‘Bless your heart’: A Jody Thanksgiving story

When I delivered Jody’s eulogy at her funeral, I shared a number of stories to try to capture who she was. The first story I told was about her kindness. We hardly ever argued, and she rarely spoke ill of anyone. Even when she encountered someone who wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, she’d always mutter that sweet-yet-sharp Southern phrase, “Bless your heart.”

The next story I shared was about Jody’s unique challenges in the kitchen. After we got married, I quickly realized that if I wanted a decent meal, I was going to have to learn to cook. So, I took over the cooking for most of our marriage. Jody had a few go-to dishes—like meatloaf and tacos—that she did exceptionally well, but cooking just wasn’t her thing.

One of the clearest examples of this was our first Thanksgiving together. I had prepared the turkey and put it in the roasting pan, asking her, as the oven warmed up, if she could place the turkey in once it was ready. This gave me a chance to step out for a walk in the woods on a beautiful November day.

She said, “I can do that,” and I thought, perfect. I told her to just add “a little bit” of water to the pan. She nodded, and I left, confident everything would be fine.

When I returned home and looked in the oven, I was horrified to see the turkey happily floating in the pan, bobbing along like a ship on the high seas. My instructions had clearly been misinterpreted.

After that, it took me 30 years before I would ask her to do anything related to the turkey again.

In fact, it wasn’t until our last Thanksgiving together—just last year—that I had no choice but to let her handle the bird again. My son and I were running a road race, and in order to get the turkey done on time, she needed to put it in the oven before I got back.

I told her to skip the water this time, but to make sure she took out the giblets. Feeling confident, she said quickly, “No problem.”

While I was at the race, she sent me a picture of herself, completely gloved up, preparing to tackle the turkey. She gave me a little warning: “Don’t text me, I’m going into Turkey mode” With a grossed-out looking emoji.

When I got home, she told me, “I looked everywhere inside that bird and couldn’t find any giblets. I found the neck and took that out, but no giblets.” I knew that couldn’t be right, so I dug into the bird myself after pulling it out of the oven. Sure enough, there they were—the giblets. She couldn’t believe it. For a second, she even thought that I had secretly planted the giblets in the turkey just to mess with her.

While I had the turkey out of the oven, I noticed that something else looked off. It was the strangest-looking turkey I’d ever seen. Then it hit me: the turkey was upside down.

Now, I know there are people who swear by cooking the turkey upside down to keep the breast meat juicy, but it sure makes for a bizarre-looking bird. We flipped it over, and the marks on it made it look like it had been lounging in a lawn chair with plastic straps for too long.

At that point, all we could do was laugh, and there was only one thing left for me to say:

“Bless your heart.”

Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart. It will never be the same without you.

Love you all