Our friends who live next door to us host an unofficial “turkey trot” around the lake where we live each year. The run is in memory of Jay’s father who loved participating in these kinds of events each Thanksgiving. I never knew his father but I love this touching tribute, knowing that through this communal event, he keeps him alive and well. Two months before Mama died, I ran a marathon in her honor. Thanks to generous friends and family, I raised money to help a nonprofit group that helps lung cancer patients. I ran that race again a couple of weeks ago and I will continue running it each year. For as I round the corner in the last stretch, I still see her standing there, waiting anxiously for my return, undoubtedly worrying if I’m pushing myself too hard and hurting. She knew I would run to the ends of the earth if it meant saving her and that my race was symbolic of that.
A few days ago, I became captivated by an author interview on NPR. They were discussing his latest novella and I knew within seconds of hearing an excerpt that it was a book Mama would enjoy and want to discuss after we both read it. The mind can still play cruel tricks. For a fraction of a second, I wanted to pick up my phone and call her, to tell her about it and let her know I was ordering us both a copy. We enjoyed the same types of books and after she died, I hand picked our mutual favorites from her library with an urgent need to hold the copies that she held, where she had written her name on the inside cover, usually in purple ink.
This year for the turkey trot, we aren’t dressing up as Pilgrims, Native Americans, or even favorite Thanksgiving foods, as we have done in the past. Instead, we are to wear a shirt with a word written on it that reflects what we are thankful for. I usually don’t like this idea on Thanksgiving, of saying or writing only one thing for which I’m thankful, because there are so many countless things in my life I want to choose. This year, however, I’ve narrowed it down easily. The book I heard about on NPR guided my decision as soon as I started reading it. There on the second page was all I needed to see, “Memory fills my body as much as blood and bones.” Memory. I am so very thankful for countless memories of my beloved mother, for with them, she fills me still.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
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| Waiting |
oh, yes, oh, yes – there she is – waiting – for you – for each of your 4 siblings – always, always THERE for you – as her sister, I KNEW, first hand, day by day, who and what you children were to her. You might say "oh, aunt anda – I want you to tell me about ME – how Mama felt for me – not, me – and all the rest." But, you see – that was her magic – when she talked to me about Nancy – it was as if Nancy was the only child on earth that she had.She loved each of her 5 children sooo competely- each of you – with all of her being – my sister had that incredible ability to LOVE – to truly LOVE – EACH of her children. You were her core. And from that core, the rest of us – me, her sister, and then on and on and on to ??? how many ??? – her love expanded and encompassed –
The photo that you posted is incredibly poignant- I loved 'road trips' with my sister and I remember well, that day of the marathon.
I think I need to stop now. It hurts. Her loss is still (increasingly?) overwhelming –
My dear Nancy – that incredibly beautiful person – your Mama – my sister – left us an incredible legacy of LOVE, HOPE, COMPASSION, and HEALING –
the torch has been passed ~~she is watching for us to take it – the photo tells us that she is watching -for the torch to be passed ~
with her in our hearts, we can do it (even though it all hurts like hell!)
I love you,
aunt anda
This is beautiful and heart-wrenching, all at the same time. Thank you for sharing from your beautiful heart. I, too, am thankful for memories — my own, as well as the ones I attempt, day by day, to create with my children… for my children. Your mother was blessed to have YOU as her dear daughter, and you filled her life with joy. Of this, I am most certain. You, too, are blessed — having had such a loving mom… one that encouraged memory-making-moments and created them for you and your siblings. I am guessing that, at times, she lingers in your memory and, at other times… most of the time… she pervades it. So beautiful. So painful. So bittersweet. I love you, dear friend.
Wow~ This is beautiful!