The Thanksgiving that Wasn’t

by Donna Poole

The Thanksgiving that Wasn’t

by Donna Poole

You have to give a lot of notice if you hope thirty-two people can arrange their schedules to gather together in the same place at the same time.

I sent my first message on July 11, 2023: “Hey family! I know it’s early, but I wanted to let you all know we’re going to have family Thanksgiving this year on Saturday, November 18 at 1:30 p.m. at our house. Love you all!”

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, and I couldn’t believe it when thirty-two replied they planned to come. Happy? That’s an understatement!

The months flew by, as months always do. As Thanksgiving time grew closer, we hoped for sales, and soon our freezer held the biggest turkey available and a large ham. We planned side dishes and desserts, and family members started telling us what they planned to bring.

I arranged and rearranged the house trying to figure out how to set up enough tables so everyone could sit comfortably and no one would feel isolated. I did this in bed at three o’clock in the morning when I woke up too excited to sleep.

“Traditions are stories families write together,” and our family had been writing its Thanksgiving book for many years. We wrote most of the chapters at my sister Eve’s home. From the time our children were small we always went “over the river and through the woods” to celebrate Thanksgiving with Eve and Bruce and their family, my sister Ginny, her husband Bob, and their children, and whatever other assorted people might be there. Eve and Bruce were famous for their hospitality.

At first the cousins were so little they lay on blankets and chewed on teething rings at Aunt Eve’s. Then they got a little older. I remember one of our children sitting in a high chair, eyes wide at the huge array of food, and pointing at each dish.

He said, “I want dis, and dat, and dese, and dem, and dose!”

Growing still older led to cousin dart games and wrestling in the basement. Someone usually put a movie in the VCR to settle them down.

One by one the cousins grew up, married, had children of their own, and some still came back to Aunt Eve’s and Uncle Bruce’s to celebrate Thanksgiving. As adults they offered to fix some of the dings to walls and woodwork they’d caused when they’d been kids, but Eve said, “Don’t you dare touch a thing. Those are my precious memories.”

Saying goodbye at Eve’s on Thanksgiving night was hard and done the midwestern way. It took awhile for everyone to find their shoes in the pile in the entryway hall. Then the hugs and kisses began in the hall, kitchen, and living room, and spilled out into the driveway, only to be repeated again.

“Did I hug you yet?” “Did you remember your leftovers?” “I love you!” “Be careful driving home!” “Everything was perfect; thank you!” “I can’t wait to see you again!” “I’ll be praying for you!”

And then car after car would back out of the driveway and Eve and Bruce would stand there alone, waving until the last of the tail lights was out of sight. Just like that it was over, and all we had left were the memories, but that was okay, because there would always be next year.

Until there wasn’t a next year. Cancer took Eve home to heaven, and Thanksgiving chapters began to be written at our home. I couldn’t write them like Eve had, but I did my best, and we had some good times. Thanksgiving 2023 looked to be one of the best yet. Why? One family, who had never come, was going to join us, our son, daughter-in-law, and seven grandchildren. You know the phrase “over the moon”? That was me.

Over the moon we all were—until we got under the weather.

When pneumonia hit it was a heavy weight brawler of a boxer and I went down for the count. Sure that I could beat the bug quickly, I waited to cancel Thanksgiving until the doctor said I had to. Another message went out, a sad one this time, telling people not to gather at our home. My husband John got pneumonia too, and our daughter and son-in-law who live with us got sick. A person with Xray vision could have probably seen the tiny germs giving each other high-fives and dancing up and down the walls.

We’d had monthly events lined up like a row of dominoes standing on a table, and pneumonia gave them a rude push. Everything started falling. We had to cancel many doctor appointments not related to the treatment of pneumonia. University of Michigan postponed all cancer treatments until I’m 100% normal—as if I ever was. John wasn’t able to preach Thanksgiving Sunday, and it was his fiftieth one at our little church on the corner of two dirt roads. Sadly, we also had to miss our church’s community harvest dinner, but we hear they managed to have a good time without us, if you can imagine that!

Sad at things missed? Yes, but I feel a strange kind of contentment too, like being wrapped in a cozy blanket in front of a fire on a cold night. As John and I follow doctor’s orders to nap three hours a day we’re contemplating with a smile a quiet Thanksgiving at home. Oh, yes, we’ll miss our family, but they’ll be here soon for Christmas, Lord willing and germs cooperating, and we’re looking forward to that.

So tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day, the two of us will rest. We’ll count our many blessings, not the least of which is still having each other. We won’t forget to thank God for eternal life, for a wonderful church family, for amazing friends, and for the best family anyone could have. We’ll nap; we’ll hold hands and watch the Thanksgiving parade like two happy kids, and we’ll eat a good dinner.

And we’ll say, “Oh, blest be God for love and laughter, today, tomorrow, and hereafter.”

The Thanksgiving that wasn’t? Not in this house, not tomorrow. It will be a wonderful Thanksgiving. Evening shadows may be falling, but we say with William L. Stidger,

“Father, we thank Thee for this day

For food, for fun, for life, for play;

And as the evening shadows fall

We bring to Thee, dear Lord our all;

And as we pray, we ask Thy grace,

Upon this happy, happy place.”

The end

***

These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

Please follow me on Facebook at Donna Poole, author