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Counting our blessings


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It was the day after Thanksgiving 2015 and my son and I walked into Jo’s room at the Wesley Commons assisted living facility after returning from her storage unit.

“Did y’all get everything sorted out?” she asked.

“We did,” I responded, “except for the sewing machine.”

She paused, looked determinedly toward her window and said, “I have never owned a sewing machine.”

I looked at my son blankly and he held a blank reflection back at me. We tried deeply to not react sadly or with glee. After all, we had been prepped about her condition, so this was not supposed to be any type of surprise. However, we quickly understood that we had witnessed Jo slipping into dementia.

Within minutes, I pulled out my cell phone and called my wife to tell her what had happened; I also asked her about the sewing machine.

“I don’t know anything about the sewing machine, call Peggy,” she said.

So I called my wife’s sister, Peggy, and recounted to her the tale of the sewing machine at which she responded with a large belly laugh. I thought to myself that that was a rude response to her mother’s frailty. I mean, after all, I was still in shock from seeing such a spunky woman get lost in her own personal space and time continuum.

“Mama has owned a sewing machine for as long as I can remember,” she said.

Perhaps the laughter was simply Peggy’s way of dealing with the gradual decline of her mother’s health. Perhaps I would get over my shock.

Now, looking back a year ago, that entire visit was covered in a foggy déjà vu of sorts. You see, it was November 2007 when my son and I celebrated Thanksgiving Day with my father in the ALF where he was living in Eastman, Ga., eight months after my mother died.

That visit was typical but also not typical. In the years raising our son, we would either spend Thanksgiving Day with my family in Georgia or my wife’s family in South Carolina. And like most holidays, some visits come with happy memories and some come with not so happy memories. Either way, we sort out the memories and, somehow in the midst of all the fray and Black Friday pressures, we sit, gather, connect and count our blessings.

As I look back on 2016, I reflect on all we’ve endured as a community, a state and a nation, as well as in my family. Jo passed away March 26, 2016, four months after our Thanksgiving Day visit last year in Greenwood, S.C. In April this year, we celebrated her rich and fulfilled life. Also, that month, we celebrated our son, Lochlin, and his graduation from the University of Florida. We have so much for which to give thanks.

This week, as families across America sit down and reconnect, my hope is that everyone will look inward and count the blessings in their lives, their community, state and nation. It’s a powerful thing to envision – millions of people giving thanks and being grateful in unison, all on the same day.

Happy Thanksgiving!