Another holiday first. While I didn’t spend Thanksgiving with my parents for many years, this year’s day is particularly unsettling.
Since my mother broke her hip the first time, I would deliver a complete Thanksgiving dinner for the two of them every year. My mother loved turkey, so I’d roast a 10-pounder, slice it, then put it into containers so they could portion out what they wanted. My homemade gravy, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, sweet stuffing, warm biscuits, and a fresh apple pie made up the meal. I delivered it all on the Wednesday prior to the holiday with the caveat they not break into it until the day.
They never listened.
I’d get a phone call every Wednesday, early evening, with my mother claiming it was the best meal she’d had all year.
I had to bite my tongue every year because I’d specifically asked them not to eat it until the following day, the actual holiday.
But, my mother was my mother and had a mind of her own.
I know this was a control thing on my part. I didn’t want them to do anything I hadn’t asked them to do. What I tended to forget every year was that the holiday was just a date on the calendar to both my mother and stepfather. It meant nothing, in reality, since they’d spend it alone, watching the Macy’s parade and just sitting around the house. They didn’t attend Thanksgiving church services ( perish the thought!); they had no friends to spend the day with, and I was always off to my in-laws for the few days of the holiday week.
The guilt I feel now that I never spent any real holiday time with them those last few years is monumental. What would it have cost me to go to their home, even if it was on the morning of the holiday to have breakfast? I could have delivered their meal then instead of the day before and then not gotten mad when they ate it before they were supposed to.
And how stupid is it to even say when they were supposed to? Seriously. They were grown-ass adults and could do what they wanted, eat when they wanted, no matter who thought otherwise.
This year, as always, hubby and I are going to spend the day with his family. My daughter and her growing family will join us.
And I have no one to cook for this year. No turkey and all the trimmings to make and then deliver. No salvos to wait until the actual day to eat it all. A plea that will not be paid heed.
I will go and visit my stepfather in the nursing home on Wednesday and most likely bring him a chocolate turkey. He will spend his first Thanksgiving as a widower with a bunch of strangers, eating institutional turkey and trimmings.
The guilt continues to grow, kids. Each and every day…
Peggy Jaeger, Author 