While Thanksgiving is almost here (yay, stuffing!), finding gratitude in these uncertain, uncharted times is not always easy. “May you live in interesting times” has never felt more double-edged, nor the hunger for peace of mind more acute – a hunger that not even the most delicious Thanksgiving feast can sate.

But.

In these days of turmoil and angst, finding bits of gratitude is like finding bits of light. And light is surely the only way through at this moment.

Sometimes, these pieces of light – whether people, places, or experiences – come into our lives when we least expect; if we’re really lucky, the radiance they leave behind lasts. Thankfully. To wit:

A little over ten years ago, I met a woman who worked as a volunteer in the used-books store of the local library. We connected very quickly over our shared love of reading, and I truly enjoyed chatting with her each time I dropped in. I published an essay in the LA Times shortly after we met and received an email from her that very Sunday, asking if I was, indeed, the author of that piece (unsure of my last name, she had looked me up on Facebook based on the byline; seen my photo; and put two and two together). She even went so far as to share my essay with numerous friends of hers. Her kindness touched my heart.

I saw her many times in the library over the ensuing years, and we talked about books, movies, husbands, cooking, jobs, shoes, letting our hair go grey, knitting (her), crocheting (me), dogs (both of us), and more books. She was delightful company and a warm and lovely person. She was a fan of this blog and, when my novel came out in 2020, she couldn’t wait to read it (and then very graciously shared a wonderful review with the world).

During the pandemic, I reached out and phoned her, to connect in the way so many of us felt the need to do in those dark days. We shared several calls and even more texts over that first year, and each connection let in a little bit of light – she asked me my favorite color to wear and then surprised me with a handknit scarf (that she mailed to me) over the holidays; I supplied her with a steady list of my favorite novels and novelists to fill her iPad. She also invited me to visit at some time in the future, once things were safer, to share some iced tea and conversation in her backyard.

Her invitation was genuine, and I meant the “yes” of my reply. But then life got in the way, as it has a habit of doing, and time passed. When I next texted, months later, she answered quite briefly, saying that all was well. And then – nothing.

A few weeks ago, I received an email from her address in response to my latest blog post. I opened it eagerly, excited to hear from her again. But it was from her husband instead, telling me, sadly, that she had passed away over the summer after an awful illness.

The loss I felt was profound, which surprised me at first, because we had not been close friends. Then I soon realized that she had been a true and constant ray of light over the years. Someone who was always so full of life, so interesting, and so welcoming. Her energy was incredibly positive and vibrant, her sense of humor a tad wicked, her niceness so sincere.

My gratitude at having spent time with her is real; the serendipity of our having met at a place where books are the centerpiece has a brilliant rightness to it; and the image of her wrapped in one of her wonderful scarves, searching for a title for me in the bookstore, is one that will always stay with me.

This Thanksgiving Day, I welcome the chance to feel grateful for all the pieces of light I have in my life – the love, the laughter, the brightness – and I wish you all the same.

May your table be filled with good friends, good food, and good stories to tell. May you raise a glass to life.

And to light.

©2023 Claudia Grossman