The Thankful Journey

It's been a long year for her, and it's nearly time. Her body has had more than enough.

Things have been fairly calm one this pathway. Not easy - and not pain-free - but all things considered, fairly calm. And that's all this really is too. It's a path - a journey - and each of us find our way. When we're children, we have VERY little control over things. It makes sense - or, at least, it closes the loop - that when we're elderly, we have very little control over things.
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My parents celebrated Thanksgiving today, a day before the rest of the nation. Not because they're so incredibly blessed that they need more than 24 hours to acknowledge each thing ('tho that may, in fact, be true), but because my mother would prefer to not have to remember Thanksgiving as the day her sister died.

And, in all likelyhood sometime between now and the end of the weekend, the loop will be completed, and this journey will have concluded.

I learned how to waterski in Lake Tahoe around the age of 9 or so. I was terrified of ANY body of water and had not been taught to swim but my Dad's youngest sister, the "coolest" Aunt I had, insisted on tossing me into the lake anyway. I popped up and out from behind the boat and skied my little heart out. She was thrilled at my success, not realizing that I was not in fact a star pupil (nor she all that skilled of an instructor), but instead was just too petrified to let go of the rope. In fact, I didn't even really fall at the end of my run. My skinny little arms finally gave out and I let go of the lead, only to slowly sink into the water and prey that my life preserver would work until the boat circled around to come get me.

That Aunt passed away on November 19th, 2003 and Thanksgiving that year was quiet and done out of a feeling of "well we have to eat I guess" more than anything else.

I learned how to barefoot waterski in my teens behind the boat of my Mom's sister, the "other" Aunt. I wasn't particularly close to this Aunt or Uncle when I was a kid. Their children, my cousins, are a solid decade plus older than I, and I suppose I was somewhat of a mystery to them. I was outgoing and energetic, bookish and musically inclined, and it never failed that I'd need to be in yet another arm cast a week prior to spending time at the lake. But this one summer, very early in the morning while the lake was completely flat, I convinced my Uncle to get their Chris-Craft fired up pre-breakfast. And with my Aunt looking on from their dock and my boyfriend cheering me on from the back of the boat, I yelled "hit it", sunk my shoulders as low as they would into the water, and let the tow-line pull me to the top of the lake on a single ski, which I then stepped off from. To hear my Uncle tell it (to everyone who would listen for the rest of the week), I practically walked on the water all by myself. He never understood that his skill behind the wheel of their boat was the ONLY reason I didn't break a toe - or a foot - or a leg.

And now this Aunt takes the same journey, being guided by the same crappy disease.
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And yet, I am thankful. I am thankful that her pain and suffering will cease. I am thankful that we fought like hell - not against one another but as a family towards a goal - to get her one more beautiful Summer on the lake. Her Lake. And I am thankful that I have this memory, and so many others.

This path, as I try to comprehend it, ideally shouldn't be in any way painful for those making it. It is those left behind that mourn the loss of a good friend, loving spouse, supportive parent, caring Aunt or Uncle, or incredible sibling. It is a journey that we are all on, but those final steps are always made alone.

This Thanksgiving, allow me to urge you as strongly as I possibly can via this electronic diary of mine. If you have a good friend, a loving spouse, a supportive parent, a caring Aunt or Uncle or an incredible sibling - give thanks.