On The Morning of The Eve of The Day of Giving Thanks

Wednesday, November 27, 2013
The Day Before The Day Of Giving Thanks




Stormy








Like the mashed potatoes and gravy that will surely be on the table,  it seems that everyone starts to get all mushy and drippy the days leading up to the last week in November.  It is clearly obvious that on the eve of and particularly the day of the last Thursday of the month, like an overstuffed turkey, heart swelling sentiments cannot be contained.

It is generally requested, no, actually I believe it is mandatory, that one must be ready to share with those they are gathered among, if not a list, at least one thoughtful idea.

It’s so curious to me how serious and mindful individuals suddenly become.  Early on in the day, probably whilst still in the midst of a flushy homemade wine glow and then later on bloated by an obvious tryptophan induced stupor, sloppy introspective feelings are often revealed.

I know this post seems itchy and scratchy.  Frankly, I don’t get it.  Oh, I am sure there was a time when I did, get it I mean.  But then, like two week old left-overs, these last weeks of November have turned sour and bitter tasting to me.

Since I am old, I have gained experienceponentially wisdom, (yeah I made it up).  I recognize that I sometimes might be lucky enough to get the longer end of the wish-bone.  But, wishes, like gratitude, can not change seemingly random but excruciatingly painful circumstances of life.   A life, which I undoubtedly and apparently, have no control over.

I miss my father, Romeo, who spent his last Thanksgiving trying to be hospitable to his sisters who brought him a full turkey dinner which he could not eat.  He died a few days later.

I miss my mother, Priscilla, who asked me the week before, if she would be here to share a meal with us.  She died two days before Thanksgiving.

I painfully, so painfully, miss my son Joe.  He tried to please us all by attempting to eat a few bites of his dinner to prove that he was trying hard to stay with us because he promised, “We still have time.”  He died on December 5, only a few days after that Thanksgiving.

One of the last times I spent with my brother Adam, he was “scared”.  “Bad things happen at Thanksgiving,” he said.   He died last Wednesday.

Today, on this morning of the eve of The Giving of Thanks day, it is dreary.
My senses are dulled by the warm blustery, gusty wind, the dullness of the gray skies, and the steady driving rain.

But that like the storm and the lady caught in the rain walking her dog (who sometimes won’t walk so she has to bring along his stroller),  there is movement.  And with movement comes change.









I, as a wizened old lady, know that I can’t change what was.  Today, on this day of the eve of Thanksgiving, I am sad.  I will cry and sob like a new born baby for my dad, my mom, my son and my brother.