While this tradition is not as delicious as the one that involves filling myself with turkey, stuffing, potatoes, and all the pies, I still take it very seriously.
Unfortunately, my Deep Thoughts this year have led me to realize that I wish I were more thankful.
Last Thanksgiving, The Sweet Irish Girl visited The House on the Hill for the first time and we fell in love.
We cooked a wonderful Thanksgiving feast together, and for the first time in years, I not only didn’t spend the holiday alone, but I also spent it with someone who loved me.
Right up until the end of the summer, the plan was that she would be at The House on the Hill for this Thanksgiving. This time, however, it would be as an official resident of my home and this country. If we hadn’t worked through all the red tape and gotten the approval of Immigration by Thanksgiving, she was going to take the time off from work and come for another visit.
Of course, her moving here would mean marriage, starting a family, and finally having everything I ever wanted in this world, but thought I could never have.
I was finally happy. The happiest I’ve been in a long time, if not forever. It was like the planets had finally aligned, and the Fates had begrudgingly decided that I was to be rewarded handsomely for all my years of pain and suffering.
I’ve never loved anyone more than I love The Sweet Irish Girl. I never wanted to get married again, and I had given up on having children, but miraculously, this incredible woman had appeared out of nowhere, and all I could think about was marrying her and raising three adorable children with her.
She changed me in ways that were apparent to anyone who knew me. I was head over heels in love, and believed that I could do anything.
I’d never been so ready to take on the world, and I finally wasn’t scared of the future.
I couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving because it meant we’d be together, and this time, if all went as planned, we’d never be saying our tearful goodbyes at the airport again.
The love of my life refuses to speak to me, and because she won’t, I can’t get closure, I can’t get answers, I can’t sleep, and I can’t move on with my life.
I’m broken, Modern Philosophers.
I am still madly in love with The Sweet Irish Girl. I try to forget about her, I try to meet new people, and I try to be strong.
But every time I see anything that’s the least bit romantic, I think of her. When a coworker gets married or has a baby shower, I daydream about how I want to marry her and raise a family together. Thanksgiving does nothing but make me think about her.
I try to talk to my friends and family about how I feel, but all I hear is the same thing. It goes something like: “You really dodged a bullet! If she could just walk away and won’t even talk to you when you were so close to spending your lives together, then it’s better to find out that she’s crazy now before you married her!”
They don’t get it, though.
I didn’t dodge a bullet. The bullet hit me square in the heart.
I’m still suffering from the aftermath of that shooting, and I doubt I’ll ever recover.
And she isn’t crazy. Why do people have to be so mean when they try to comfort me?
When I fell in love with a woman who literally has a broken heart (The Sweet Irish Girl has a pacemaker), the Hopeless Romantic in me saw it as a sign.
Now I just sit alone in The House on the Hill, a prisoner in the very home I was about to open up to the woman who finally made me believe in the magic of The Wedding March again. I am a modern day, male version of Miss Havisham, staring into the shadows and hoping to hear that adorable Irish accent calling to me from another room.
I miss her so much.
And I sit here crying, wondering how in the world she doesn’t miss me just as much.
I wasn’t supposed to be alone this Thanksgiving. I was supposed to be staring into the beautiful green eyes of the woman who loves me, and thinking about how thankful I am that I found her.
You have no idea how badly I wish I were more thankful right now…