Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday because it’s about appreciating, not accumulating. The fourth Thursday of November is the perfect combination of joyful human activities — family, feasting and taking time to count our blessings. I like that there’s a holiday to express that without sounding churchy. It also doesn’t hurt that I enjoy the special foods connected with it.
Thanksgiving was a big deal when I was growing up on Hilrose Dairy Farm. With at least 16-20 people to feed, Mom had to roast a huge turkey. Funny, it seemed about the same year after year, but Dad always said it was her best one ever. No one disagreed; you wouldn’t be so bold as to argue with my father over something that serious. Mom’s stuffing and gravy — if I live to be 100, I’ll never be able to duplicate that.
After I started my own family, I continued to carry on familiar traditions such as going around the table with each participant sharing what they were thankful for. I remember so many of those moments. One of my favorites happened when my son was 8. He said he was thankful that his father “didn’t tell Mom I drove the Jeep down the lane and hit a tree, not hard, just kinda bumped it,” or when my tweener daughter said she was grateful her mom was an English teacher because “reading books is the most fun you can have in this house.”
As the years passed, I hosted Thanksgivings for our blended family. That tradition continued when Jon and I retired in Townsend, but then we started celebrating at my sister Carol’s in Mequon after her husband, Dave, was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Our sister, Sharon, her husband, their daughters and special friends joined us. My daughter and granddaughter usually came, too. It was always a day filled with laughter and love.
Carol, a home economics major in college, worked overtime to make every detail perfect. Their condo was decorated as if it was being featured in House Beautiful Magazine. Seriously, it was like we were on the set of a Hallmark holiday movie. Her turkey melted in your mouth, and her stuffing was incredible. Each of us brought a side dish; my contribution was always homemade dinner rolls and cranberries. Instead of pumpkin pie, Sharon brought pumpkin cheesecake. Now I do not often do dessert. But that cheesecake? It was divine.
COVID interrupted our visits, and Dave’s illness progressed so Carol was unable to host the past few years. In September, we discussed resuming the tradition, albeit on a scaled-back version. Then, out of the blue, she called on Oct. 2 to tell me she had been diagnosed with cancer. The oncologist told her it was incurable but treatable. She sounded upbeat, ready to fight, determined to resume caregiving for Dave.
Of my four sisters, I have always been closest to Carol. She was born 10 years after me, so she was my “living doll” for real. I fussed over her until Sharon came along to dislodge her from her lofty place. I spent time reading aloud school assignments to her, teaching her cursive, practicing my oratory for the annual 4-H Speaking Contest, showing off the latest dance steps featured on Dick Clark’s “American Bandstand.”
Imagine my shock Oct. 11 when I got the news that Carol had been hospitalized. The next day, I made the three-hour drive to Mequon. She was sedated, but she smiled and nodded and squeezed my hand when I showed her mementos I had brought that meant something special to both of us.
I tried to ease the pain and fear in her eyes by reading her a favorite bedtime story, but I couldn’t stop choking up. So I just told her how much I loved her and what a great sister she was. The next day I held her hand as she drew her last breath, her hospice room full of family to comfort her and each other. I was heartbroken, bewildered and, yes, angry. How could this be happening? I couldn’t get my head around it.
Fortunately, I had booked the next few days for a grandma-duty visit with my granddaughter. An 11-year-old is truly balm for a broken heart. When I got home, I wrote Carol’s obituary, the most difficult series of sentences I’ve ever put on paper. I wanted it to be perfect, like her Thanksgiving décor and dinner. It ends with her favorite Irish blessing: “Death invites a heartache no one can heal; love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
So, this Thanksgiving, hug those you hold dear; tell them how much you love them. Don’t squander the time you have together on petty disagreements. Make a memory no one can take away. Happy Thanksgiving.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
Thanksgiving important time to cherish family
