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On the day of Halloween, my Aunt Patty, the oldest living member of the family I grew up with, passed away after being ill for some time. She always enjoyed being the center of attention, and since it’s now guaranteed that we’ll remember her every year on the holiday, she’d like that.
Patty traveled and collected many interesting things, but death is the ultimate equalizer. No matter how much money we made while we were alive, no matter how much cool stuff is inside our house, when we close our eyes for the final time we are all equals, possessors of nothing. Even the space we take up on this planet will soon be reduced to dust. The things we cared for so much – that we argued and fought about, even cried over – will no longer be concerns.
And yet, the rest of life goes on. A monumental event has happened, a seismic shift in the universe has occurred, and we’re still driving to work? Going to school? Playing craps at the casino? How can this be?
Then, exactly one week later, the youngest daughter of me and my wife gave birth to our third grandchild – and it’s a girl. She is beautiful, happy and healthy. And I was reminded anew at the circle of life, and how the world makes a 180-degree pivot if you’re fortunate to live long enough to see it.
I don’t even have to close my eyes, and I can still vividly recall Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners with my family in the 1970s and ’80s – when we all actually lived in the same place, and getting together didn’t require a reunion, just a reason. We’d arrive early and stay late, because there was no better place to be.
Grandma and Grandpa Bill sat at the head of the adults table, with my Granddaddy and his wife next to them. (Yes, they still got along well after their divorce, a great lesson.) Patty and her husband were there, along with my Mom and stepfather, my Uncle Chip and his wife, and my youngest aunt, Gail. The table was crowded, and everyone looked so big and mature at the time. (That’s only because I didn’t know everything about my uncle yet. Ha!)
As the oldest grandchild, I anchored the kids table. My sister and a few cousins were always there, often joined by other cousins, friends we called cousins and anyone else who didn’t fit in with the adults. We’d put a couple of those cheap card tables together – the kind where you could buy it and four folding chairs for just $30 at your local Zayre store, before that franchise name went six feet under – throw a disposable tablecloth over it and call it fancy schmancy.
And it was. My Grandma learned how to cook growing up in rural Kentucky, where just about everything is made with bacon and sugar, and there wasn’t a plate made that was big enough to hold everything she’d whip up. Talk was minimal during the first round, as there was some good eatin’ to do first. Whatever football game was on served as background noise, though with my family’s voices there were rarely awkward silences.
When some folks went back for seconds – those were the guys who unlatched the top button of their jeans in order to give their belly additional room to expand – the rest started talking. About past holidays. About funny moments. About sentimental memories. And about those who we so wished could have been there.
My wish list is getting longer with each passing year. We don’t all live in the same place anymore, so our Thanksgivings today are smaller, but they’re just as festive. The food is great. The laughter is contagious. And the love around the table makes everything go down a whole lot better.
However, when we gather around it today, my wife and I are now at the heads of the table. Our children, grandchildren and other family members will surround us. A friend may join in because we don’t want anyone eating alone on a holiday.
We will miss those who aren’t with us anymore – like my grandparents, my mom and my aunt – as well as those who can’t be here because they live in different states. But we will cherish what we have. And we will continue to pass down those family stories – true tall tales, like the time I drank from the gravy ladle – until the next generations are ready to grab the torch and take it from there.
David Brown is publisher of the Cherokee Scout. You can reach him by phone, 837-5122; email, dbrown@cherokeescout.com; or on Twitter @daviddBstroh.