Giving Thanks ... and shedding a few tears, too.

Today has been one of those wonderfully bittersweet days. My mom and my grandpa arrived for their visit around 2:30 this afternoon, and like so many other looks I've received in my life, I will never forget the way my grandpa's face lit up when we made eye contact as I came bounding down the stairs at baggage claim. Even in a crowded space full of strangers cramming around a conveyor belt anxious for their luggage, it took me less than 10 seconds to spot him. And he saw me at the very same instant. And that's how we've always been. He knows exactly how I'm feeling with a quick glance my way, knows all of my favorite things, when I need a hug and when to crack a joke. Mike's getting close, and in his defense, he's only lived with me a few years. My grandpa was there during all those growing up years, always watching, always sharing, always listening, always guiding. And while there are days I desperately wish I still called Ohio home, I know that seeing each other after so many months apart is what makes both of our faces light up.

We treated gramps and mom to dinner at Texas Roadhouse tonight. When I was in high school, gramps and I would almost always eat at Texas Roadhouse during our trip to Lima to shop at the mall (the closest one to home) and Sam's Club (how we loved those samplers). Grandpa loves the steaks, I'm a fan of baked sweet potatoes and cinnamon butter. We debated giving Perry's Steakhouse of Saltgrass Steakhouse a try (both *famous* Houston restaurants), but in the middle of our debate, Grandpa said "what about that Texas Roadhouse. It's a Grandpa-Jessie thing." I think I almost cried, because he said so much in so few words. And I'm pretty sure we could have ordered for each other. Fillet medallions, medium, no sauce, with a baked potato, extra butter and a house salad, Italian. Cup of coffee (and two packets of equal). That's his. Sometimes the medallions are replaced by a T-bone. And if you were to ask him to order for me, he'd without a doubt recite "Fillet medallions, medium-well, peppercorn with a sweet potato, not loaded but extra cinnamon butter, and a house salad, Italian. Sweet tea." A Grandpa-Jessie thing it is, no doubt.

We even shop Wal-Mart and the grocery store the same way. If we're in no hurry, we browse up and down the isles piecing together meals as we go. And of course sweets make their way into the cart. Peanut butter and chocolate combos of any kind for him, oreos and ice cream for me. And if we are in a hurry or it's getting late, it's pinpointed shopping. No browsing. That's how it was tonight. Soda (I really mean Pop) isle for Diet Mt. Dew, but Diet Dr. Pepper instead. The chip isle for some treats. The Italian/Pasta isle for skinny noodles for homemade chicken noodles. And the baking isle for more evaporated milk and blueberry pie filling. But this isn't normal. Our grocery shopping is/was almost always of the browsing variety. W. e used to joke that we'd make the perfect pair on Super Market Sweep. Is that show even on any more?

Our day concluded with a pie making adventure. This is something I used to do with my grandma and miss dearly. She didn't make just any pie, she made the best pie. I now have her dough recipe, and it rolled beneath my hands and smelled just the way I remember. There are many things that remind me of my grandma, but nothing quite like BLTs or the vinegar-y smell of fresh homemade pie dough. We made blueberry, my grandpa's favorite. And I do mean we. He stood and watched me roll, dropping flour on the counter and the roller when the dough started to stick. He helped me move the dough from the counter to the pie pan, never an easy task when thin crust is your goal. He dumped the blueberry filling in and inquired whether I'd lattice or just cover. And he helped me pinch the edges together just the way I've always known to do. And then, he reminded me of my grandma's perfect-pie secret. A powdered sugar glaze. And he added the sugar to the water while I stirred. And pointed areas I'd missed while I covered the crust. I had been feeling a bit worried about making these pies because I hadn't done it in years, I was afraid I'd forget something or get all emotional. But I think I've realized that I'm not the only one who misses my grandma and all the little things she did. And it's more than fitting that, together and with both of our memories, we bring her back to life. I'm sure she was looking down on us, thinking "I taught them well."

So on this Thanksgiving Eve, I'm thankful for so much. A cozy house, a great and always helpful husband, three wonderful dogs, a job that I enjoy, enough money and time to create a Thanksgiving feast for family and friends. I'm grateful for an improved, though not perfect, relationship with my mom. And I'm especially grateful for a good memory, lasting and happy memories of my grandma despite all the challenging times near the end, and for the best relationship I could ever imagine with my grandpa. Many people say they don't know what they'd do without someone in their life, but quite honestly, I don't know who I'd be without him in mine. He stepped in to be a father when he still had his own kids at home, when his own daughter, my mother, was still a kid herself. And though I'm sure it wasn't always easy, he never once made it seem like it wasn't worth it. In fact, just the opposite. They say you never truly know the meaning of unconditional love until you raise your own kids, but I don't believe that. I've known it, felt it and shared it my whole life. And that's something for which I will always be thankful. I love you, Gramps, and I'm so glad you're here.