Chapter Eleven
The Untraditional Thanksgiving
Today was the four Thursday in November – Thanksgiving Day. Honestly, thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. To me, this holiday is the epitome of tradition. Everything had always been done the same way every year for as long as I can remember. Even after I had moved out and started a life of my own, when I came home for the Thanksgiving weekend, we always had a certain way of doing things. We would get up in the morning and watch the Thanksgiving Day parade together in the midst of everyone getting their showers and such. After that, we always watched the dog show on television until it was time to go to my aunt’s house to eat.
I should’ve known that the entire day wasn’t going to be the usual routine when I didn’t see a single part of the parade or the dog show. Something was just off. My husband and I woke up at 7:30 a.m., pretty early for a holiday. I went ahead and got started on my dessert for the day – pumpkin tiramisu. I thought it was only fitting because of the trip to Italy my aunt and I had taken over the summer. Not to mention, I absolutely adore a properly done tiramisu, which is hard to find in the United States.
Once I was finished up with that, my mom and I were going to go visit my great-grandma like we always do on the holidays. Holidays such as Thanksgiving are normally just spent with my father’s side of the family. My grandparents on my mother’s side are always in Florida this time of year and her brother and his family always does their own thing. But we always go and visit my great-grandmother – my mother’s grandma – because frankly, no one else does. Not to mention, I really love visiting with her. She’s always the silent listener in the group. She will just watch and listen and smile. At 92 years old, I pray that I will end up like her one day. She is such an amazing woman, and even though her body is failing, I know that her mind and spirit are forever strong.
So, I am just finishing up the final components of the tiramisu. As I’m brushing the coffee over the homemade ladyfingers (which turned out much like pancakes instead of sponge cookies) the phone rings. I just assume it’s my grandma in Florida, calling to wish us a happy Thanksgiving. I answer and hear immediately that it is my great aunt, the one that lives with my great grandma, and she urgently needs to talk to my mom. This can’t be good.
When mom hangs up the phone, I can tell that she’s a wreck. They were taking grandma to the hospital because she was really weak and had trouble breathing. Mom sent them on and told them to call if they needed anything, but she’s a mess. Dad and I finally convince her to go to the hospital because we know that if she doesn’t, she’s just going to stew and worry herself to death over the situation. And that’s the last thing that any of us want right now.
The day goes on and I round up the men (my husband, dad, and brother) and we head to my aunt’s house for the rest of our customized day. Mom gets back about half way through the meal to tell us that my grandma has pneumonia and something is wrong with her heart again. It’s all déjà vu to us. Nearly a year ago, we had almost lost her to a heart condition then. This time it looks bad. They want to do surgery, but at her age, the success rate is very slim. Needless to say, mom doesn’t stay at the house long before she goes back home. The rest of the evening is a blur. I hate seeing mom upset like that. But what I hate more than anything is that fact that I am an emotionless shell at the moment.
Usually, I am a very emotional and expressive person. I always cry at the littlest things and I’m not sure why. But today, everything feels like it’s so far away and that scares me more than anything. Would it kill me to shed a tear or show the smallest bit of sadness? But at the same time, maybe I’m just so full of hope that I’m not showing anything else. For some reason, I’m just no worried, even though everyone else is fearing the worst.
It’s raining outside again, for the hundredth time today. My husband is soundly sleeping next to me with all of his covers thrown off of him. It’s hot in the room, probably because dad had started up the wood burner in the past week. Surprisingly it’s a warm day for the end of November and the night seems strangely alive in the darkness. I hear Yinko, my brother’s dog, bark at something in the night, followed shortly by my dad checking out the back door for any coyotes or mountain lions. The predators have been really bad as of late and it makes dad nervous with their cow about to have a calf. Yinko quiets down, but when the television turns on out in the living room I can tell dad is having trouble sleeping too. Something about breaking tradition tends to leave everyone unrested.
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