Thursdays in November

The third Thursday in November 2000

Gripping the door arm, I nervously plead with him to slow down as he drives too fast with sudden stops and jerky maneuvers. He is yelling at me that he is missing a “real” Thanksgiving dinner with his family to go visit my mom and grandmother. I sheepishly remind him it was my family’s turn this year, and that my grandmother and mom would be alone without us today.

His sister’s large, affluent, suburban house would be filled with guests and a large table set with all the trimmings. There would be singing, music, lots of socializing and several courses served.

My mom and grandma lived together in a small studio apartment, my mother on a floor mattress as she was caring for her elderly mom. Neither was up to cooking the large formal Thanksgiving meals of their earlier years, and the tiny studio kitchen wasn’t an ideal canvas for the many layers of holiday cooking. I had optimistically said we’d bring turkey cold cuts and treats and make sandwiches, that the holiday was about caring for those you love and being thankful to be together. We would show them love and make it fun!

His loud voice felt like it was shaking the car that was already moving too fast. The more I asked him to calm down, the louder and more erratic he became. Finally, I asked him to pull over, telling him he was scaring me and I felt unsafe. My body fell forward and back again from his sudden, abrupt stop, the seatbelt cutting into my shoulder as it tried to protect me.

When I asked him to calm down and drive safely, he shouted, “Then you drive!” knowing I did not know how to drive. As the tears rolled down my face, I asked him to please calm down and try to act kindly in front of my mom and grandma.

I entered their building lobby with shaky hands and trembling legs. Wiping the tears that he did not even try to comfort, I forced a smile as my mom happily opened the door and gave me a hug.

Wednesday, November 21, 2018

My eyes filled with tears as I texted my uncle that we would not be able to come to his Thanksgiving dinner after all. My entire family would be traveling to his Delaware colonial home, staying in adjacent hotel rooms, and reuniting for the first time in several years. I knew it would likely be the last time we would all share a holiday together. Uncles, aunts, cousins, my sisters and mom, all my nieces and nephews. A traditional sit down, beautiful dinner in his welcoming home. I had been looking forward to it for several months.

After three long stressful years of trying to buy a house for my husband and I and our two kids, we had finally closed on one the week before. The house, in an area above our means, would take months to make habitable. The stress of it all had been giving me migraines for months. This particular week, I had had five migraine auras and numerous periods of severe head pain. As much as I wanted to be there, I knew my body was in danger of pushing it even further than I already had.

When he came into my bedroom, I told him I couldn’t go. He immediately began yelling at me that he’d been looking forward to it for months and he wanted to go. I cried and said of course I want to go, but I am really sick and I have to rest to get better. He said he would go without me. The shock hit me like something I’d never experienced.  

When I asked, “how could you leave me here alone so sick? I can’t drive or go out to get myself food?” He paused and then said he’d take our 8 year-old daughter with him and I could stay there with my 17 year-old son. More shock and disbelief. A pain so deep I thought I’d never recover from this moment.

“He can’t drive yet. And how could you separate our family like this? You want to go celebrate with my family, leaving me here sick? I am this sick because of how hard I worked to make the impossible happen – buying a house in an area way above our income level because you didn’t want to have to apply for a new job if we moved to an area we could actually afford. And now, you want to leave me behind because of how sick it made me to do this for you? For my family reunion?”

It was as if he’d heard nothing I said. He continued berating me. No mercy or empathy in his words, or the contemptuous way he looked at me. Our daughter cried that she wanted to go so badly. He told her he would take her but I wouldn’t let him.

I prepared our Thanksgiving meal through my migraine haze. My daughter helped me. I tried to smile and make it feel warm for my kids, while he brooded and treated me with coldness the entire holiday weekend. When I cried, he grew angrier. He showed me no warmth. No kindness.

I lay in our bed, which he had long since abandoned, and cried most of the weekend, whenever the kids weren’t looking.  I smiled and made jokes for them when I could.

Thursday, November  26, 2020

On the last day of teaching before the Thanksgiving break, he was told he had been exposed to someone with covid. He would need to isolate himself and test daily until the appropriate time period of potential incubation had passed. I set him up nicely with all the creature comforts in my home office.

