I miss Dad. He was here every Thanksgiving of my life. Even if it was one of the alternate years when H., Fig, Sug and I were in Maine with H.s' family for the holiday, I talked to Dad.
For years and years, he proudly got his bonus turkey at ShopRite in New Milford [if you spend a certain amount of money, you qualify for one], called me and Sis at work or home to report on its size, started defrosting it days before.
Hey, Al, he'd say. I've got the turkey in the garage now. I think he didn't want to crowd his sink with it, or maybe it wouldn't fit. Then there were the years when he started cooking it days ahead because his old white Slattery oven wouldn't top 250 degrees. It is amazing that we all lived--but no one got sick. I shudder to think that his spinach stuffing may have been in it, too. Now we laugh.
And, he always tried to get our oldest brother back into our fold. I got the free turkey and we're coming for Christmas, he'd say to our reclusive J. in his Mulberry Street loft, after J. had already stepped away from Thanksgiving and other chances to see us. That was when J. still took our calls. We're trying now, too. Sis, Will and I want him to come to our holiday dinner in NYC.
But what if there is no heaven? What if that's just a lie our religion teaches us to soften the blow? That means Dad is gone forever. That he doesn't live anywhere. That is hard to bear.
He lives on in you, and Figgy, and your sister, and all of the rest of us who knew him, H. said as I sat sobbing on the steps leading to the back door. You wouldn't be crying if he wasn't there.
Okay. Happy Thanksgiving.
For years and years, he proudly got his bonus turkey at ShopRite in New Milford [if you spend a certain amount of money, you qualify for one], called me and Sis at work or home to report on its size, started defrosting it days before.
Hey, Al, he'd say. I've got the turkey in the garage now. I think he didn't want to crowd his sink with it, or maybe it wouldn't fit. Then there were the years when he started cooking it days ahead because his old white Slattery oven wouldn't top 250 degrees. It is amazing that we all lived--but no one got sick. I shudder to think that his spinach stuffing may have been in it, too. Now we laugh.
And, he always tried to get our oldest brother back into our fold. I got the free turkey and we're coming for Christmas, he'd say to our reclusive J. in his Mulberry Street loft, after J. had already stepped away from Thanksgiving and other chances to see us. That was when J. still took our calls. We're trying now, too. Sis, Will and I want him to come to our holiday dinner in NYC.
But what if there is no heaven? What if that's just a lie our religion teaches us to soften the blow? That means Dad is gone forever. That he doesn't live anywhere. That is hard to bear.
He lives on in you, and Figgy, and your sister, and all of the rest of us who knew him, H. said as I sat sobbing on the steps leading to the back door. You wouldn't be crying if he wasn't there.
Okay. Happy Thanksgiving.
Posts
Hi, Al. Hope you had a good Thanksgiving anyway. I KNOW the first holidays are very difficult. Thought of you all amidst the activity here yesterday. My plans for today are to do next to nothing.
ReplyDeleteThat is so nice that you all have a holiday dinner in the city. I really hope JJ decides to join you. Did Uncle John also go to the dinner? That is so funny about his turkey defrosting progress reports.
Have a good day. Love, Linda