Thanksgiving For Lost Memories

Part 1

For the first time in a long time, Thanksgiving was quiet. There were no arguments, accusations, bickering or fighting. The day started calmly, and it looked like things were going to stay that way. With the parents not there, the Thompson siblings knew this was their moment to bring order to a long-neglected place they once called home.

This was not a time to be taken lightly. A lot of memories and keepsakes had to be moved to make the house more presentable. Doug Thompson, his sister Janelle and brother Mark made plans for the day. It was going to be hard and emotional but it had to be done in order for all to move forward.

Each member worked quietly. Doug took care of the rec. room. Janelle did the bedroom, while Mark took on the dubious task of clearing out the laundry room and bathroom. The place to remain untouched was the garage. It was dad’s domain. And cleaning that would be a task. Then again, it wasn’t the most important place. The rest of the house was.

Doug cleared out the bookshelf in the rec. room. It was full of useless decorations, miniature toys and paper weights that were more suitable for a business desk at some hip dot-com place. But, those were memories of his mother’s past. With a deep sigh, he swiped his hands over the shelves and dumped these items into a bag. In a way, the move hurt. But, the pain of it was soon replaced by the empty shelves that now had the possibility of building new memories.

But, in recent years, she barely remembered them.Worst yet, she stressed over these little things, trying to remember.

There were things he removed from the room. Many of it wasn’t from his mother. Instead it was stuff he once played with or kept that, for some reason, she held onto. Useless, Doug thought to himself. Some of the stuff were things he threw away a long time ago: broken Slinkies, plastic flowers from a wedding or funeral (could never tell which). It has been so long for him to remember.

“Why does mother keep this crap?” Doug whispered to himself. In truth, he knew; at one point they meant something special for her. But, in recent years, she barely remembered them.Worst yet, she stressed over these little things, trying to remember.

That's when the arguments and bickering began, many times over. And during the holidays it was the worst. Thanksgiving was the worst. She’d express all her emotions and create undo stress within the family. Even his father, who’d keep his own useful stuff in the garage, would feel the stress and the heartbreak.

***

Janelle went to the closet of each room in the house and pulled out many pieces of clothing and stacked them on a couch in the living room.

The clothing was out-of-date or ratty. Some had holes and were beyond repair.

There was a box. She grabbed the obvious undesirables and threw them in it.

“Why keep this?” she mumbled to herself before she cussed quietly to herself. With her, the frustration and sadness of seeing stuff that had been kept in there was too much.

***

Mark’s task was different: He cleared shelves, and in some cases made new ones.. This was his solution for the incredible disorganization of clothing, shoes , detergents and other items that either belonged or didn’t belong in a laundry room. The room itself was cramped with reused cupboards from a kitchen remodeling nearly two decades ago (something that never made any sense to him as to why keeping it around). It was so crowded in this room that the doors of some of the cupboards couldn’t be opened because another cupboard blocked its way. Despite the tackiness, he wasn’t going to remove them. That would be too much work. The best he could do was organize and repair to make it all look more presentable than what it was before. But, correcting chaos was never an easy endeavor.

He managed to move the cupboards to a point that their doors opened freely. More space opened and he could start putting in excess rags and detergents into them.

All was well when he felt he accomplished what he wanted to do. He was about to move on to his next project when he came to a realization: something felt out of place.

With eyes stinging from sweat dripping from his brows, Mark saw the aging, rotting bench clumsily placed in the laundry room and used as a makeshift holder of debris. It was something that should have been retired a long time ago. Supposedly, his father built it and kept it as a prize. Mark understood what it meant, but it had been neglected over the years, and he suspected that his father had forgotten about it a long time ago.

There had been attempts to cover it with posters and newspapers. But the posters faded and frayed while the newspaper turned yellow and shriveled into fragile dry pieces that bled its ink onto it. In addition, the legs were shredded. It was as if something had been gnawing on it for years. How this weakened structure stood was beyond comprehension as far as Mark was concerned.

Other items did its damage. Bleach and detergent, scuff marks from numerous items had weathered this piece of furniture.

Mark took a deep breath and pondered his next move. It was junk. But it was junk with a memory. Still, its time had come.

He took the old stool out of the laundry and to the side of the house. There, with a few hacks, Mark put it out of its misery and threw it on a pile of firewood.

But, oddly enough, the removal of it left a gaping hole in the laundry room’s aesthetics. He knew what to do. He ventured into the garage and started work on a new one. As Dad often did, he had the material and tools to do so.

When he emerged an hour later, he had a sturdy replica of the old bench. He knew where to put it. A smile came across his face when he saw how well it fit in with the newly organized room. His work was done. As was with the other two.

Part 2

Doug was exhausted. He crashed on the couch. But in doing so he was reminded of what his next task was going to be. He’d have to haul several bags piled in the living room to the local donation center. He wanted to put the thought of heaving and hauling all those to the back of his truck on hold. His muscles ached and his sweat stuck to his clothing. He didn’t want to move, but he knew that this was the last arduous task to be done. In addition he had to wait for the others and make sure they brought their piles in.

As he waited, a memento still on the wall caught his attention. It was a family portrait from a more innocent and happy time. Mom was fine and beautiful in the shoot. His brother and sister were sharp and clean. He, himself, was lean and savvy, just like his father.

What a family we were, he reminisced. We were so happy until...

“Time for a meeting!” Janelle called for everyone’s attention from the dining room.

Reluctantly, Doug rose from the couch and headed for the dining room. At the same time, Mark emerged from the laundry room. Together, they approached Janelle.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Mark said as he entered the room.

“Is it time?” Doug said, knowing ahead of time why Janelle was calling for a meeting.

“Well, it's 3:00,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall above the lit-up oven. “Guess this is the best time to call it day. Let’s get those bags packed and make a run to the donation center.”

