Today is Thanksgiving here in the United States. For the rest of you, I suppose it’s just Thursday. But whether it’s Thursday or Thanksgiving, this is as good a day as any for giving thanks.
I am thankful to my parents and my family for bringing me into this world and setting me on a path in life which has been more than satisfactory.
I am thankful for
I am thankful for Lisa Costello for joining me in the last days of my life, and sharing love in a time which can be profoundly unloveable.
I am thankful for all the people who love me, and all the people I love. Friends, family, lovers, colleagues, the tribe here in Portland, Ken and John, my postal clerks, the guys at the Lamp and the whole team at Brooklyn Pharmacy — all you people who keep an eye out for me and check up on me and help me in ways ranging from tiny to life changing.
I am thankful for the publishing career I’ve had. I did not achieve even a fraction of my overweening ambitions, but I think if I had done so I’d be a smaller person than I am. One should always aspire to more. In any event, I have achieved so very much more than any rational hope would ever have dared, and for that I am very grateful to my mentors, my fellow writers, my agent and editors and publishers, my readers, critics and fans.
I am thankful for the life I still have, despite the terrible disease which haunts my body every day. I fully expect this to be the last Thanksgiving I ever celebrate, but it is also the sixth Thanksgiving since my cancer first came upon me. I am grateful to all the doctors, nurses, NPs, MAs, technicians, researchers, clinic staffers, and medically-inclined friends who have conspired to keep me alive even this long.
I am thankful to be here, and I am thankful you are here too.