The Thanksgiving that Never Happened

When my mother died in 2021, I thought I would be able to have a decent relationship with my father. I believed that we could put aside all of our differences and be a family even though we lacked the central cohesive part of everything that made us whole: my mother.

I will never say that my mother was the best mother in the world, but she was my mom, and she meant the world to me. No one is perfect, but she was as close to perfect as I would ever have, and ten thousand times better than the dad that I called: Fred, Fred, the Cabbage Head behind his back since the age of five. Fred, the only name he deserved from my lips, had always been cruel and abusive. I felt that he was emotionally disturbed and worthy of institutionalization. Every holiday season when I came home to visit before and after I had children, and before and after my divorce, he was a jerk. He wouldn't eat with us. He rooted for the opposing team no matter the truth of his loyalty regarding football. He told the same old stories that he had been telling since I was born. The worst story being that he couldn't decide if I was a genius or mentally retarded when I was a child because I was quiet. Well, most people appreciate quiet and well-behaved children. They don't view obedience, thoughtfulness, empathy, and just plain kindness as a birth defect! What a peach of a man, right?

Regarding losing my mom, I don't remember the first Thanksgiving and Christmas without her in 2021 at all. I haven't had time to grasp what losing her is like, and all I can say is that I haven't seen her in one year, eight months, one week, and two days. I don't feel an emptiness in my heart. I don't feel loneliness. I don't feel a since of loss. I just miss talking to her. I just miss her laugh. Most of all, I miss the fact that I had someone to count on: her. She didn't have to take my side. She didn't have to play psychologist. She just listened. When I lost almost everything that meant anything to me after my divorce, she was there to pick up the pieces. Regarding holidays, even when I promised to cook everything, and I never failed to follow through, she always had food to add, and it always seemed to be too much, and then after everyone ate, Fred, Fred the Cabbage Head would go to town and eat everything that should have been leftovers for the rest of us, and if he couldn't consume all of it, he would give the remainder of the holiday food to random strangers as opposed to the homeless or needy individuals downtown who had absolutely nothing to eat for Thanksgiving or possibly at all. Again, what a peach of a man!

Thanksgiving 2022 is four days away. Three days ago, I told Fred, Fred, the Cabbage Head that I would like to spend the holiday with him. After he agreed to spend Thanksgiving with me alone, less than a day later, he contacted me and explained that he had called my ex-husband, and my adult children, and my brother, and since they had other plans, he could not bear spending the holiday with just me in the house where I had lived from the time I was seven until I graduated from college over thirty years ago. In the letter that he mailed to me as opposed to calling me to dictate his bag of lies, he stated the following:

"The voices of those who have transcended have advised me not to have Thanksgiving Dinner at the house. I trust their advice for I honor them each morning. (See attached - I didn't bother.)

In honor of your mother, I will not celebrate any holidays in this house unless all of us are there. I miss her too much (See Poem - I didn't bother.)"

I don't know what to do about Fred, Fred the Cabbage Head. He said that he would bring Vietnamese food to my home on Thanksgiving. Why not his home? My eldest son stated that he would join us. I would rather spend that time with my son alone than waste one minute of my life with my father. I am done with Fred, Fred the Cabbage Head. The sperm donor who called me a retard at birth, is no longer worthy of the title father, and I would rather die than ever again mistakenly call him: dad.