It's That Time of the Year

Thanksgiving has never been all that much fun to me. I've never been one to enjoy cooking a big meal, making a big mess, and then having to clean it all up. It's just not worth it to me.

But, oh, how Carla loved Thanksgiving! She was in her element on this special day. I could never convince her to just have turkey sandwiches and buy pies and snack on Chex mix so that we could enjoy the day without having a big, huge mess to clean up. No, she would have none of that! She insisted on the traditional spread of turkey, homemade stuffing, broccoli casserole, pecan pie, and the list goes on and on.

She LOVED having a house full of people--the more the merrier in her mind. She reveled in the chaos, I think. Again, not my cup of tea. So we always went to Carla's for Thanksgiving, and I was ALWAYS thankful that we had gone.

I miss Carla so much on Thanksgiving. But I am thankful for the years we spent together on Thanksgiving. And it's nice to think about her with such warm memories.

And then there's Dad's birthday on November 25th. Sometimes Dad's birthday would fall on Thanksgiving. He also loved Thanksgiving. Mom always cooked a big meal on Thanksgiving, too.

And then there's Carla's birthday on December 1st.

And then there's Christmas. Dad always LOVED Christmas. This was his favorite time of year. He spent so much time putting up lights and making yard ornaments like large wooden candy canes, which now decorate my own yard. Growing up, our house was always decked out for Christmas with cheezy decorations.

I have some of those cheezy decorations now, and they are treasures to me. I didn't realize how much they actually meant to me until today when Gene broke the red plastic bells that had hung in our window as far back as I can remember. I know he felt bad. I know it was an accident. And they are only things. But my heart sank when he showed me the shattered plastic pieces. I actually had to fight back the tears. Silly, I know . . . but still, it was hard to accept that they were broken.

As much as Dad loved Christmas, it is almost fitting that he died on Christmas day. But it forever altered my feelings about Christmas. I remember the Christmas songs playing in the hospital as my sisters and brother, and I were eating lunch in the cafeteria or sleeping in the lobby. I remember thinking that the music seemed out of place. Didn't the music picker realize that the greatest man in the world was dying? Why was he (or she) playing those Christmas songs at this sad time? It was several years before I could listen to Christmas music after he died.

Yesterday, Gene and I were at Target, and we were looking for stocking stuffers in the dollar section at the front of the store. There was a bin of Jiffy Pop at the bottom. A wave of emotion took me by surprise at the sight of it. I sucked in a breath and broke out crying right there in the front of the Target store! Gene didn't know what the heck was wrong. I couldn't even speak. I wanted to tell him that "Dad hated Jiffy Pop!" but the words wouldn't come.

As the years have passed, I've been able to come to terms with Dad's and Carla's deaths. I know I'll see them again in heaven one day.

In the meantime, I'll just hold their memories close--especially at this time of year. And I'll be thankful for the people I love who are still here, like my mom, my brothers and sister, and my kids and granddaughters, and son-in-law, and wonderful friends. And, my husband, who has put up with my tears and moods, and who just lets me cry as he holds me until the moment passes.


I am blessed.