So it is really here. Thanksgiving. Already? Wow!
This will be our first holiday season without an ill parent, or a rampant disease, or anything like that, in years...barring anything unforseen. I’m thankful for that.
I suppose it is a bit odd for a person to say they are thankful that their parents are no longer with the living, but truth be known, I am.
My mother died unexpectedly in late September of 2019 so the holidays that year were a bit melancholy. My dad was miserable and in mourning constantly. Nothing we did cheered him up much, so we just pushed through hoping that time would heal.
Before we had a chance to see if that would happen, a thing called COVID-19 engulfed the world and the solitude brought on by the pandemic only drew Dad further into depression. No church, no friends, nothing much but him and his dog. He was not familiar with being alone. He did not handle it well. Again he was miserable.
By the holidays of 2020 things were better in the world, but dad wasn’t improving much. We pushed forward, again hoping that time would cure all.
And again it did not.
Before long he was tuning 90 years old and beginning to suffer from signs of dementia which eventually took full control.
Last year, 2024, he was living in assisted living and was in and out of the hospital numerous times. Too many times. At one point I think he was spending more time here in Forest at Lackey than he was the facility he lived at in my hometown of Newton.
When he was in a good state of mind he was miserable. We think he knew something was wrong with him, but had no idea what it was or why he couldn’t go home. When he was in a bad state of mind, which came more frequently as days went by, he could be bitterly angry and at times very agitated.
He was the most miserable I had ever seen him, and that was extremely hard to watch.
By last Thanksgiving he was seldom in a good mood, or a good state of mind, and no longer liked turkey and dressing, or sweet potatoes and English peas, but could woof down a piece of pecan pie or a slice of pound cake in a flash.
That soon changed too.
I think it became clear to me that the father I had known for almost 64 years was no longer inside the man that looked like him when he decided he didn’t care for eggnog. It had always been his absolute favorite holiday libation, and one that he basically kept his mom, my grandmother, alive on for the 13 years she spent in a nursing home, before dying a month before her 90th birthday.
We toned down the holidays even more than we had in the years since Mom had died sort of in an attempt not to confuse him any more. Fewer decorations, fewer holiday dinners, not as many Christmas parties, and all the things we had done with friends, and with Mom and Dad, who came to all of our parties over the years, and at whose house we spent every Christmas Eve. My childhood home.
On Sunday, December 22, Dad’s caretaker called and said he was sick again. They transported him to Lackey one last time and I met the ambulance there early that morning. The news was not good. My two brothers were both out of town. One out of state, the other out of the country. My wife, Danny, and daughter, Rachel-Johanna, joined me at the hospital and we sat with my father all afternoon until he finally died at 7:00 o’clock in the evening.
After five long, lonely years, Dad was finally happy again. He was at home in heaven with my Mom. He was strong and healthy and so was she. His mind was clear. His back was not bent. His legs carried him like a teenager.
Same went for my mother.
They were the teenagers that had been together since childhood, had fallen in love, and had been married for nearly 65 years when she died. He was no longer miserable, and for that I give thanks this Thanksgiving.
Certainly I miss him. Certainly I miss both of them. I would give anything to have them sit down at our dinner table Thursday and share the feast and a glass of wine. But I would be selfish. If I could have them back, I would want them back as the young, healthy, couple that reared my brothers and me.
I would want the couple that celebrated Danny and me at our wedding at Sebastopol Methodist Church, and then toasted us at a reception in their yard later that day in Newton. I would want the couple that beamed over Rachel-Johanna at her birth and took her home with them every chance they got.
I would want the man and woman that would throw our baby in the car when her eyes brightened at the sound of the whistle, and race down the hill to the railroad track so she could watch the train roar by. “The train, the train, the train,” they all three would cry out in unison.
Unfortunately, I can’t have that, so, yes, I am thankful that this holiday season they are celebrating together. I’m thankful for the time I had with them, but I’m more thankful that they are happy and healed.
I hope you understand.
Happy Thanksgiving.
