpkin pies, gratitude—these words buzz around like busy bees, but they never quite land, leaving the children uncertain of the meaning behind it all.
Family from California has joined us for the holiday, and just having them here fills my heart with warmth. As I unpack recipes and decorations, memories of past Thanksgivings stir within me, reminding me of how much has changed over the years.
The children in my care have endured hardships most of us couldn’t begin to imagine. Their resilience runs deep; they remain unshaken, rarely even contemplating giving up. But, teaching them gratitude isn’t as easy with the reality of where life has taken them.
My older foster child helped me decorate, carefully unwrapping the fragile ornaments and deciding where each one should go to brighten the holiday. When I reached for a handmade turkey, tears quietly slid down my cheeks, overwhelmed by the weight of memories—times that will never come again.
He leaned in, though I don’t believe he noticed my tears.
“Can I hold it?” he asked softly.
I handed the turkey to him, offering a smile as I met his wide, dark eyes.
Turning the decoration over in his hands, he smiled. “I love this one, Nonie.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
“You have a lot of memories in all these boxes,” he said, his voice full of wonder.
I shook my head as I pulled out the pilgrims who had graced my table for over 30 years. Some years, they were surrounded by flowers; other times, tiny pumpkins or a beautiful tablecloth. And the people who’ve sat around those tables have changed too.
“How do you get to have so many memories?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard. “Get to have?”
“Yes! All these things you’ve done or made. You’re so lucky.”
Taking a deep breath, I put my hand in his. Sometimes, it’s a child who says it best—nothing is ever the same, and no moment can be relived, no matter how much we wish we could.
The hardest part of good memories is keeping them from turning sad simply because they are no more.
“Can you tell me about these?” he asked, picking up a stack of handprints from my little ones, all turned into turkeys. As he held each one up, I laughed and shared stories about each child.
I’ve been blessed with countless moments in my life—those that brought me joy and those that made me stronger.
Gratitude, I’ve learned, is about holding all of life’s memories—whether good or bad—close to our hearts, because we get to experience them. Every season of life gives us the opportunity to cherish time, to treasure the people we’ve known and loved even if they are no longer a part of our lives.
“When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to say, ‘No one can give you gratitude, Nora. Only you can find it.’”
As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize that gratitude doesn’t come from what we have or the people around us. It comes from within.
I’m deeply grateful for the memories I’ve had the chance to create, the people I’ve been blessed to love, and the experiences that have made me smile, warmed my heart, pushed me to persevere, and helped me grow stronger and wiser.
Whether you are walking through the darkest of storms or caught up in bliss, comfort, or familiarity, center your heart on the moments you get to have and choose to make them all a part of who you are within. Gratitude is about embracing the circumstances of our lives and making them a part of the person we want to be.
