Thanksgiving for the Memories

“Pardon me, if I’m sentimental” – Elvis

I’m generally not a sentimental person in the real world, though I can be maudlin here, but there’s something about the time change and the change in the weather that draws my mind backward in the fall.

When I was a kid, after holiday meals, the men would move to the table in my Mema’s dining room and play a four-person domino game called 42. That game meant a lot to my dad. No doubt it had been a rite of passage for him when he first got to join the game. In my mind, I can see them all still at the little card table; my dad with his granddad, brother and uncle, with a couple of my dad’s cousins standing behind them waiting to join the next hand. I can hear the dominoes tapping the table, the laughter and joyful sound of the men’s voices.

A while back I had a dream that I was in Mema’s living room watching the men play 42 in the other room. Then the room was empty. Then the house was empty, and I was alone. I was sad that they’d never play 42 again, these men who are all now gone. Right before I woke, Mema’s voice told me that I should be happy that it happened, not sad that it won’t happen again.

If you’ve been to this site, you know that Thanksgiving is my high holy day. I’ve had it every way, from large family gatherings to completely alone. The last 23 years, I’ve had it with my own little family, mostly in our own home, though sometimes not. Once we even spent Thanksgiving at Disney World. This year we’ll be celebrating on a different day altogether to accommodate our growing family. If I’m being honest, that small change was, at first, upsetting. That’s more an issue of me becoming a stubborn old man than anything else. I am self-aware enough to have checked that and adjusted course. Now that we’re into November, I’m filled with thanks that we’ll all be together, regardless of the date on the calendar or day of the week.

Here’s what I’ve learned. Everything passes. You never know which Thanksgiving will be the last. Every Thanksgiving is the last in its own way, just as every one is new. For this year’s feast and for every feast I have the privilege of joining in the future, I will be thankful, regardless of the inevitable changes life will bring. And when I’m gone, I want those I love to be happy that it happened, not sad that it won’t happen again.

Move forward. Be thankful. Let’s eat.