Thanksgiving

I thought I was there because there must be so many things you needed to tell me you'd never said. I thought if I was there, you'd suddenly become alert, reach out for my hand and lock your eyes to mine - and you'd say everything I'd wished you would. A life's worth of wishing.

I'd heard from mom and my sis the condition you were in. I'd flown back the September before on a similar mission. I'd given you a week then. Every day I was in your room and you would wake up and say "Debbie? What are you doing here?" Every day I would tell you I was there because you were very ill. You were in the hospital. I told you I was there for you. But I was really there for me. You told me, "There is nothing you can do. I am dying. I want to die." I told you, "We love you and want you to live."

They said you got better. In October you were back home. You were waiting for a miracle - a new kidney. But age and health was not on your side. Other people got your miracle. You asked for death. Mom hid your guns. Anger and frustration were your armor. You wanted what you wanted. The women you'd loved your entire adult life, your soul mate - was at your side day after day. She never gave up hope. She was not ready to let go. Everyone one around you was as kind and gentle. Your physician insisted you needed to ride in a wheelchair to your car on that last visit with him. He pushed you himself. Out the door of his office and through the parking lot - he was on the verge of tears himself as he made sure you knew that going back to the hospital was not a loss of dignity. He wanted you there so he could make sure they did every test and gave you every opportunity for life.

He was in the room with you and mom when you begged once more for death. You told mom to get your gun. "Bring it to the hospital so I can shot myself. Let me die."

You must have signed something. I know you had a "do not revive" order on file. But they began the process of letting you go that day. Medication for the pain, but no food - no water. I was called and told to come back - to say goodbye.

I wanted to come sooner, while you were still alert, but my mom and sis said "wait."I left in the night and arrived Thanksgiving morning. My brother in law wanted to take me home and get me settled, but all I wanted was to see you. I borrowed a car. I'm sure I was speeding.

Mom was at your side, crying softly. It was morning but the curtains were drawn so the room seemed gray. You'd been in so much pain they'd increased your morphine just hours before. It looked like you were already dead except for the mumbling. "Debbie's here, Dick, Debbie came!"I remember you turning toward me and trying to talk, but your mind was so deep in medication. I could see you in there. The wheels were turning. The thoughts were trying to reach the surface, but they vanished before you could form them into words.

I stroked your arm. I took a wash cloth with cool water and wiped your cracked lips. There was no time for reconciling. There was no chance of hearing anything I'd ever needed to hear. You were going to die and we would be forever unsettled. Sleep took you and we left to meet at my sister's for our Thanksgiving meal.

If I told you I was psychic, I'm sure you passed it off as ridiculous. In your world things were black and white. You were an accountant. Things have to add up, to balance. You'd made it clear you were disappointed with the choices I'd made in my life. In fact, when I left my 3rd husband - the father of my children - and began a life with a 20 year old 22 years younger than me - you said "I feel you are doing this to hurt me." You were so embarrassed of me. My sister had married a doctor and given birth to the son you'd always wanted. My sister lived a life filled with family and tradition in Ohio while I lived a life of ever shifting devotions. I could not seem to find what I was looking for. In your mind - why was I looking at all? I finally had a husband who supported me and children and a nice home. There was nothing to be unhappy about. I'd lived my entire life with you telling me "Debbie, you've got to stop wearing your feelings on your sleeve! Toughen up!" I'd lived my entire life just wanting to know you could love me for who I really was and not who you wanted me to be. You took yourself out of my life for over a year. Was it two years? I spent it in a fog, so I don't know how long it really was. Once the my third divorce was underway and I was living with Ben and my children and struggling - you said it was too much for you. You were sick. You did not need the stress my life was putting on you. You were done. And you would no longer take my calls. Mom would talk to me from time to time, but I was set adrift so that you could be sick in peace.

