Chapter 9 - THE THANKSGIVING TABLE
One year after Hannah found Mom crying over a clean pan, Thanksgiving returned.
This time Mom hosted.
I protested.
“You don’t need that work.”
She glared.
“I want the work.”
Different sentence.
Different meaning.
So we let her.
She made turkey.
Two kinds of potatoes.
Green beans.
Dressing.
Enough rolls for a military base.
But the house operated differently.
Television stayed off during dinner.
Mom sat in the middle.
People faced her when talking.
Nobody snapped:
“Never mind.”
If something truly wasn’t worth repeating, we said:
“Stupid joke. I’ll tell you later.”
Then actually told her later.
Curtis Bell and his wife came for dessert.
Mom complained there were too many people.
Then fed them all.
After dinner, she stood.
I waited.
She carried one plate to the kitchen.
Then returned.
That was all.
Steven washed dishes.
Hannah dried.
Ben complained.
Normal.
Later, I found Mom in the living room with Curtis.
He was telling her about a difficult patient.
Mom listened.
Then said:
“You can’t fix everybody, sweetheart.”
Curtis smiled.
“You told me that when I was ten.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Mom laughed.
I stood in the doorway.
Nobody needed me.
It was wonderful.
Near nine, Mom put on her coat.
“You ready?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Then she paused.
“Actually…”
I waited.
“Let me hear the end of Hannah’s story first.”
She took the coat off.
Sat again.
Nobody cheered.
Nobody pointed out the symbolism.
Hannah simply continued.
That may have been the greatest sign of progress.
Mom staying was no longer an event.
May you like
It was just Mom staying.
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