The last time we had Thanksgiving with our Mom and Dad was 1997. They came over in the late afternoon. Dad played scrabble with the big kids (he cheated) and then we ate. It was simple and it was nice. Six months later Dad was killed in a car accident and Mom went to live with one of her daughters, until she too, passed two years later.
That’s the funny thing about last times, we seldom know they are last times until they are long past.
Sometimes we think we would have liked to have known they were last times while they were in the now.
Perhaps we would soften our speech and our demeanor with friends and relatives if we knew that this time would be the very last time we saw each other. Perhaps being in the know might lead to a decrease in holiday fighting.
On the other hand, maybe it’s not a great idea after all. The last Thanksgiving with our parents would have certainly been a lot more melancholy if we had known and as for decreasing holiday friction, a good case could be made of an increase. Knowing it was a last time might embolden some to get that thing off their chests that has been bothering them for decades.
Perhaps we should consider each time as the last time, just in case it is. It is not like Thanksgivings grow on trees anyway. We have seen just 54 ourselves, barely a hand full when we think about it and at most we have fewer Thanksgivings before us than those we already celebrated.
Still we won’t know our last Thanksgiving until after it has past.
Not knowing perhaps makes us more thankful that once again, we with friends and family, gather round our table, hold hands and say thanks.
Thanks Howard, beautifully said.