My sister's children were flown to spend spring break with you and mom in AZ. You took them to baseball spring training. But this connection with my sister's children and not mine began long before I left their father. I remember when my son was born - you'd already begun to distance yourself from me and my children. Maybe you were a bit psychic? Maybe you could see the path I would take five years into the future. Maybe.

But there was no "maybe" as I drove away on that Thanksgiving morning. I knew you were dying. I knew you would die that day. I knew there would be no talking with you. I knew I needed to let you know it was ok to go. You had waited for it. You were deep inside that morphine sleep praying for me to let you go, to let you off the hook. You'd reconnected with me a year before that day. You and mom had driven to visit Ben and I and the kids. You spent a day with us in San Francisco. You told me you'd realized life was too short to stay upset with me. You recognized I was happy and the kids were happy and that Ben was indeed the life partner I'd always yearned for. With Ben, I was at peace.

It was that day in San Francisco I kept in my mind as I drove. I could barely see through my tears. I'd come too late - or maybe not. In the car - I talked with you. I felt you with me and I said everything I knew you needed to hear. I kept back all the anger and pain I'd carried - and gave you my love. I told you I knew you'd waited for me to come and I had. I told you it was OK to go now. I told you we had nothing left to talk about - all was forgiven. I understood all I'd done that left you upset with me. I told you there was nothing you needed to say to me you had not said.
Go.

We had just finished the feast. It was been a quiet, sad dinner. Your absence was filled with the memory of you lying in that small sterile room. And suddenly I knew I had to get back to the hospital, NOW. Mom knew too and she was jumping up just as I was. The family tried to calm us, to let us know there was no urgency, but there was.

Mom, my sister and I rushed back to you. You looked like you had earlier in the day, but the sound... I knew it in my gut. It was a death rattle.

We left mom there to hold your hand and spend those last moments with you alone. We sat and talked and while she is not one to believe in such things - I told her what was happening in the other room. I knew. I knew you were dying. I knew it was now. I knew you did not want us there. You only wanted mom.

I knew when it was time to go to the room. We arrived seconds after you passed. Mom was crying and stroking your cheek. She had gone to sleep at your side. She awoke just in time to see you take your last breath - and then you were gone. She said " He knew I was here. He knew you were both close...."

In the years since your passing - we've talked so often, you and I. All the things I never said to you I'd wished I had - I told you. And you heard me. And all the things you'd judged me for, you realized were nothing. You learned who I really am and learned who you really were - after you passed. In the first year - it was as if you were either with me or with mom. Back and forth. She and I could talk about things you'd said and how comforting it was for her to feel you with her. It was never something she would have believed in before, but with me as her sounding board, she could not only believe but share.

In the year after your passing - I realized it was me that held back from you. I never let you in. You were my rock and my ball and chain. I would lean on you, but never felt I could escape your judgment. In that year I shared everything with you and I became free. I would not be writing all that I do now if it were not for the talks we had. I never questioned if they were real. It could be just my mind working through all that on my own but it would not explain how it was going on with mom as well.

I asked for proof "am I really talking with you, Dad?" and the joking began. The little puns you would come up with - they were popping into my head - new puns - you were making fun and joking with me. It could just me, though, thinking what you "would" say. Until I got the package from mom that first Christmas since you'd passed. It sat under the tree unopened and somehow I knew you had given me Indian jewelry for Christmas. So many gifts from you had been Indian jewelry. You gave pieces often to my mom and I. Silver and turquoise was under that tree, in that package - and it was from my father who had passed. I told Ben and my kids that. Long before I opened it to find that mom had framed a silver and turquoise belt buckle of yours for me. I called her in tears. I asked how she came up with the idea to send me that. She said simply, "Dick told me to." Proof.

This is the place where I would normally say everything to you I'd wished I said. Dad, you and I both know I've already done that. You know I love you and that I always loved you. I know you love me and always loved me.

This year, Thanksgiving was on the 27th.
The year you passed, Thanksgiving was on the 27th too.
I called mom and we shared a short cry.
We both know you are still with her.
And on every Thanksgiving, I am thankful.