They don’t just arrive. They tumble in, almost as if the very spirit of Thanksgiving has nudged them along – cars pull up crooked on the driveway, doors opening like pages from a well-worn family album, and before a single casserole dish crosses the threshold the children are gone, a stampede of sneakers and squeals spilling into the backyard.
It’s there, in the uneven grass littered with the confetti of fallen leaves—red, orange, yellow, each crunching underfoot like applause—that the day takes its rhythm. Someone, always someone, produces a football, and suddenly the backyard is transformed into a stadium: cousins darting this way and that, teenagers calling plays with the swagger of pros, uncles arguing over imaginary rules, and mothers watching with that quiet smile that says they’ve seen this scene a hundred times, yet it never grows old. And the laughter—good heavens, the laughter—rises like a hymn, weaving through the branches, carrying with it the unmistakable reminder that Thanksgiving, in its deepest truth, isn’t carved with a knife or poured into a glass … but breathed out in the shared joy of family, together, all at once.
The dining room becomes a theatre of aromas and textures as the golden-bronzed turkey, carved with stately precision, shares the spotlight with a glazed ham whose sweetness lingers in the air like a hymn of old tradition: mashed potatoes, whipped into snowy peaks, glisten under melted butter while candied sweet potatoes, with their caramel sheen, dare the fork to linger; crusty dinner rolls crackle as they are pulled apart, steam rising like whispers of comfort; lettuce salad offers its crisp counterpoint, while the wobbly, jewel-bright jellied salad quivers with festive defiance; peas and corn, humble yet noble, serve their posts of familiarity. At the table’s finale, pumpkin pie heavy with spice and lemon pie sharp with citrus promise, complete the parade. Around the table, forks tap plates, glasses clink, and laughter bursts between pauses of grace—talks drift from the last year’s hockey playoff prospects to Uncle Jack’s questionable golf swing to the year’s first snowfall. And then, above it all, come the bright crescendos of children—faces smeared with whipped cream, voices spilling in irrepressible joy, little hands drumming the table as though Thanksgiving itself beats to the rhythm of their laughter.
You see…Thanksgiving, we are told, is about fullness — full plates, full hearts, full tables. Yet for families touched by illness, the chairs around that table carry a heavier weight. The MacLeod family of Calgary knows this.
Their six-year-old son, Evan, needed a liver transplant. The David Foster Foundation stepped in, not only covering vital expenses, but giving the family the strength to stay together at Evan’s bedside. Such a gesture only happens when signing an organ donor card – something we all can do.
This Thanksgiving, let us remember: illness may arrive uninvited, but love—steadfast and saving through registered signed donor cards—always saves a seat.
