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We
Gather Together That
long ago fall of 1954, I was nine years old. I was in the fourth grade and doing
well with my studies and classmates. As the days grew shorter and cooler and the
leaves changed colors and fell, we all turned our thoughts to the next upcoming
holiday, Thanksgiving.
The
windows at school were decorated with construction paper turkeys, pumpkins,
pilgrims and Indians. I learned how to draw a cornucopia or "horn of
plenty" that year and learned what it stood for. My
little sister's first grade class was presenting a play and my mother worked on
her sewing machine at night making the gray Priscilla Alden costume with the big
white square collar and matching plain white cap. I remember my little sister's
very curly hair puffing out on all sides when she pulled the strings of that cap
tight and tied it under her chin. A big
pumpkin sat in the kitchen floor awaiting the day my mother decided to prepare
it for the pies she would bake to take to my grandparents' house on Thanksgiving
day. Those were the days before artificial whipped topping, so the pies would be
piled high with mounds of real country cream, whipped and sweetened. You only
got whipped cream on special occasions like Thanksgiving, and I loved it so much
I would sneak and eat it with a spoon. My
father worked every day, Monday through Friday and came home promptly at 5:30.
Mother had dinner ready at that time and we all ate together. After dinner my
sister and I would finish any homework we might have, Mother would do the
dishes, Daddy usually had a chain saw or a car that needed fixing and then the
whole family would sit down and watch television (usually a western as they were
Daddy's favorites). Promptly at nine o'clock everyone went to bed. The days,
weeks and months followed the same schedule with little variation and it was
soothing and secure. Groceries were always bought on Friday night, you got your
hair washed on Saturday and went to church on Sunday. Life
centered around family and I was as happy as a child could be. There were only
four in our immediate family ‑ Mother, Daddy, my sister and me, but there
were what seemed to be hundreds of cousins, aunts and uncles, all close knit and
constantly in touch. If there was one thing that influenced my childhood it was
the everyday sense of family, and holidays were extra special gathering times. For some
reason I was always very close to my grandmother on my mother's side. For years
I spent whole weeks at a time staying with her in the summer. I loved her in
such a special way and our relationship had a closeness I've never quite
experienced again. Of course she spoiled me rotten, but it was more than that.
It was as if we belonged to each other by some indefinable bond. So, as
Thanksgiving approached, I looked forward to the big day at my grandmother's. The day
finally arrived and we prepared to leave around 9:00 in the morning. Mother put
dish after dish covered in foil into cardboard boxes and my sister and I picked
out a toy or two to take with us. I also gathered some of my best school papers
to take with me to show. I knew that my grandmother had not been well and
staying with my uncle whose house sat catty‑cornered across the dirt road
from hers, but the whole family was going to be there together and nothing else
mattered. It was
only about a twenty minute drive to my grandparent's house out in the country,
but it always seemed to take forever. We didn't travel much in those days. The
school which was about five miles away was as far as I was used to traveling and
a nine year old doesn't have much of a perspective of time and distance. My
whole world was practically contained in a 20 mile radius. Most of my father's
family lived near us and most of my mother's lived in a small cluster of houses
at the end of that 20 minute drive. We
arrived a good two hours before lunch would be served and I put the time to use
by running from place to familiar place visiting first the relatives, then the
farm animals and then my favorite places to play. I gathered a big sack of black
walnuts from the tree near the road, climbed the hay loft, got an ear of corn
for the chickens and did all my favorite things at my grandparent's farm. I had
not paid much attention before, but I think it must have been sometime during
lunch that I noticed no one was laughing and joking as much as usual. Not even
my teenage cousin who now gravitated more towards the adults. Everyone did the
same things and said the same things, but something was not the same. Something
I couldn't figure out was different. It seemed harder to spend time with my
grandmother. Every time I tried to get up on her lap someone seemed to shoo me
away or take me outside to play or something. By the
time we left, which was around sundown, I realized I had hardly spent time with
my grandmother at all. Shortly
after Thanksgiving my grandmother went into the hospital for surgery. I was too
small to go to the hospital and was only able to figure out what was going on by
the snatches of conversation I heard from adults in unguarded moments. Christmas
that year was very sad. I was still not told anything as adults tried to spare
the thoughts and feelings of children and protect them from sadness as much as
they could. My family were not people who showed emotions outwardly and I still
didn't really know what was going on. I can
only remember seeing my grandmother one more time after that. She came home from
the hospital and we went by a florist and took her a bouquet of violets. By this
time is was the middle of winter and violets were rare even from a hothouse.
Even rarer was that we went on a week night, something that had never happened
before. My grandmother was in bed and I was told it would hurt her if I climbed
on her, just to stand beside the bed. Already there was an emotional barrier I
knew I would not get through. I would not really be able to get close to my
grandmother and feel the closeness again. My aunt and teenage cousin were crying
in the kitchen. Soon my grandmother would be no more. Now,
nearly 50 years later, it is Thanksgiving again. I look back each year and see
what it has given me and I think back to all of the previous years and their
treasures. The treasure of my grandmother's love is still one of the very best.
Every time I crochet I remember she taught me. Every time I look at my
grandchildren I remember the example of what influence a grandmother's love can
mean. I only had that experience for ten short years in early childhood, but it
will stick with me forever. Things
we are thankful for are sometimes like that. We might only have them for a short
time, but it doesn't reduce their value in our lives. Thanksgiving
should be a time to recall the things large and small that came into our lives
and enriched us by being there. Even a loss as great as death does not take that
away. The
whole family doesn't get together for holidays any more, but I will forever be
thankful for those years when we would gather together... |
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