Random Thoughts from a Restless Mind

Not gonna lie, Thanksgiving this year has been a tough go for me. As you know Thanksgiving is far and away my favorite holiday. The coming together of family and friends for nothing but the joy of coming together as family and friends has always touched my soul. That we would or could continue to do so year after year has been a bit of a touchstone for a kid (and a couple) who moved away. For more than 30 years we have alternated in some way between extended families. Where once we needed only manage two generations there are now four in the mix. 2019 was an “off” year for us, a year when children would prioritize in-laws (if even that was possible). Beth and I neither hosted nor traveled to be hosted by family for Thanksgiving dinner (hugs and infinite thanks to the Taylors for folding us into theirs and to Randy and his little family for joining us for brunch).

I missed everybody.

Seriously, I was a mess. Just a great big blubbering mess. I missed everyone, those both simply away and those who are gone. This longing was occasionally just below the surface, and to my wife’s great amusement bubbled through at pretty much every tiny little emotional prompt. It goes without saying that I sprung a leak watching “Mary Poppins” and “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood ” (the Mister Rogers movie), but come on, I cried at the end of “Downton Abbey”. Everybody lived! Everybody was happy! And I still cried. Don’t even get me started about that new “E.T.” commercial. Sheesh.

For whatever reason, well, probably because we wouldn’t have a typical family Thanksgiving, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about family members who are no longer with us. It’s been a tough few years for the White and Hurst families, and for the families of our sibling’s spouses for that matter. I’ve found myself thinking of my Dad and my Father-in-Law, wishing I could chat about any number of things. We stumbled upon a lovely picture of Sandy, my Mother-in-Law, making Christmas cookies. So vibrant, so alive in that picture. My memories of those holiday moments came alive, too, a rush of color and smiles and scents and laughter. Bob’s puns. My Dad’s terrible palate that could nonetheless parse the provenance and price point of Chateauneuf de Pape. They are here with me as if we’d had dinner yesterday.

If I had the guts I would re-watch “Coco”, that lovely little Disney movie about the Mexican day of remembrance Dio de los Muertos. I don’t, and I won’t, at least not now while I seem to be just one raw exposed nerve, but if I did it would probably help a bit. Remembering, that is. Harold Bloom, the Yale professor of literature and societal scold, has given this some thought: “Our beloved dead live only as long as we absorb them into our daily thoughts and feelings. When we die, our own survival will be the extent to which we have changed the lives of those who come after us.” Very Mexican, that. Still, both Bloom and Coco are right; Beth’s folks and my Dad have been here with us this Thanksgiving.

Are they in Heaven? Boy, for as much thinking as I’ve done about that over the years I still don’t know where that is. Heaven, that is. Is it a place like what Disney depicted in “Coco”, where our dead live for as long as they are remembered by the living? Does the Heaven of my upbringing exist as a place of eternal joy for those whose lives were deemed worthy? Or is there some other, more rational explanation like the one that my genius brother-in-law and I have explored through quantum physics? The multiverse of infinite time going both forward and backward?

Or perhaps it is not our beloved dead who are in Heaven but us. Maybe it is we who are in Heaven. Mr. Rogers: “The connections we make here in the course of a life–maybe that’s what Heaven is.” Maybe Heaven is here, now, and those we’ve lost in the flesh are nonetheless here with us in Heaven for as long as they are remembered. Make no mistake it is easier and far more satisfying to be warmed by a hug than a memory. But still, the connections persist. That’s likely the important lesson for me this Thanksgiving. The rituals help us to remember, and the remembering keeps those we love and have loved close by. My beloved Thanksgiving, in every version, may be as close as I will ever come to understanding Heaven.

And that it’s OK for me, for anyone, to want a little more of Heaven.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 1st, 2019 at 3:23 pm and is filed under Random Thoughts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.