November 25, 1975: 50 years after the loss of my Dad

Send us Fan MailThe Tuesday before Thanksgiving can feel ordinary—until it isn’t. Fifty years ago, a dad kissed his child goodbye and didn’t come home, and that single day rewrote every holiday that followed. We open the door to that memory and walk through its rooms: the neighbor who showed up at swim practice, the crowded living room where silence said more than words, the TV playing Happy Days, the rain that made it seem like the sky understood. This is a story of grief stitched into a season built for gratitude—and a real, workable way to hold both.We talk about how anniversaries tether themselves to the senses, why funeral planning beside a turkey feels so surreal, and how military honors can slip through cracks on a holiday weekend. From there, the lens widens: raising five kids, grandkids underfoot, three children on the spectrum, and careers in mental health and education that turned pain into purpose. The throughline is a simple practice—“even here.” Even here, with an empty chair or a thinner wallet. Even here, when the weather matches your heart. Even here, when the calendar drags you back to a day you never wanted to relive.What emerges isn’t a neat bow but a true map: gratitude as a method, not a mood. We share small rituals for remembrance, the choice to let the good in without pushing pain out, and the stubborn hope that shows up when you name both. If your holiday table looks different this year—or if the number on the calendar echoes louder than you’d like—you’ll find language, company, and practical comfort in these pages of memory.If this conversation resonates, follow the show, share it with someone who needs it, and leave a review to help others find us. Tell us: what small good are you letting in this week?Support the show