I woke up this morning thinking about the day our goddaughter was born. November 24, 2003. We went to see them all in the hospital and I held this tiny swaddled little bundle with perfectly smooth skin and a button nose and rosy lips. She was born 3 days before Thanksgiving, and they went home the day before. Her mom hosted every year, which of course was not going to happen that year. So on Thanksgiving morning, Hubs and I got up early and made a Thanksgiving feast. We wrapped it all up in containers, drove it to their house, set it up buffet-style on their kitchen island, told them to enjoy, and left. After I gave a quick squeeze to that perfect swaddled bundle of course.

I always had a special bond with that little girl. I held her over my shoulder at her first Christmas so she could see all the twinkly lights on the Christmas tree. We went to all of her birthday parties, attended “special friends” day at her school every year, took her to movies and went ice skating and would stay at their house when her parents went away for “alone time”. We watched her grow into a kind, beautiful girl with a smile like sunshine. 

We have since lost touch with that family. For reasons unknown to us, her parents took our move from LA to St. Louis personally and distanced themselves from us, so I haven’t seen that little girl since she was 11. But I will always remember her very first Thanksgiving and will always be grateful for the time we got to spend together.

This is my story. Tell me yours.

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