Tuesday before our Friday departure, my mother left a message to call her, she had some information that would change the holiday plans.

Turns out, she had a blood clot in her leg, that she’d known about when I’d seen her in person at a child’s athletic event some weeks prior. General consensus at the time had been that blood thinners would do the trick, and I feel we’re getting into a very up-in-your-business look at my mother’s medical stuff, so let’s cut to the chase:

Upon ultrasound just prior to her phone call, they’d discovered it was the biggest damn clot the doctor, or the two additional doctors who came in to consult, had ever seen. She was immediately banned from travel until it resolved.

I mean, as far as excuses for bailing go, hers seemed legit.

So we left without her. On her insistence. I was really bummed. Mom was choked-up-a-little-talking-about-it level bummed. I called my sisters, both of whom had made extensive plans to go on a trip with each other and could/would not cancel. As I, too, was not going to bail on all my non-refundable plans, I could hardly blame them.

So despite nine freaking months of planning, my mom spent her first Thanksgiving without my dad alone, at home, on doctor’s orders to wear long pants and not so much as go out to garden because if she scratched or bruised that leg, she might find herself in very serious trouble indeed. I imagine she just turned off all the lights and sat in the dark? But perhaps that’s because I’m a glutton for guilt, self-torture, and dramatic flair. Even so, my family and I trah-lah-lahed the fuck outa dodge that Friday without her.

Am I a monster? I do not know. Here’s Mexico’s Riviera Maya:

Some cool ass animals just wandering around, not bothering anybody:

OK, more next time. Happy holidays!