Thanksgiving.

It’s more than a holiday in which we carve turkeys, watch football, and scour the newspaper to clip coupons for Black Friday bargains.

It’s a way of living. To be present, and mindful, and grateful for all we’ve been given. For the things we love. For the things even we were grateful to have once had.

This year, I counted so many blessings.

Like these:

The family I inherited when I said, “I do.”

And them:

For loving me in such a Christ-like manner. Unconditionally.

And for these:

For giving me roots and wings. For giving me room to grow, and a place to call home. For calling me, “Kiki.”

For family traditions:

Passed down from my grandmother’s mother, to my Nanny, to my Mama, then to me. And, oh, will I ever perpetuate the cycle. If nothing else, my children will be Christmas loving fiends. They will watch Home Alone, and memorize Rudolph, and sing Silent Night, and read Twas the Night Before Christmas. They will wrap gifts, and light candles at Christmas Eve service, and learn the secrets to Mama’s broccoli casserole. They will open new jammies to sleep in on Christmas eve, and leave homemade cookies for Santa. They will know the magic. They will know the love.

And this year, especially, I am thankful for the 23 years I had with this amazing woman. For the laughs we shared. For the time we spent making memories (and tomato gravy) in the kitchen. For the love she bestowed on our family.

What blessings did you count this Thanksgiving?