Years ago, my friend was complaining about being too broke to be able to go out and do anything fun.
His friend, a lifelong veteran of poverty replied, “You can always clean your house.”
Sometimes the simplest advice is best.
The worst Thanksgiving of my life was last year. My wife was dying. The previous 7 months were brutal watching her suffer from cancer, treatments and ever escalating pain.
The month leading up to Thanksgiving I thought she would die every night. She could get not relief from the agonizing pain caused by tumors in her spine. She thrashed and moaned in bed all day and night. She could no longer sit up for more than a few minutes a day. Her pain medication no longer worked. She had stopped eating.
After grueling months of treatments, surgery and radiation, we called hospice and I began administering morphine to her every 2 hours around the clock in November.
But she wanted us to have a Thanksgiving. So on that day, our stepson and his girlfriend came over and I set out to find takeout food that appealed to everyone.
I drive around for hours in a tropical downpour searching for an open takeout joint.
I finally found an open Boston Market. So had hundreds of others. In the cold, gloomy downpour I stood in line for an hour with families, groups of friends and lonely singles waiting to reach the assembly line of food preparers barking out harsh commands at the counter.
After more than 2 hours I returned home with cold styrofoam containers of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and carrots. I bought every dessert they had hoping something might appeal to my wife.
She forced herself out of bed for the first time in a week and sat on the sofa . She pushed a few forkfuls around on her plate and pretended to eat while the rest of us pretended to enjoy our meals. After 20 minutes I helped her back to bed where she writhed in agony while I silently begged a god I don’t believe in to let her go.
My prayers went unanswered that night. After much more suffering, she died two weeks later in a place she never wanted to go.
This Thanksgiving was my first without her in 30 years.
My pool was closed so swimming was out. I already know that getting takeout would be hit or miss, so I planned for my usual dinner of cheese, vegetables and a can of tuna.
I dreaded the thought that one of my kind neighbors was going to invite me for dinner and I’d have to beg off. I couldn’t imagine forcing myself to be part of a happy family gathering this year. I don’t have it in me. Luckily no invitations came.
Instead, I stayed home and cleaned the house. I dusted, vacuumed and organized. Did the bathrooms, the kitchen and the entire first floor.
It wasn’t a bad Thanksgiving.
I remember the chaotic dinners we used to host in Pittsburgh with the kids, the crazy relatives, the friends and the band of misfits who would gather at our house for a day of feasting, laughing and in-fighting. I remember thinking then, “We’re making our own traditions now.”
I remember the later years, when Ellen and I would would strategically plan for takeout Chinese or make steaks on the grill and share a bottle of wine.
I remember the recent years, when she would make a small feast for Zack, her and me to share quietly before moving to the living room to watch a movie and play with the pets.
All of those are good memories of a life well lived and shared together.
This Thanksgiving that’s what I had – good memories
And a clean house.