Thursday, November 22, 2012
So this was the Thanksgiving that broke all tradition: My son flew to Minneapolis to spend the weekend with his dad’s family, making it the first holiday we’ve ever, ever spent apart. I might have sobbed at the airport. And on the drive home. And then a tiny bit more.
But holidays are not for sobbing, or for self-pitying solitude. And traditions sometimes need tweaking. So I invited over one of my best friends, Don, who also was alone for the holiday, and we made a huge traditional turkey dinner (rather delicious, I might add). And then we packed up a big Tupperware tub of ginger snaps (left over from homemade pumpkin cheesecake, which was more than rather delicious) and drove to the Soldiers Home.
I had tried to call Ray McDade earlier to prepare him for a holiday visit, but I never reached him. (It’s always a little risky just driving out there unannounced—you never know who’s going to be where, when. )
But we pressed on, and when we walked in, we headed straight for Bill Crowell’s room. He was there, alone, in bed, on Thanksgiving.
When I introduced him to “my friend Don,” Bill said, “Are you ENGAGED? Because I’m already lying down, and it would only take one swing to knock me out.”
We are not. Which is why I was very careful to say “my friend Don.” But it was just the laugh we all needed. I helped Bill sit up so he could eat a ginger snap, and we all talked for quite a while.
On the way to Ray’s room, I spotted David Fox in his wheelchair in the middle of the hallway, alone, on Thanksgiving. I told Don that it had taken David months to learn the names of my family. “If he calls you ‘Todd,’” I said, “Please just go with it. I really don’t want to confuse him.”
I hugged David, and he asked, “Is this Todd?” Which seemed a good opening. “No,” I said. “This is my friend Don.” And then David started to shuffle—because he was going to stand up to shake Don’s hand. I was perilously close to sobbing again, but instead I teared up quietly—and smiled.
David usually is very brief and very predictable (“How’s the family?” “How’s the house?”), so his conversation with Don—and that’s exactly, amazingly, what it was—kind of stunned me. They talked for quite a while as I stood there in awe trying to balance David, and as he sat back down, he asked Don, “So, do you hunt or fish?”
I laughed out loud. Where did that come from? I hugged David again, harder this time, and we went on to Ray’s room. So far this was going 9,000 times better than I’d ever dared to hope, but I really wanted Don to meet Ray, and I was really afraid Ray was out with his family for the holiday.
But when we got to his room, Ray was in bed, alone, on Thanksgiving. He is always very expressively happy to see me, but today he seemed especially expressively happy. I introduced two of my favorite men in the world, then sat back and watched and listened and smiled. They talked about football, football and more football.
I finally butted in to ask Ray whether he’d seen himself on the news on Veterans Day. He had not, so he put me in charge of cueing up the link on his computer, and we all watched, although Ray had on his headphones, so only he could hear. He smiled and laughed and then smiled some more.
I gave Ray all the remaining ginger snaps, and we said goodbye. Ray shook Don’s hand and said, very earnestly, “You take good care of Sandy. She’s very special.” (It might make me cry to type that.) Don told Ray, “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, Ray, because Sandy feels the same way about you.”
The room could not have been warmer if it had been on fire. I was overwhelmed with affection and gratitude and the complete and total realization that something magical had just happened.
“Those are the three men I most wanted you to meet,” I told Don as we walked out. “Sometimes it just works like that out here. Like it’s supposed to. ”
Like none of us was meant to be alone on Thanksgiving.
So this was the Thanksgiving that broke all tradition: My son flew to Minneapolis to spend the weekend with his dad’s family, making it the first holiday we’ve ever, ever spent apart. I might have sobbed at the airport. And on the drive home. And then a tiny bit more.
But holidays are not for sobbing, or for self-pitying solitude. And traditions sometimes need tweaking. So I invited over one of my best friends, Don, who also was alone for the holiday, and we made a huge traditional turkey dinner (rather delicious, I might add). And then we packed up a big Tupperware tub of ginger snaps (left over from homemade pumpkin cheesecake, which was more than rather delicious) and drove to the Soldiers Home.
I had tried to call Ray McDade earlier to prepare him for a holiday visit, but I never reached him. (It’s always a little risky just driving out there unannounced—you never know who’s going to be where, when. )
But we pressed on, and when we walked in, we headed straight for Bill Crowell’s room. He was there, alone, in bed, on Thanksgiving.
When I introduced him to “my friend Don,” Bill said, “Are you ENGAGED? Because I’m already lying down, and it would only take one swing to knock me out.”
We are not. Which is why I was very careful to say “my friend Don.” But it was just the laugh we all needed. I helped Bill sit up so he could eat a ginger snap, and we all talked for quite a while.
On the way to Ray’s room, I spotted David Fox in his wheelchair in the middle of the hallway, alone, on Thanksgiving. I told Don that it had taken David months to learn the names of my family. “If he calls you ‘Todd,’” I said, “Please just go with it. I really don’t want to confuse him.”
I hugged David, and he asked, “Is this Todd?” Which seemed a good opening. “No,” I said. “This is my friend Don.” And then David started to shuffle—because he was going to stand up to shake Don’s hand. I was perilously close to sobbing again, but instead I teared up quietly—and smiled.
David usually is very brief and very predictable (“How’s the family?” “How’s the house?”), so his conversation with Don—and that’s exactly, amazingly, what it was—kind of stunned me. They talked for quite a while as I stood there in awe trying to balance David, and as he sat back down, he asked Don, “So, do you hunt or fish?”
I laughed out loud. Where did that come from? I hugged David again, harder this time, and we went on to Ray’s room. So far this was going 9,000 times better than I’d ever dared to hope, but I really wanted Don to meet Ray, and I was really afraid Ray was out with his family for the holiday.
But when we got to his room, Ray was in bed, alone, on Thanksgiving. He is always very expressively happy to see me, but today he seemed especially expressively happy. I introduced two of my favorite men in the world, then sat back and watched and listened and smiled. They talked about football, football and more football.
I finally butted in to ask Ray whether he’d seen himself on the news on Veterans Day. He had not, so he put me in charge of cueing up the link on his computer, and we all watched, although Ray had on his headphones, so only he could hear. He smiled and laughed and then smiled some more.
I gave Ray all the remaining ginger snaps, and we said goodbye. Ray shook Don’s hand and said, very earnestly, “You take good care of Sandy. She’s very special.” (It might make me cry to type that.) Don told Ray, “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, Ray, because Sandy feels the same way about you.”
The room could not have been warmer if it had been on fire. I was overwhelmed with affection and gratitude and the complete and total realization that something magical had just happened.
“Those are the three men I most wanted you to meet,” I told Don as we walked out. “Sometimes it just works like that out here. Like it’s supposed to. ”
Like none of us was meant to be alone on Thanksgiving.
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