I typically find holidays hard, but this year I’m in a better place. While not exactly ecstatic, I’m in sort of a go-with-the-flow mood that feels new. Something has shifted in me; I’ve somehow acquired a detached acceptance and compassion for my family. Granted, my dad and I are in a little bit of a fight about vitamins, but that’s nothing compared to other things we’ve fought about over the years, so I think we’ll be okay.
Mostly nothing terrible has happened on the holidays - they’ve just been tense because of family dynamics. But a couple of times something terrible actually did occur.
There was the time the daughter of our hosts – a coke addict who’d somehow convinced her parents she was clean again, despite her rail thinness and incessant chattering – cleaned us all out of the money in our pockets and pocket books.
Worse than that was the time someone died. One of our hosts, a family friend, was a volunteer at a senior center. She made a tradition of inviting some of the residents who didn’t have family nearby to share in the holiday dinner. Over the years, we all got to know some of them, including Benjy. He was a sweet man in his 80s whose family was I don’t know where. He spent Thanksgiving with us for about four years in a row until…
I think it was in the late 90s. After hors d’oeuvres, he asked if it was okay if he took a nap in one of the bedrooms upstairs, and of course, our hosts said yes. When it was time for dinner, someone went to get him, and that was it. Benjy was dead. The rest of the night was surreal, completely consumed with logistics - reaching out to Benjy’s relatives, figuring out what was to be done with the body on a night like Thanksgiving.
At the very least, I anticipate this Thanksgiving will be better than that one.
