It is not Thanksgiving until something is on fire.

As a family, I think we do a lot of things well. Great Fourth of July barbecues. Excellent Christmas desserts. We even are able to be fun and obnoxious on St Patrick's with our insistence on wearing orange. Thanksgiving, though, is not really our forte.

Thanksgiving pasts with my immediate family looks like a long list of bad Friend's episodes:
1) The One Where The Dog Knocked Over The Christmas Tree Because He Was Chasing A Mouse (2000) Really, though, that one is on us for having the tree up before Christmas. 

2) The One Where Maggie And Dad Both Had Bronchitis (2002)

3) The One Where We Broke The Fridge And The Pumpkin Pie Within Three Minutes Of Waking Up (2012) Some people still ate the pumpkin pie despite it being involved in the chaos and spending a fair amount of time on the kitchen floor. They will remain nameless for the sake of their dignity.

4) The One Where I Was Gross Preggo And Our Usual Two Hour Trip To The Aunt's Took Four Hours Because I Couldn't Even (2011)

5) The One Where I Ended Up In Urgent Care And Between Breathing Treatments Tried to Convince The Doctor I Was Totally Okay To Go To The UVA/VT Game That Weekend (2003) Fun fact: That was the last year UVA won the rivalry game. Wait... that is actually not fun at all. 

6) The One Where Molly and Momma Both Were Sick* And Maggie Had To Cook All By Herself With No Prior Experience (2000) *The level of some people's sickness and inability to help is still hotly debated in the Bowden household. 

This year alone, we had a grease fire, a fire in the oven that required every window in the house to be opened in 30 degree weather, and a microwave fire. All before actual Thanksgiving Day.

Nothing, though, can top our first Thanksgiving back from Germany. It was 1989. My parents were facing the first "real" Thanksgiving since the death of both of their moms and my mom's beloved grandparents. The two years following the deaths, they had followed custom and Dad had taken us all to eat with the troops in the Mess Hall. Now, though, we were home. And still sad. And Momma just wasn't up for it.

So, a new tradition was born. Dinner at the Officer's Club - surrounded by happy families, delicious food, and beautiful decorations. We would get dressed up, eat out, and all enjoy a movie. All of the family time without any of the kitchen toiling. Besides the inevitable argument of having a 4 year old agree on a movie with a 10 and 12 year old, it was fool-proof.

It started off perfectly. It was a beautiful fall day in Virginia. The food was amazing (even if it did set an unfortunate stage where I believed for a good ten years that people only ate fried chicken and froyo on Thanksgiving) and the siblings and I were keeping our quarreling to a minor hum. For a family that didn't want to concentrate on death and loss and empty seats at the table, it was perfect.

Then halfway into our meal, the grandmother at the table next to us dropped dead. Chair backwards, family aghast, hit us on her way down, dropped dead.

It was awful. Awful. And sad. And I can't even imagine being that poor woman or her family.

But it was Thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving we were going to not think about death or loss or tragedy. And she was right next to our table. 

It is dark and twisted, but it has become part of our family lore. It is the Thanksgiving that makes us cringe and laugh so uncomfortably when we discuss it. We weren't going to think about death and then...

It is the Thanksgiving that all others are now compared to and probably will be for all time. Oh, the house is on fire? Well at least nobody died at the table next to us.

So, there is always that.

From our family to yours, wishing you all a wonderful, happy Thanksgiving. While we miss those we have lost, we are thankful, thankful, thankful for all the love we have shared.

Thanksgiving 1989. Don't hate on Molly's sweater.