***

Despite his exhaustion, Doug felt a new sense of energy. All three entered the living room and gathered a bag and took it to the truck until it was all put away.

After the task, Doug noticed Janelle’s eyes watering up. Mark gave a side glance and asked.

“All that memory will be gone,” she said.

“Yeah,” Mark replied flatly. He was the one who rarely got sentimental over things.

Doug, on the other hand, climbed in on the driver’s side. The stuff being donated didn’t bother him like it did Janelle. But, he wasn’t unscathed like Mark, either. His mind went to the portrait on the wall. That was the lost memory that hit him in the pit of his stomach. It was what that picture represented the most that he missed.

Part 3

Time clicked by. The trip to the donation was mundane as best. Luckily most people were off the street and in their homes having Thanksgiving. Those that were out were those who were heading to the missions or homeless shelters where free turkey and stuffing dinner could be found.

Despite driving, Doug spied through windows of residential homes. In some cases, he can see the family gathered around the table, obviously enjoying the feast and each other. Everyone he was able to briefly see seemed content and healthy.

Why couldn’t we have a family like that anymore, he thought. He tried not to think any more on the subject. It wasn’t useful to let the anger and sorrow of this and previous Thanksgiving get the best of him.

Things were now different. Yet, they were still going to have Thanksgiving. The turkey was in the oven, the stuffing just needed reheating, and other items were chilling in the fridge, ready to be served when they got home.

Still, Doug thought, what happened to their parents was…

Then, Janelle’s phone rang and Doug’s line of thought shifted to the phone.

“Hello?” Janelle answered..

“Oh,” she replied, eyes widened. “How long?”

Doug couldn’t hear the person on the other side of the phone, but he knew who it was and what the time frame was about.

In truth, Doug didn’t have to be told what to do. He knew he had to race home.

After she said “Okay” one last time, Janelle hung up. Mark stared at her, anticipating what she was going to say to them. Instead, Janelle turned her attention to Doug.

“You better step on it,” she said. “She still thinks she’s in control and she’ll ruin the meal.”

In truth, Doug didn’t have to be told what to do. He knew he had to race home.

Part 4

When they arrived home, they found their mother, staring aimlessly at the wall and nowhere near the kitchen. All three were relieved.

She turned to them and gave them a confused glance.

“Are you?” she said quietly. Mark? Janelle….Doug?”

She vaguely recognizes us, Doug thought as he swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

“Yes, it’s us,” Janelle said with a smile that barely held back the sorrow.

Mark nodded, doing his best to hide his emotions.

A twinkle came to her eyes as she slowly rose from the couch and opened her arms. Age had caught up with her since her diagnosis. She was slow to rise and to raise her arms. Her mind, wracked by dementia, was even slower. But in that one moment, she was 10 years younger and spry.

The siblings came to her, and all embraced. She kissed each one on the cheek as if it was a long time since she had seen them all. Then again, it had been a month since she last ventured out of the nursing home.

“Hello? Can I get some help here?” said a voice from the kitchen.

Doug was the first to react. He went through the dining room to the kitchen where his father stood. His father was in better shape, despite his age. But he had slowed down over the years. In addition, he really didn’t know his way around the kitchen like he did with the garage.

“Don’t worry, dad,” Doug replied as he rushed to the oven.. “We got it under control. Just go take a seat and rest.”

His Dad did so. He slumped into a seat. The exhaustion within him was apparent.

“No arguments getting here?” Doug.

“Oh,” Dad responded, “no. It was actually a smooth ride home.”

Doug could only surmise that he had a laborious time of getting her checked out of the nursing home, getting her to the car and physically getting her to the end. He was probably bombarded with a lot of questions, to: “ Who are you,” “Oh, Teddy, dear, where are you going?” Or there was a lot of “What’s this or what’s that” and she was slightly remembering what streets and stores she once went to or drove down when she was allowed to drive so many years ago. At least, this time, it didn’t turn into a scene.

There was sadness within his father, too. How can you not be sad? The family was reunited but it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same.

Even if Janelle was in charge of cooking, Doug did his part and ran around the kitchen to get the plates and utensil. He warmed up the side dishes and took out the ones that were ready to go. Most importantly, He got the turkey out, placed it on a platter and placed it in the middle of the table. Before they left they had set the table, so that wasn’t a need at that point.

Dad’s eyes lit up.

“Thanks for cleaning up the house,” he said. “She didn’t notice anything and hasn’t cried and yelled this time.”

Doug pondered for a moment before saying: “It wasn’t easy. But a lot of stuff had to go.”

“Your mom was always a pack rat.” His dad said, actually cracking a smile. “She probably forgot about all those things a long time ago. Now that her memory is Swiss cheese, she won’t miss it.”

Peering at the food popping up on the table, Dad asked: “Are we ready?

“Ready as can be,” Doug answered.

Upon completing his task, Doug ventured to the living room and told his brother, sister, and mother that dinner was ready. Mark and Janelle helped their mother get up. Slowly, but surely, she made her way across the living room to the dining room. All the while, the two supported her. Once reaching the dining room, Doug took over and guided her to her seat.

Eventually everybody made it to their seat, ready to start the late November ritual.

“Oh Mark?” Dad said. “About that bench in the laundry room.”

“Yeah?” Mark said, nervously.

“It looks good.”

Mark sighed.

Within a moment, the feast began like it had been for years.

It wasn’t the Thanksgiving of old. Mom wasn’t the same. In many respects, his father wasn't the same, either. Age was playing its cruel joke on them. And will continue to do so.

But, for now, they were having Thanksgiving like everyone else was. No fighting, crying or fussing about items that evoked memories. This time memories were being made, new and fresh.

Doug was thankful for this. Very Thankful. Thanksgiving turned out to be the best.