Sunday, April 22, 2007

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Thanksgiving.

So here I am, the Thanksgiving day of 2006 come and gone, listening to my mother's futile attempts to vacuum the house that was recently ransacked by many very-Hispanic family members; my very-American father typing away in his "mobile command center," happy that he no longer has to worry about language barriers at the dinner table; my sisters scampering in and out of the house, enjoying the very un-November-like weather; my brother playing guitar in his upstairs bedroom, putting off doing his laundry so we can drive back to school; and my anxious little cockatiel whistling away the afternoon, happy that she can be heard instead of the loud Spanish noises that have been the music of my household for the past several days. Thanksgiving is quite a to-do in this little house of mine.

I greatly enjoy Thanksgiving, if only for the pumpkin pie. I really do like seeing the family we only get to see once a year, and having them tell me how much I've grown (I stopped growing in 7th grade, I promise) and how beautiful I'm becoming. Hispanic women are dreadfully loving and sweet. No matter how much they tell me I'm not eating enough at the "Georgia Institute of Technology University," I still love having them in my house, asking them about the countless other relatives who couldn't come this year, because they always seem to know what's happening in their family, and they always seem to have the best stories. They group together and speak in hushed whispers about what will become of us, the young ones, pretending I can't understand what they're saying. I love how they refuse to speak to me in English and refuse to accept an answer from me in English--making sure I don't forget the language that's supposedly in my blood.

But, now that that family has left, returning to their own very-Hispanic homes, I can breathe and actually think about the past few days and the meaning of this hectic holiday. Gratitude and thankfulness for one's life only comes one day out of the year? I beg to differ... I would hope that it comes more often than that... however, I am glad that there's actually a time of year that basically forces me to view my life as a whole to grasp how much there is to appreciate. While I'm a big fan of lists, the list of things I'm thankful for has no foreseeable end. There’s simply entirely too much that I love. I think it’s taking me a while to fully grasp how much I’ve been blessed with… And, sadly, I don’t think I’m adept enough to express all my comprehension troubles with words. I hope it’s enough to simply state that I’m quite grateful right now, here, today, in this small cyber space.

Posted by Amaris, my 18 year old daughter.

I was reading Amaris' blog and I came upon this little memory. So much has changed since last Thanksgiving, I had forgotten that that was the last time that we sat at the table together and whole. My world is shrinking as well as my body. Soon I too will fade away like the memories that are slowly leaving my troubled mind. Must I give up the last tidbits of my life?...My mind can only hold so much and I feel that independence is taking up so much room that I have to let go of some of my treasured past. I knew this was coming but I wasn't prepared for it. I want to remember everything about my last days with Ron. The way he held my hand while driving and how sweetly and gently he made love to me the night before he died and his last warm kiss given to me under the light of the moon. But my memory fails, and the last kiss in the storage of my mind is cold, lifeless, given to his pale cheek, void of passion and warmth, the only one I vividly remember, empty, hopeless, desiring, screaming out with the void that still remains. Where in my memory is the last true kiss? Lord awaken my mind to that point in time where all else ceased to be and I held my husband in life and warmth and love and kissed him and he kissed back...


C.S. Lewis says, "It is a part of the past. And the past is the past and that is what time means, and time itself is one more name for death, and heaven itself is a state where 'the former things have passed away.'"

The past is the past, it is gone, unreachable, untouchable, unattainable, gone simply gone. Never will the past be so significant to me as now. Just last Thanksgiving I was somebody else, living in another life, in another body, in another time...so much has changed. My heart and body desires to dip itself in the pool of the past, to go there once more, even in a dream and bathe itself in the soothing waters of its wholeness and be complete once again even for a little while. Unfortunately my feet point to the future and can only run forward, so I must crawl back and look longingly at what was and will never be again...That is how I have spent these last few weeks, longing, wanting, crying, laughing at the memories of the past, of a life time ago when the house was full of loved ones and full of laughter, of languages and sweaty children, of Ron holding me gently under the moonlight streaming thru the skylight in our bedroom and passionately kissing me with wanting and longing. That sweet kiss that led to familiar love, that has no beginning and end, that seems to last forever because you know that he will be there to kiss you again and again...my body is cold and it has forgotten how it feels to be held with passion. I wish I could remember...
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