I’m sitting on this Thanksgiving
A day I should be grateful.
Happy.
A day I should feel blessed.
Optimistic.
But I’m not.

All I can think of,
All I can feel
is the sharp, powerful fear
The fear that makes my hands shake
And my Thanksgiving meal creep up my throat.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t be thankful

Because I am already so thankful that I’m having this Thanksgiving with you.
And why? Why am I so thankful?
I am afraid. I am so god damned terrified
That this is our last Thanksgiving.
What if next year I have to look back and think about
how ungrateful I was
That you were alive. That you were with me.

If I give in and say “thank you”
Then doesn’t that mean I accept that you could die?
That it’s a possibility that all I have left is a single year?
I don’t.
I can’t.
Because if I do
I will no longer believe in God.
I will no longer believe in “thank you”.