Thanksgiving was a big deal at our house when I was growing up.
So naturally, when I married and started hosting my own, I continued the tradition.
Time and energy were put into planning the menu, decorating, cleaning the house, pulling out the best china and tablecloths. The night before I would bake at least four desserts. I wanted to present the best food and experience for the guests.
One year, I realized that while we had celebrated Thanksgiving with all kinds of family and friends, I had not spent a Thanksgiving with my dad for twenty-some years, mainly because my mom divorced him the same year I got married.
Now, this lack of spending Thanksgivings together was not because we never saw one another. He was a beloved member of our family and one of our favorites. Most every summer, he would drive 12 hours to come visit us for a month or two. And most every vacation we talked him into joining us.
We had many memories of my dad and us doing, going, and celebrating. None, though, involved Thanksgiving.
So, one night during our weekly two-hours chats, I suggested we come visit him over the Thanksgiving holiday.
Please continue reading at Her View From Home where I am guest posting.