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Posts Tagged ‘Thanksgiving’

My grandma Helen at age 17 (left) with her friend (and later sister-in-law) my great aunt Amy Ruth (who made an excellent chocolate gravy).

I’ve been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately.  This week, my family will be having Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ house.  Except, my grandmother won’t be there.   Instead, my grandpa’s new girlfriend will be hosting.

This should be okay – my grandma died a few years ago, and my grandpa (the playa) has dated several women since then.  And I like his newest girlfriend a lot.  She is sweet and friendly and really seems to care for him.

But.  It’s my grandmother’s house (selfish, bratty response, I know).  And some other woman is serving some other food.  And it’s Thanksgiving.  Hmph.  (K, I’ll uncross my arms and remove my pouty face now.)

So, I’m sure it will be fine, but I’ve been telling myself I can NOT get upset when my grandmother’s stove is used for other people’s pies and I will not whine when they try to serve sweet potatoes with stupid little marshmallows on them and what if they don’t make cornbread dressing?

Really, these are petty problems.  And not the reason for this blog post.

A dear friend of mine has a rare form of cancer.  She was undertaking her 6th round of chemotherapy last week and the pain was so intense she had been unable to sleep in three days.  Another migraine hit (a reaction to the poison churning through her) and she grabbed hold of the bathroom sink, hoping and praying for the pain to subside.  In her lack of sleep and the force of the throbbing, she was consumed by a hopelessness that she had not yet allowed herself to feel.  (Incredibly strong woman, my friend, in body and in mind.)

Suddenly, she heard her grandmother’s voice, calling to her from the other room.  “I know that is crazy,” my friend said in a text (because her grandmother has been gone for years), “but I swear her voice was as loud and clear as my own.”  The voice was so present that my friend went to look for her grandmother in the other room – and half expected her to be there.  The migraine (and despair) that had just flooded my friend’s mind subsided.  And that night, she slept soundly and deeply – for the first time in months.

I am touched by this story, not just because of the situation, but because of the characters involved.  My friend has always been sensible, level-headed and smart.  She’s not prone to ghost stories.  And neither is my brother, who seemed to experience a ghost story of his own today – a calling from our own grandmother (who, by the way, seems wholly unconcerned about my need for her cornbread dressing).

I can’t tell you his story just yet – it involves a present for someone who reads this blog.  So you’ll have to wait a few months.  But it’s a good one.  Stay tuned!

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