Thanksgiving Tape 2 - Client AH.67.109

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It is a simple fact that I will never again have the Thanksgivings I grew up with. All the same, it’s not one I enjoy admitting. The family composition has changed. Stepdad and Stepsisters are gone. Mom is… On the periphery. Dad is of course gone. His parents are too. It was a gradual loss. The table grew more and more bare across the years. Then it grew. Then it was all gone again. 

Now it’s two people. Well, two people and a computer screen huddled around a small table. And all the dishes have to sit in the kitchen as we gradually pick at them. Slowly chipping away until it’s all gone. Okay, not all of it. I got a little overzealous with the menu, and it is what it is now.

There is a part of me, though, that wants to call this the best Thanksgiving I ever had. Because it’s just the parts of it that I think are worth keeping--good food and good love--everything else… Well, we didn’t bother to bring it into our home. We kept what we wanted and left the trash on the curb. 

Then again, it just isn’t always so simple.

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I get it. You need a break. You’re not going to find any judgment here on that front. It’s overwhelming, having a holiday without him. And I wish I could tell you that the holidays without him will get easier the more you have of them. Or that this one will be particularly bad because of the new baby and the emotions she unintentionally brought with her, but it’s not like that. I’m not an expert in many things, but I know enough to be able to say that grief resists expertise. It refuses to be tamed by being understood. It does what it will. 

And that’s why we are so afraid of it. That’s why we try to banish it out of sight and to some far corner of the human experience. We cannot completely be rid of it. It will always come for someone, but it is far enough away that we can leave it rest. We will let it take what it will, what it wants. We will surrender those it has touched to its desires.

But you are a fighter. You won’t go down easily. And I admire that. Seriously, you’re like my hero on some fronts. I want a fraction of your toughness. 

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No, I wouldn’t say this is a vice versa situation. You think I have this special brand of toughness that comes from dealing with such a fundamental loss for so long. It’s just… Well, reality changes. Reality changes, and you get caught up in the current. You don’t will your adjustments. They just happen. Step by step. Bit by bit. Sometimes when you don’t expect them.

The other day, I…. Actually, my girlfriend and I were in the grocery store prepping for our Thanksgiving, and we weren’t going to do the standard-fare. We were going to pick and chose what we wanted to keep on the menu and what we wanted to toss. In light of this, we ended up in front of the soups, and I saw this instant miso soup mix. And it hit me.

My dad loved miso soup. Mom had showed it to him when I was a child. It was something the family shared. Then he was gone. And it was gone too. Pro tip, breaking out in tears in the grocery store is not the best move if you can help it. You just won’t always be able to help it. And it’s definitely worse than what you did.

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The presence of new additions does not change what you feel. In fact, it may give you new reasons to cry and grieve. Because to love--in part--is to share joy with the beloved. And he would be so excited to see this new granddaughter. To hold her and coddle her. Just like you do. It would be a fight in some regards over who got to hold her when. And in this circumstance, a technical victory is really not a victory at all.

There’s only so much I can add. Or I can tell you. I can give you the assurance that it’s okay to grieve, to feel emotions, and to be human. But it’s all things I’ve tried to teach you before, and you did learn them. You did take what I said to heart. But it’s a difficult lesson to remember, and you are--how you say--set in your ways. 

Sure, the lesson isn’t here, but it will come back, I’m sure. For now, I will add. Do you think they aren’t grieving too? Did you miss your daughter setting out an extra plate for him, out of habit? Did you miss the moment your son stepped out for some air saying the kitchen was too hot, but the kitchen wasn’t hot at all, you would have felt the heat through the doorway?

There is some strength in showing weakness. In acknowledging the monster in the corner. Stare it in the eyes without flinching. Admit that it is there. Stand in the gap between it and your children. Tame the beast by showing it you are not afraid.  

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There are times to think about what could have been. But when it involves a sincere lamentation and mourning, well, it’s not something I can always muster. 

My girlfriend and I were talking about my dad’s habits. How he never actually used his recipes. He could go by sight and by taste alone. And that’s why his food was always so good, I told her. He had a destination in mind and not the steps. The steps don’t always account for bumps in the road. Like if the vinegar is a bit weaker than it should be. 

And then I went quiet. I don’t know why I just couldn’t finish the story. And she reached across the table and took my hand. And we sat there for a while. I still missed him. I still wanted to cry. But it was nice to have her there.

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This has been part 2 of the Oracle of Dusk Thanksgiving special. A small gift for those of you who have stuck around with this unconventional story.