Thanks...and Giving

                                                                                                                                
'Tis the Season indeed...to be thoughtful and joyful and thankful and giving.

I am overwhelmed with emotion as I ponder those words today.  Although I cannot put a finger on it exactly, I think it all boils down to the biggest word of all - LOVE.  I am surrounded by it.  From the surface and superficial to the real and amazing; from the commercial to the priceless and from the getting...to the giving.

I have a problem with love.  There is no other feeling that can cause the effect of every other emotion without a word being said or action been taken - except the feeling of being without it.  Love is unpredictable and uncontrollable.  It requires...well...giving.  And you can't give without getting.  In order to get, you have to be open to receiving.  Damn  how that works.

When it comes down to it, the only love that is real is that of family.  There are very very few people who are not relatives that transcend from friend to family.  So very few.  Too little few.

I love my family.  I am thankful for them.  I think I would be better at giving if I had my own family.  I have so much to give.  It just doesn't pour out like it should.  If I gave more..I would get more.

Thanksgiving seemed to be easier when I was young.  You show up, you eat, you go home.  Then when I got older - a newlywed with a new home - I couldn't wait to host the family dinner and did so for several years in a row.  If you know nothing about me, you must know now that I absolutely thrive on hosting and entertaining.  Ironic, I know, for such an awkward introvert.

We lost the home and I seemed to start to lose myself accordingly as others in the family stepped up and took their own turn in hosting from their fabulous new kitchens and with their own wedding registry cookware gifts.  I began to feel more isolated as they started their own families that grew larger, as did the homes to which we visited.  I began to look forward to spending time with my husband's family more and more because of the tradition and the sibling interaction I was able to be a part, if only by association, as a sharp contrast to my own upbringing.  When Todd's mother passed away, his sister stepped up and has done a fabulous job as the matriarch; a title and position I very much envy.  Over the years and after my grandfather's passing, my own side of the family just became too extended and Thanksgiving dinner together became a thing of the past. 

This year seems special.  It has been one of heavy heartache and incredible miracles and blessing.  So when a cousin on my mother's side suggested that I host a family get-together for the holidays, I was almost giddy with excitement.  Then I was trembling in fear.  My house is not complete!  It is TINY!  Do I even remember how to cook and clean and decorate and WOW?!?!?

Does it really matter?

What matters is that it is perfect.  My uncle is (thankfully) alive and has been moved to a local LTAC hospital - close enough for my family to share a day of fellowship with us all.  I am (thankfully) alive and well.  My husband is (thankfully) alive and well.  I am overwhelmed again, not by the task ahead of me to entertain, but with the anticipation of my modest and unfinished home coming alive with adult conversation and with the heart warming laughter of children...with LOVE.

I have so much to give.  I hope it will be well received!

 

The Last One Standing

I am an only child.

While being so is a topic for discussion in itself, it's just the beginning of how alone I feel today.  I am the last one standing, you see.  The last of the Hughes family - of our little clan anyway.  When my grandmother left this earth on Saturday, she did so to join the rest of them in heaven; her grandson, her husband and her two sons.  

I had a brother once.  He lived for two days when I was three years old.  I remember being excited and preparing for the new baby by practicing with my dolls as any good big sister-to-be does; slinging them around carelessly by one arm and wrapping them up so tightly in a blanket they were sure to suffocate.  His name was Jeffrey.  I lay babies breath on his grave each year and can't wait to meet him someday.

 My grandfather was a kind man who was soft spoken and laughed much.  He sang gospel in a tenor voice that would make birds stop to listen.  He battled weight and complications with diabetes until he lost the war when I was nine.

My uncle was an absolute blast.  Forever young, incredibly handsome and always rebellious, he was full of funny character and life.  Still an ornery little boy when my parents met, he made an annoyance of his pesky self on their dates together.  My mother once told her future mother-in-law, "If I ever had a child like that....!" to which was replied back to her, "Be careful what you are wishing for!".  Four years later I was born - the spitting image and personality of my uncle.  He was snatched from us as a result of a motorcycle wreck when I was nineteen.  His body tried to hang on for a few weeks after that fateful accident, but his brain and spirit were already gone.  My grandmother was forced to make the impossible decision of "pulling the plug".  In taking one life, they both gave it to so many others by donating organs through the Midwest Transplant Network.  Truly a selfless gift that lives on still today.

My father passed away just seven months ago.  He was a complicated contradiction between being the life of the party and withdrawing into his own cavernous self; the sociable guy that others wanted to be around vs. the introvert that would rather shut out the world in his basement by drowning it all out with headphones or watch a movie alone in the darkness.  He was smart; dictionary freakshow smart.  He was a collector of all things.  All things were of interest to him.  He knew everything there was to know about nothing at all.  I loved to visit my dad and marvel at his 'stuff'.  As I grew up we grew apart, probably because we are so much alike.  My dad was a lymphoma survivor and an over-comer of addictions; strong man in body, mind, opinions and convictions.  The treatment required to save his life in one decade had made him weak for the next.  Before he died he had made amends with most - including me.  He died in peace.  

Since that time, my grandma had just grown weary.  She had taken medicine to get her through her grief that reacted poorly with her body.  As toxins filled her blood she had frequent talks with her boys.  She missed them fiercely and cursed the fate that had left her behind.  She had me.  She had her husband of 35 years, my step-grandfather.  She loved us both.  But she was called home.  I am happy that she is finally happy.  That was my reaction after the initial shock and tears as I got the news after work, alone in the parking lot on Friday.  An odd and almost inappropriate laughter came over me - hysteria had taken over maybe - delirium.  But I could picture them all together again like a snapshot of bygone days.  They are all now together in spirit and in body, laid to rest together in the family plot cemetery.

I am sad that I was unable to have a baby of my own before they were gone.  That would have made them all so happy.  It's all my grandma talked about!  But maybe with all those angels in heaven looking down on me - my purpose will definitely soon be revealed.  Maybe in being the last one standing now, it is only to make me appreciate what is to come even more.  I can't wait to find out!  And when that plan is revealed, I will surely be laughing like crazy as tears of joy overcome me; and the warm love of family will surround me again.