[5]

Dear Harmony,

   Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. I remember how your family and mine would get together every year without fail. Us kids would frolic outside in the falling leaves while the adults sat in the living room sharing stories over cups of hot coffee and cider. Your dad would always cut the turkey. You and I would smuggle one too many hot biscuits and eat until we were fit to bust. After all that feasting, we'd lie on our backs out on the back deck, staring up at the sky. If we were lucky to have good weather, that is. Most of the time we were blessed with beautifully crisp autumn air. The adults would start a bonfire and everyone would gather round, laughing and making s'mores, telling ghost tales and the like. You and I would remain on the deck, counting stars like blessings. Last thanksgiving I asked you what you were thankful for. You continued to stare at the sky, silent for awhile.

   You told me you were thankful The Time was coming soon. It didn't make sense to me, so I remained silent with a pensive frown on my face. You got up and went to the bonfire, leaving me behind. Normally, you'd have grabbed my hand and made me run. I didn’t follow. I watched you voluntarily walk away from me for the first time. It kind of hurt.

   Today, our families still got together for Thanksgiving. Your dad still cut the turkey. The kids still played in the leaves. It's not above me to admit that I joined them, heavy as I felt inside. Harmony, why must you take all the joy from these precious times? It's like last year, when you walked away from me rather than with me, you muddied the waters of happiness. I saw your parents' eyes—they were sad. But they still laughed and jested and made sure everyone stayed joyous. We all counted our blessings together. It wasn't the same without you around.

   I counted mine, Harmony. And I think something broke inside me.