The First Thanksgiving
Historians will tell you that the first Thanksgiving was celebrated in 1621. Of course for me and my new world, today is my first Thanksgiving in more ways than I care to talk about. People told me that the holidays would be especially hard when trying to recover from the loss of a loved one. This holiday I am actually recovering from the loss of two loved ones. This is the first Thanksgiving in my life that my mother has not been a part of. And of course, we all know about Coleen and I spending the last 33 Thanksgivings together.My Thanksgiving memories of my mother are almost all from my childhood days. She made a very big deal of Thanksgiving. We were kind of a vagabond family and never lived near any relatives. My dad had a job where he seemed to get transferred a lot and we lived in several different places in New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio. My grandparents, aunt, uncles and cousins all lived in southern Ohio and just far enough away that many of our holidays were spent without any extended family. Since meeting Coleen, I have become part of a rather large family and I appreciate the warmth of that, especially during holidays. As a child, I didn’t have that experience. I think that’s why my mom made a big deal of things, she was making up for something else. Plus she was part kid herself and genuinely enjoyed these days.
When I was an adult, my mother lived a substantial distance from us and we didn’t see her on Thanksgiving. She was in Arizona for a while but settled in Bradenton, Florida for the past 20 years or so. She also had a lot of health issues making travel difficult. Still, I would always call her every Thanksgiving morning and we would talk about how many pounds of mashed potatoes I was making for dinner and reminisced about Thanksgivings past. She always liked talking about the old days when my brothers and I were kids. I know those were the best days of her life and they were special to us, too.
Last Thanksgiving, my mom had moved to Buffalo from Florida so she could finally be with family on days like these. It was the first Thanksgiving I spent with her in probably 25 years. She came with us to Karen’s house for Thanksgiving dinner and was a little cranky. Truth was, it never took much to get my mom upset. She let too many little things bother her. Anyway, we all got through the day and she got to see some of her family and her great-granddaughters on Thanksgiving day. I know she was thankful for that. That turned out to be not only the first Thanksgiving I spent with my mom in 25 years but also the last one I will ever spend with her. My mom died from a stroke this past summer, just three months before Coleen.
I can’t recount all the Thanksgivings with Coleen. In some ways they were very normal yet every one was something special. That’s how Coleen was with things. Just when you thought it was just another day, you suddenly realized that you were in the middle of something extraordinary. Coleen seemed to have a way of autographing days like this. There was a general sense of mild chaos as we tried to hurry to collect things to take to her sister’s house where the dinner usually was. Even though the meal was served at Karen’s, Coleen was always the one in control. She used her gentle persuasions to influence most facets of the dinner. And nobody seemed to mind. That’s going to be different today. There is going to be a big void today, an elephant not in the room. Hard to handle.
Thanksgiving of 1987 was memorable. It was the last Thanksgiving for my father and Coleen played quite a part in that. My dad lived in Georgia and although we rarely saw each other, we stayed in touch with frequent phone calls. One Sunday he called me and told me his health was bad, congestive heart failure, and he was waiting for a heart transplant. I told Coleen about it and she said we should take the kids and spend Thanksgiving with my dad and his family. I would have never thought of that. We flew to Atlanta, rented a car and spent my dad’s last Thanksgiving with him. When we left his house early Sunday morning, he was standing in the driveway in sweatpants and a button-down golf sweater, waving to us. I knew that would be the last time I would see him alive. I would not have seen him at all if not for Coleen.
I have to leave now. I have to take my 12 pounds of mashed potatoes and two bottles of wine to my sister-in-law’s house and celebrate my first Thanksgiving without my mom and without my wife. I’m going to be there with Lindsay, Mike and the girls and with Coleen’s family and they will all be experiencing a different holiday, too. I better hurry, though. They might need me as much as I need them.
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