Thanksgiving Redux

Two years ago, I wrote a blog post about Thanksgiving. It was well-received, and it's worth a re-visit now:

THANKSGIVING

Much has changed in the past two years. Mom is now in a nursing home. Last December, a fall at home made it clear that she could no longer live on her own. I was with her for the ambulance ride to the emergency room, as EMS workers lifted her out of the house that had been her home for more than 65 years. She knew, in her heart, that she would not be returning there. She never had an opportunity for closure, to say goodbye to the house in which I grew up. She does not want to visit that house now. The memory of what was, and which only lives on in memory, is too painful to reconcile.

My daughter Meghan and her boyfriend Austin live there now, as guests of my sister Denise (who bought the house from Mom when Dad died in 2012). It was time for Meghan to start building an independent life, and that's a good thing. But the house's current state is less than ideal, as a persistent leak in the ceiling near their bed has proven difficult to remedy. Attempts to patch the roof have been as effective as BBs shot at Superman. I haven't even been able to get an estimate on replacing the roof, because, y'know, winter in November. I'm trying to come up with at least some kind of temporary solution, and I'm beside myself with worry that the leak will grow larger and that Meghan and Austin will not be able to stay there. I feel helpless.

Last Friday, Meghan, my wife Brenda, and I attended a memorial service for my sister-in-law Patty. Patty married my brother Art in 1972; her family had lived kitty-corner across the street from our house in North Syracuse until the early '60s. When Art started dating Patty around 1970 or so, Mom asked him, Isn't she a little young for you? But together, Art and Patty were just right, and so much in love. Fuck cancer. She was only 67. Brenda thought of Patty as a sister, and she's devastated, as we all are. We all wanted to get to Columbus for the service, so we dodged threatening weather conditions for the drive to Ohio. My other brother Rob and his wife Barbara drove in from Albany as well, and we surprised Art and his family with our presence. We felt that we needed to be there for him, for my nephews and their wives and kids, and for Patty's siblings. They used to live across the street from the house where Mom no longer lives, the house where a ceiling drips ominously upon Meghan and Austin. Family needed to be there for family.

My sister Denise lives in England with her husband Tony. Tony's mom passed away earlier this year. Last week, Denise and Tony's own home was devastated by fire. No one was hurt. They will not be able to move back into their house for up to a year. They are too far away for us to hug and offer comfort.

Aunt Mary, who could not make the car trip to Albany in my previous Thanksgiving story, also passed away this year. She was the last of my father's siblings. That generation of Cafarelli is now gone.

Today, Brenda, Meghan, Austin, and I will go to Mom's nursing home for a Thanksgiving meal. The nursing home staff allows guests to join residents for holiday celebrations, requiring only notice and a $5 fee. Rob invited us to Albany, as he always does, but we need to stay closer to home this year. We presume that institutionally-prepared turkey will not match Barb's cooking (a pretty safe presumption), but Brenda is making some corn casserole, noodle kugel, and sweet potato pie to supplement the fare provided. More importantly, we will be there. We will try, not so much to preserve the elusive illusion of normalcy, but to be together in whatever circumstances fate allows. We all wish we could be together, all of us in Syracuse, Rob and Barb and their extended family in Albany, Art and his boys (and their girls, and progeny) in Ohio. Denise and Tony, their son Tim, their daughter Mallory and her newlywed husband Alvaro. Patty. Aunt Mary. Tony's Mom. Dad. My niece Stephanie, taken from us a decade ago. We wish things were different. We're grateful for the grace we've had.

I'm not as strong as I need to be. But I'm trying. I succeed some days. I keep trying. And I write all of this, not to bring anyone down, but to acknowledge our common frailty, our shared vulnerability, our mutual mortality. My tale is only unique in the sense that each person's tale is unique. I know others suffer, many far, far worse than I can even imagine. A high school friend wrote recently of how Thanksgiving has always been a time of struggle for her, a holiday she simply can not embrace or celebrate. I wish there were a way I could help to lift her heart. I wish I could lift a lot of hearts, my own included. But still, I give thanks. I give thanks for family, and friends, and love, and life. We will struggle. We will fall. And we will keep on trying. We will be as strong as our spirits allow us to be.

Happy Thanksgiving Day. Happy Black Friday. Happy Cyber Monday. Happy December 17th, January 23rd, February 11th, whatever. Happy any day you can. We can't be happy on all of the days. Here's hoping we can each find a few happy days here and there.