When Life Happens, Love Remains
Thanksgiving growing up was always a production. It wasn’t just a meal—it was an event, complete with a cast of characters and enough food to feed a small village. Our house was the epicenter of the holiday, bursting at the seams with friends, relatives, and the occasional neighbor who smelled garlic and wandered in. We’re Italian, so naturally, Thanksgiving was as much about stuffed shells and meatballs as it was about turkey and stuffing.
Off to one side of the room sat the old entertainment console, a monument to the 1970s: an 8-track player with Kenny Rogers queued up, a turntable spinning John Lennon, and the radio tuned to a country station for my Texan father. My dad, a man of few words but many quirks, always made sure the Cowboys game was on, and the living room was the unofficial post-meal recovery zone for men with unbuttoned pants and turkey comas.
Of course, Thanksgiving wasn’t all sunshine and garlic bread. Inevitably, someone would drink too much and say something wildly inappropriate. This would trigger a shouting match worthy of a reality TV show. But that was us. Nobody held grudges, nobody skipped next year’s Thanksgiving. It was just part of the rhythm of our family. Love, fights, and forgiveness—preferably all in the same day.
This year, Thanksgiving looks a little different. My wife and I usually host the holiday at our house, with about 25 friends and family members crammed into every corner. But life happens, and it has a way of reminding you just how little control you really have. Last week, my wife had to go out of town on a family emergency. While we won’t be hosting this year, I’ll be spending the holiday with a big group of friends, still surrounded by laughter and connection, just in a different setting.
My family is spread across the U.S. now, splintered in different directions, and my brother’s passing earlier this year leaves a noticeable absence at the table. He was a big man in every sense—his stature was matched only by the size of his heart. He was the one who could make you laugh until your sides hurt and would give you the shirt off his back without a second thought. His family will sit down to dinner with not just one hole in their hearts but two, as his wife passed away three years ago. The once-boisterous Thanksgivings of my childhood and the gatherings my wife and I worked to recreate in our own home remind me how precious these moments are. That’s life, isn’t it? It moves forward, whether you’re ready for it or not, and all you can do is hold tight to the ones you love.
That’s my message this Thanksgiving: hold on to the ones you love as tight as you can. Let go of the grudges. Say the words you need to say. You don’t know what you have until it’s taken away from you. Don’t let petty fights or misunderstandings rob you of time with the people who matter most.
Even though Thanksgiving won’t be at our house this year, I’m still grateful. Grateful for the memories of Thanksgivings past, for the people who continue to share my table in one way or another, and for the hope that one day we’ll all be together again. Life isn’t always what you expect, but it’s still a gift. And that’s reason enough to give thanks.
