This was a most unusual Thanksgiving. My children were not present. My grandchildren were not present.
A months and some days after my mom passed on, I decided to spend this family holiday with her family/my family, something I had always wanted to do WITH her. But, for many reasons, it never came to pass. These were the cousins and Aunt whom I'd spent summer vacations with. My mom, dad and I would trek up to New England and visit and enjoy the family she had left behind when she left with her Italian sailor after the war, to set up household in his native Brooklyn.
So I caught up with my dear dear Aunt Jean (the wife of my mom's older brother), who will be 94 in March 2015 - and
 | |
| Me and Aunt Jean |
It was a bittersweet occasion. Trying to be very much in the mode of living in the moment, I enjoyed every second of my dear cousins - George, Cynthia, Paula, Carl - and their children - Neil, Mallory, Joel. And, of course, my mother's own dear cousin Phyllis and her husband Charlie were there too.
There wasn't a lot of discussion about my mom's passing, except my Aunt asked me a few times when she died, and then followed the answer with expressions about how much she loved my mom and dad. Somehow, I didn't tire of hearing about it. It was genuine and coming from her heart.
One of my missions during this trip was to find a good place to deposit my mom's ashes. Half of them have already gone to the Veterans Cemetery in Southern New Jersey to join and be next to my dad's. His headstone is engraved with his ever constant reminder to "Keep Smiling." And hers will bear her ever constant reminder to live "one day at a time." They'll be there together.
But I wanted her to be also interned with her family in New England - the family that meant so much to her, the family that also burdened her for life with the sad scars of her childhood. And so, with my two dear cousins, George and Cynthia, and with Lenny, we deposited her ashes at the grave site of her family, which will also be the grave site of my dear Aunt Jean.
We visited all my cousins family homes throughout the town of Attleboro, Massachusetts, which were also the places I had visited and stayed as a child. Such good memories. And we visited my Aunt's last home (before she moved on to the extraordinary assisted living facility where where she currently lives), which will soon become the home of my cousin Mallory, George and Cynthia's beautiful and talented daughter. This young lady was blessed with great gifts. She is both a talent artist and performer. And her life has been challenged since she was a little girl by what could be insurmountable physical issues. But, sit and listen to Mallory talk about her life and learn a life lesson from someone so young. She is an inspiration.
All in all, this was a very filling and satisfying Thanksgiving. And, I'm not even talking about the extraordinary repast that was set forth by my wonderful cousins.
I returned my mother to the place of her birth - the place where she experienced joy and sorrow. The place where she met my father and was spirited away to another life, away from everything she ever knew (reminds me of a song from "Fiddler on the Roof"). And she always fantasized about returning, even though the tales of her childhood suggest that she was best served by the escape engineered by the Italian prince who was my father.
More than anything, I want to develop this connection with these wonderful folks, with whom I share DNA and extraordinary history. We share music, memories and yes, the pain of family history that is not always positive. But we are positive. Beautifully so.
I want to share and grow old with them. I want to share my children and grandchildren with their children and grandchildren and I want to share my life with their life. It's a great gift. The greatest gift.