I cleaned the house, shopped with the kids, and did all the cooking. I set a beautiful table, playing music in the background.

He came out for the meal and sat apart from us and then went back into his quarantine.

I felt surprised by the positive feelings running through me. Optimism, joy, gratitude, comfort in my home surroundings. I enjoyed my kids. Things felt lighter. I’d deliver all his food and needs to his door and then return to these feelings of happiness and peace.

I could see the light in my eyes in my group selfie photos.

It was markedly undeniable that my world felt better with him locked in a room.

Monday, November 18, 2024

My muscles tense with dread as I see his texts coming in on my phone. He starts off saying he is open to whatever I think is best, he could visit on Thursday or Friday to celebrate the holiday with us. “Whatever your preference. I’d like to see everyone if there are no objections and there is interest from your family…It might be nice for kids to have their dad on a holiday again. Your call.”

With trepidation, I shared new information with him. I told him my uncle is coming up from Delaware to see my mom, which may be a difficult visit because her dementia had rapidly advanced. I told him this may be her last visit to my home. That, coupled with our younger son’s not wanting to engage with him, I suggested Friday might wind up being better.

An immediate text appeared with a flash of anger. Not a word of empathy or kindness, or even acknowledgement that I had just shared my mom was fading away and dying.

The next day, I showed him kindness in my texts. I shared with him that our older son was enthusiastic about cooking with him on Friday, and sharing a meal with our nuclear family of four. Our younger son had agreed to eat the meal together, something we had not done in several months. I suggested it would be a more meaningful time together given where we had been these past few years.

Lengthy, angry replies ensued. All designed around him and from his experience at the center of all things. The Friday offering he could not see as the olive branch it was, an opportunity.

“Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday” he said, as he tried to argue his way into what seemed like a party, a social event to him. Even the news of my mom’s decline somehow became about him.

He expressed no interest in our Friday family of four meal. He even texted “I might be working on Friday. I’ll let you know if I’m free as I get closer.”

No acknowledgement or interest in our son wanting to cook with him or our other son being willing to even sit at the table all together.

Angry words. No appreciation or gratitude. No empathy.

Thursday, November 28, 2024

As I sat at my makeshift table for 10, I glanced across the conjoined tables. My Mom to my right enjoying her food, feeding herself. My older son across from me asking if he could finish all the mashed potatoes when everyone else was done with them. To my left, my younger son, happily saying, “This food is really good.” My sister, her husband, and son sharing the bench, smiling and looking happy. My uncle and his wife sharing conversation and happy to be here. I felt the love of everyone here in my dining room, their genuine kindness towards me. My sister said, “Thank you for bringing us all together.” I felt such a deep gratitude, and happiness to be surrounded by people showing love and kindness towards each other, and towards me.

Little snippets of the day recorded in my memory, I hope forever:

My 73 year-old uncle kneeling down on my living room floor carefully assisting my mom in slipping into her slip-on sneakers. He gently adjusted the heel backing on each shoe and helped her slide them on as she pushed her foot forward in each shoe. As the final one fit, my 79 year-old mom’s face lit up in a warm smile and she clapped. Cinderella. One of her favorite movies to watch over and over before she lost the ability to watch a movie.

My brother-in-law helping me heating and serving all the food, encouraging me to sit and relax and chat, cleaning the kitchen at the end of the evening. Moved by such kindness towards me.

My nephew helping to lift my mom up the front steps in her makeshift wheelchair from her walker.

My sister, bringing my mom all the way here to my home, caring for her throughout the day, making this Thanksgiving one of my most special.

My mom sitting in my living room watching the white lights on the tree I rushed over late last night for her, wrapped in a soft sky blue blanket by the fire. Sitting next to her, painfully aware this may likely be her last time in my home.

Such sadness watching her getting lost within her own mind over time, the uncertainty of the near future. But today, happiness and warmth.

Each person at my table today here with and for me in kindness. So much gratitude within this happy moment, a quiet joyful Thanksgiving.