On This Day of Thanksgiving...

My mind is full of thoughts. What I’m about to say may not be popular or even pleasant, but I’m still grieving and feeling raw right now. I’m not big on Thanksgiving as a rule. In our daily lives, we should always give Thanks for what we have. Whether or not we believe in God or a being greater than ourselves, we should always recognize the good things in our lives—our blessings—our loved ones, our talents, our treasures, our health or whatever we hold dear. We must be thankful for those things. We should treat everyone with honor and respect and look out for those who aren’t as fortunate.

Lately, maybe I am more conscious of what I am thankful for and more aware of the blessings all around me. I have a loving husband who has been kind, compassionate, loving and willing to sacrifice so much of his time to help me, my mother and my father as he was ailing. David didn’t have to do what he did for us, but he did so out of love and respect. He’s a treasure and a blessing I will always cherish and thank him for being part of our lives. I don’t need a day on the calendar to tell him this. Nor anyone else. I try to be mindful of these things, but I fail. Maybe that is why “Thanksgiving Day” exists. So, perhaps it is a good thing.

It goes without saying how blessed and thankful I am for my parents. They have taught me how to love, provided me with a good home, values and morals. The lessons they taught me have shaped me; and I hope, have molded me into a decent human being. They gave me a solid faith and belief in God. And I try to remember these lessons daily even though I often fail.

As I watched my dad’s health fail this year, I learned more about myself than I thought possible. I also think I managed to find patience. Sometimes, my dad wasn’t easy to get along with. He had a strong personality. We fought like cats and dogs, we spared verbally, not always using PG language, but we always made up. We also loved and adored each other. He was truly my best friend. We did so much together and when a day went by that we didn’t see or talk to one another, one of us called to check on the other.

When we knew he wasn’t going to get well and that his days on this Earth were fewer and fewer, we rallied behind him and did everything we could to make sure he was happy, comfortable and loved. My  extended family pitched in with visits, bringing meals or just being there for my mom and me. My aunts and uncles were a blessing. They visited him, offered my mom their support, took her to run errands or stayed with Dad so she could take a break. His friends came to see him, prayed with him and prayed for him; my uncle faithfully brought him the Eucharist and cousins came to help. My own friends did what they could to make life easier for us. I’m grateful to the hospice and the caregivers my dad had in the last few weeks of his life. I’m thankful for his doctor who did his best to treat him even knowing it was a longshot.

Nothing about Dad’s dying was or is easy. There are bitter feelings; there is anger and resentment. These feelings will dissipate with time, but for the moment, nothing can ease the pain. Friends, family and co-workers have paid their respects and honored my father in many ways, and I will always be grateful and thankful for that. Some came to the funeral home for the visitation; some stayed for the rosary and some sent cards. Many offered condolences, paid for Masses or sent flowers. I hope some donated money in his name. Many others came to Dad’s Funeral Mass and I will remember the faces of those who were there. I don’t need to see a name in a guestbook to know who came. Each and every one of you will forever be in my memory. I am thankful to those, especially my non-religious/non-Catholic friends and family, who came to his funeral out of respect. That is what mattered. I will never forget you, as I will never forget looking around the church for faces that should have been there and were not there-- no apologies or excuses given for their absence. That sting will lessen in time, but it does hurt. I am so thankful for the many messages of condolences I received. And sadly, I’ll remember waiting for the messages that never came. It’s too late for apologies or sympathies. I don’t mean to be bitter and harbor resent because in the end, all that mattered was my father and the people who loved him, respected him and cared for him were there for him yesterday. We laughed, we cried and we remembered him. And in the end, it was for him we celebrated his life—in a way that honored him with our traditions and our faith.