By Sasha Rampersaud

Brilliant shades of orange, green and brown burst from a centerpiece skillfully arranged by my father, the florist. The display of roses, oregonia and bronze button mums rests on top of a polished mahogany table that seats six but is laden with enough fine china and silver cutlery to feed 16 relatives who will be joining us for dinner. Beside the plates are 16 napkins, crafted by my mother, to resemble swans or, perhaps in this case, turkeys.

A variety of dishes crowd the table. Everything from the rice to the curry is doused in pepper and zesty spices. Macaroni, roast duck, fried rice, jerk chicken, seasoned shrimp, mashed potatoes and pecan pie are just a few of the dishes.

The day is, of course, Thanksgiving…one year ago.

Since then, my older sister, Shannon, was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease, an inflammatory condition that affects the gastrointestinal tract. Crohn’s, a chronic ailment, makes it incredibly painful for her to digest food, especially the spicy Asian dishes we grew up with.

During the early days of her discomfort, before she was properly diagnosed, my family attributed my sister’s stomach ache to simple gas pains. We thought her weight loss was due to the stress of moving from New York to Ontario just one month after her wedding. And we imagined that her constant weariness was the result of standing for hours at her job as a Staples’ copy and print associate.

But soon, her cramps turned into crippling spasms. She’d describe them as storms that brewed in her ribcage and rattled her bones, often leaving her breathless and immobilized for moments at a time. Her weight plummeted from a healthy 120 pounds to 84 pounds in a matter of months. She began experiencing tremors in her hands. She became anemic. Her fatigue and exhaustion steadily grew.

As we learned more about my sister’s illness, we made changes to accommodate her new lifestyle, including the preparation of special meals during her frequent trips to New York. While there is no firm evidence that specific foods aggravate the condition of Crohn’s sufferers, there is a strong correlation between diet and aggravated symptoms. As a result, my sister — who always craved fresh salads, fried foods and Guyanese pepper sauce — is now forced to consume mostly gluten-free, low-fat and low-fiber dishes.

That’s how my family’s Thanksgiving tradition was suddenly transformed. With our house usually crowded with our extended family and friends, we figured it would be harder for my sister, who doesn’t like to call attention to herself, to slip unnoticed into the bedroom if she was in discomfort or tired. So we opted for a smaller, quieter celebration that called for only six place settings.

The spicy blends of West Indian cuisine were traded for yellow rice, pasta and a simple baked chicken. The pecan pie that would send my sister into painful despair was swapped for my mother’s home-baked sponge cake. And although we still served salad, we kept a watchful eye on my sister, lest she sneak a bite when she thinks no one is looking.

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I worried about how a holiday centered on food and family would affect my sister.

I’ve come to realize, however, that the meaning of Thanksgiving changed this year for all of us. It is no longer primarily about the food or entertaining dozens of people with beautiful displays of flowers and complex dishes. Rather, it is about gratitude.

For me, and I’m sure I speak on behalf of my parents and older brother, I learned to be grateful for another year of health. After watching my sister struggle with her illness, I felt especially grateful for the chance to enjoy the holiday with the people who matter most to me.

As for my sister, she expressed gratitude for getting the chance to rest and for the accommodations our family made on her behalf.

Changing traditions, we all learned, is not necessarily a bad thing. For our family, it is a reflection of our values, and what we cherish most in each other.