I was 20 the first time I missed Thanksgiving with my family. I was nearing the end of a semester of study abroad in England during my junior year of college. I waited my turn to call home from the phone box at the school. (This was the late 1990s, no cell phones widely available.) I cried hearing the voices of my family all gathered for a meal and board games. I could envision every little thing I was missing by being across the ocean from them.
I told them of the meal the British kitchen staff had prepared for us, complete with pumpkin pie made from canned pumpkin purchased in London at an astronomical price. Pumpkin pie, it turns out, is not a British food. Our host families had joined us and bravely tried the pumpkin pie we were all so fond of. I wonder now if it was really the pumpkin pie we were fond of or just the taste of home. We dined in a hall of the 19th Century manor house that was our home and school that semester. Travel in Europe was at our fingertips. Our semester abroad was a dream come true.
And still we missed home.
Those of us who were American students had the advantage of all being together in our homesickness on that holiday. And while I remember the homesickness, I also remember the hospitality. American Thanksgiving is not something widely celebrated in other countries, yet the staff went out of their way to make us all feel like we weren’t missing out.
That is something I’ll never forget.
The next time Thanksgiving was missing something, my fiancé was in Iraq. He missed a lot of things during the year of his deployment but the holidays were the hardest. In our case, he missed them at the beginning of his deployment. I don’t know if that made the separation easier or harder. Either way, it was difficult.
Until these two experiences, I had not ever had to miss a holiday with my family, that I can remember. Sometimes I’d have to go in to work toward the end of Thanksgiving to help put out a newspaper for the next day, but I still got to have a meal with my family.
After Phil and I were married, missing holidays became a regular part of our holiday tradition. We haven’t been home for Thanksgiving in 12 years. For a few years, Phil had to work on Thanksgiving, sometimes during the day, other times at the end of the day in preparation for Black Friday shoppers. Over the years, we’ve had family come visit us for Thanksgiving. We’ve celebrated with friends who invited us to their house. And we’ve been on our own. One glorious year, we made our own family–a blend of blood relatives and close friends who gathered at our house for the day.
This year, it’s back to the four of us, and while this is not a new situation for us, I understand that it might be new for some of you. Some of you are missing an in-person get-together with family. Some of you are missing travel. Some of you are going ahead with your plans, pandemic be damned.
I know what it feels like to miss your family on holidays. I know what it feels like to be separated from the people you love. I know what it feels like to be lonely when others are gathering with family and friends. One year, we left a Christmas Eve church service depressed and nearly in tears because the pews were filled with families, and we were missing ours. It was a year we weren’t able to go home in time for Christmas but would be traveling the day after. Because we’d always missed this particular service due to travel, most people were surprised to even see us there. Our presence was acknowledged but we left that night feeling lonelier than when we had walked in.
Few people want to miss getting together with family. Few people want to feel lonely on a holiday. Few people want to break from tradition or be told they can’t do what they’ve always done. I get that. I think.
But can I offer you a challenge of sorts?
Lean into those feelings of loss and grief and loneliness. Let them increase your compassion for those who always or often spend the holidays apart from loved ones. For military families stationed overseas. For people imprisoned. For refugees who live in a country not their home. For healthcare workers and first responders who spend time on call during the holidays. For retail store employees who can’t afford to not work a holiday. For those whose loved ones have died and will never rejoin their holiday table. For those who are estranged from their families for whatever reasons.
Let this holiday season be an opportunity to increase your compassion for those whose life situation is not exactly like yours. Let it be a chance to learn what it’s like. Let it make you grateful for what you have, that in all likelihood, next year will be “back to normal.” Let it open your eyes to see what you’ve been missing–empathy, compassion, understanding.
I don’t believe COVID-19 was sent to us by the universe to teach us lessons, but I do believe we can learn from anything, if we choose to. So, whatever your holidays look like this year, may they give you a new way of seeing the world around you.
