Thanksgiving, the holiday, is difficult for my family. More specifically, it’s difficult for my grandmothers, on both my mom’s and my dad’s sides of the family.
For one grandmother the day is filled with family, with daughters who have grown and formed families of their own. And while there are truly so many blessings to count, there remains one daughter, and one son, who are missing from the familial gatherings, who have been missing for over twelve years. My dad, and my aunt Anne. More recently, when we gather we all miss my grandfather, who after fifty plus years of marriage and only seventy-two years, passed away from stomach cancer a few Septembers ago. Holidays sans his bear hugs are never quite the same.
For my other grandmother, on my mom’s side of the family, the day is unacknowledged as a blessing, uncelebrated entirely. I would even go so far as to say the day is mostly abhorred. She too surely counts her blessings daily, and myriad are there to count. She is, in fact, the most thankful and courageous woman I know. But on this day eight Thanksgivings ago my grandfather suffered a stroke so severe that he has been completely paralyzed since that day, unable to walk, unable to speak. She takes care of him at their home where they have lived for most of their marriage, where they too have raised four children who have gone on to foster families of their own. I called her on Thanksgiving, knowing she wouldn’t want to talk, but knowing I wanted to tell her I loved her, if only for thirty seconds. She was crying when she picked up the phone, and soon, so was I. We only spoke briefly, wished each other the best possible days, told one another how much we loved and missed the other.
When we hung up the phone, I lost it. Complete and utter emotional breakdown ensued. I didn’t expect it, was taken by surprise, and yet, I couldn’t stop the flood I had already unleashed. I miss my family. I haven’t been away from them in over five years for this holiday, for any holiday really, and I had underestimated how difficult it was going to be. Theresa and brother Will were saving graces this past week, inviting us to the coast to spend the two days with them. As all of Chris’ family resides in Alabama, and most of mine are in Washington State, they are the only family within non all-day (or all-week) driving distance, and, as such, the thought of not being with them on Thanksgiving hurt to think about.
The wedding and the move have been truly amazing, but for months my life has been a whirlwind of activity and chaos, of hitting the ground running and rarely pausing to breathe and reflect. When we left Spokane I didn’t even get to say a proper “goodbye” to most of my dad’s side of the family. Not because I didn’t want to, and certainly I will see them again soon, but the decision was so fast, because it had to be, and so stressful, because it simply was, and by the end of it I literally could not remember who I had told about the move, and who I had not.
I missed hanging out with good friends before we packed the truck and left, didn’t get to hug my aunts and uncles goodbye and even tell them where and why we were going. Many of my family and some friends, too, found out we moved to Portland from this website, and while I had anticipated that happening to an extent, it pains me more than I can say.
Unfortunately, over the past few months, it’s become a pattern, and while I do use this site as a creative outlet, and one of few I am able to regularly maintain, it has also become a way for friends and family to keep up with me, to see where I’m going, what I’m doing, to see where I have been and what I’ve done.
I like that it’s a living record of sorts, but I don’t ever mean it to take the place of face-to-face or phone-to-phone communication. I will admit I like posting better than I like emailing, even though some have described it as less personal, and I understand that point of view, too.
The bottom line is: over the years it’s become a struggle for me to keep up, hard to write and difficult to call everyone, even when something particularly noteworthy or exciting occurs, especially as “everyone” grows year by year, and especially because I hate the phone more than I hate goodbyes. It doesn’t mean for a second that I don’t want to call or write, that I haven’t wanted to share it all with all of you.
Ultimately, I don’t mean to make excuses. I only mean to say: I care about you. All of you. And I promise I will let you know how much, even if it takes me many false starts, and longer than I would like. Thank you for bearing with me.
(To San, thank! you so much for the return address labels. We received them today, after having forgotten to check our mail yesterday. It was so thoughtful and I love them.)