I always love a good lead up to a holiday.

Oh, the anticipation.

The excitement.

That rush of activity.

I think back to that thrill when I was in school, especially elementary school, when a holiday was looming. The adrenaline I’d feel as that last day before break finally came to an end.

When I think back on my Thanksgiving Eve memories, I am in sixth grade.

My dad picks me up from school. Which happened all about 11 times in my entire school career.

He’s in a good mood. We go to the store. Last minute prep materials. My brothers and I stay up late, watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and playing Super Mario Bros 3.

I’m in bliss.

I think of 3rd grade when I royally f-d up my pine cone centerpiece. Somehow mine looked like it threw up glue. I still can’t look at pine cones on tables without going back to that moment.

Mrs. Gregory calling me out in front of the class. Dara coming to my rescue. What a good friend she was.

I think of my junior year in high school. My boyfriend joining us for dessert and I realize the inevitable: we exist in two different worlds. He will one day become a mere memory, no sentimental emotion evoked. As now happens.

I think of my brothers and their eating contests. How every year, I am always the first one up from the table, collapsing on the couch, in a tryptophan induced state.

I think of my waking up early every Thanksgiving morning to the sounds of loud bangs and many “god damns” and “oh fucks” and “shits” as my dad attempted to prepare and get the turkey in the oven.

I hear Maman telling us, “you will answer the phone by first saying ‘Happy Thanksgiving’.”

She was so adamant, no one dared defy her holiday etiquette request.

I think of football games. Staying up late. Table settings and place cards. Hanging with my brothers.

Most of all, I think of France.

I am 19 and it is late. Brother and I walk the streets of Tours. I’m cold, but I don’t notice it. The streets are dimly lit. No one is out.

In front of me stands the most astonishing cathedral I’ve ever set eyes upon.

I am speechless. Something inside of my heart opens and shifts simultaneously. I am overcome with emotion.

There is a recognizing, a knowing that takes place. And a deep yearning to keep this knowing, though it already feels to be slipping from me.

I wonder: how can I go back? When I’m not the same girl as when I left just a few days before? But I know, I will go back and life will continue on.

Maybe, just maybe bringing me back one day to that exact spot. On a Thanksgiving Eve.