Mother this Thanksgiving

Yesterday, I spent the day with Mother. Polishing her silver. Wiping her crystal. We went to the grocery store as always. I pushed the cart. I bought the Mrs. Cubbison's bread crumbs for the stuffing, the Jimmy Dean sausage and the yams. I decided to hit Costco for the pies this year, deviating from tradition. We spent the day together as I pushed the grocery cart and remembered hundreds of trips to Von's, Albertson's, Ralph's or Alpha Beta, (depending on the year.)

I talked to Mother while I set the table. This morning, I put the green beans in the red pot with the ham hocks and sprinkled minced onion, salt and pepper into the mix. Chopped the onion and celery and sauteed them with the sausage. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade played on the TV in the background and I dreamed as I do every year of being there. Maybe next year.

Mother is fading - she is becoming a memory - distant - I reach out for her and pull her back into my consciousness like a child stretching into the heavens for an escaping balloon. I don't want to lose her.

Right now the turkey is in the oven. The aroma just beginning to permeate the house. Soon, my home will be filled with my family just as it was once upon a time - when Bob would bring the wine and Mother would stay to the bitter end, washing up my dishes and cleaning my kitchen like a scullery maid. This year it will be his grandchildren and her great grandchildren gathered round the table.

And we will remember them.