This last day I didn’t blink. I slid on my black long-sleeved dress, snug and warm. I tried not to think too much because then, this day would be over and that would be it. I attempted to let Thanksgiving exist as meaningful conversation, thankfulness, and gladness. Everyone else would easily do this, but it was our last day in our home (so I thought), so I wanted to absorb every moment, to listen. Would it actually be the last time in our house? The last time we all gathered together in prayer then feasted there?
It being Thanksgiving, my mom and my Aunt prepared succulent thanksgiving dishes: Perogies mushy with becel and bacon bits, scalloped potatoes, hot turkey, home made cranberry sauce, and ham with sweet pineapple rings . We ate green beans mixed with turkey and crisp cooked carrots, meat cabbage rolls, and soft white crescent rolls. For dessert there was fragrant pumpkin pie with whipped cream; with that came a chorus of mmm’s and ahhh’s. Feasts are like this, a place to gather with each other and to treasure the moments. They’re a place to form family and a place for everyone to hope for more joy and less hurt in life.
I didn’t know what memory would be the last in our parent’s beautifully finished house. This home has been almost completely remodelled, and my parents bought the house when I was 17-years old. It is located near dog trails, the North Saskatchewan river, and two family parks.
That Thanksgiving day, the fall leaves — brilliant red, orange, and yellow — were blaring. They lead to cheeriness in the remains of our family home.
Now all us kids, we’ve all moved away from our family house, so thank God for good company, for a final dinner cooked in it, and for pleasant conversation. Nevertheless, leaving the home still hurts, because our family home, a part of childhood, has disappeared. Will it host a holiday feast again? Will it remain part of our fond memories any longer?
There are far too many ‘lasts’ this Thanksgiving and that stings. My heart feels heavy and sad; although, we’re all mellow from wine and the delectable Thanksgiving meal. There’s a darkness here, hanging in the air, a frustrated ambience. Family, we had such a strong one, I thought, but even ours fell apart; so now we’ll rebuild.
Now, come next holiday, despite tears of missing what used to be, we will construct good memories and carry what’s best into the newness of the Christmas season. New people, new love, new lives, new sharing, so that we remember the true meaning of thankfulness, the truth of a baby in a manger — hope to the world.
Our home is no longer ours to covet memories in, to share wonderful times in. What was cheerful, good, and full of love, has become a dim hollow. For today is a last day celebration, but tomorrow is a first; a new home to live in ourselves & the relief when mom decided that she would carry on in the house and not sell it.
So, yes, we will all still come together, and we will unite in joy, in holiday seasons, in our old renovated home, and its history. We will look back for despite fear of heart ache. The house that formed us lives, and we even though we drive home from this supposed last day to our separate places, must accept change.
Instead of letting the darkness of life twist us, we must flourish, poinsettias plentiful, yellow Gerbera daisies of sunshine. We keep on living, smile into the effervescence of new homes, and old — of Autumn candles and memories.
Today (we thought) was a last day, but tomorrow is a first as forgiveness and family heals wounds — even that of almost losing our childhood home. This is still one of our last days here, in home we don’t live in anymore. And never tell me otherwise: That buildings don’t hold memories, even after their inhabitants have long moved on.
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