2022 – year of the non-holiday

It’s Thanksgiving. And I’m lonely. My son is dead. My daughter doesn’t want to communicate with her dad very much. My husband uses food as a stress reliever. My husband has stopped talking with his sister. All of our parents are dead. There aren’t any grandchildren. I didn’t want to cook a Thanksgiving dinner but my husband kept pushing for a meal. So essentially I’m cooking a big chicken. My heart’s not in it. After I stuffed the turkey and put it in the oven, I realized I forgot to add onion and celery to the stuffing. I wonder what other mistakes I’ll make with this meal. Yesterday, my husband kept wanting to get a pumpkin pie. I finally just made one. This is not the Thanksgiving I wanted. I feel like I’ll never have the Thanksgiving I wanted ever again. I just put the turkey in the oven and now my husband is wanting to make the potatoes. push push push It’s like living with a child. And it’s just the two of us for dinner. Over the last few years my husband has eliminated most of his friends and family. Any offers from people we’ve known to visit or go do something have dried up and are nonexistent. Internally, I’ve curled up in a ball. Externally, I avoid him as much as possible. This is not living. I’ll improve as the months go by. I hope.