Four years ago was the last time I was at my parent’s house for Thanksgiving. I am not a huge thanksgiving person, partly because you know the story of the lost white man who discovered NOTHING, and also, I am not the cook. I’ll bring wine, and board games, and without the long prayer at Mama’s house, or the six hour ride to North Carolina, this is just another day with a GREAT meal, (especially if Aunt Lil’ Stell’s cooking.
So, to find myself back at my parent’s house today, is a lot, to say the least. Last time I was here, so was Greg. He held many of the same notions of Thanksgiving that I did, so the day in itself isn’t a huge shared memory for us, but man, when the memory of thanksgiving is remembering the last one you had in this space with your lil Big brother, it can be rough.
And let’s be honest, it wasn’t a great day. There’s a false and masking defense that many grievers use, which is to find the silver lining of every moment, to (re)member the stories and accounts of the past with rose-colored googles, to only highlight the good of the memories, as if that is the only way to preserve and sustain the legacy of your person.
Greg was as real as they come, so I have always felt obligated to be real with my grief, even when it's kicking my butt.
Greg was very sick at this point. He was diagnosed in mid-May 2020 with Stage IV colon cancer, so by November, all of his symptoms were exacerbated. He could barely eat most times, and rarely had an appetite. So he was actually pretty upset and frustrated that he couldn’t enjoy the food mommy (y’all Mommy RARELY cooks, but she would do anything for her baby) and daddy (who throws down on the collards and sweet potatoes) made. He did eat some pie though. Sweet potato pie was his fave. Even when he was a devout vegan, sweet potato pie was the single cheat meal. So I sat next to him as he tried some sweet potato pie, and wrapped up a turkey wing to try to eat later
At this point, he was also taking injections, which I had to administer. As someone who HATES and is terrified of medical needles, this was rough. But there was nothing I wouldn’t do for my little BIG brother, so I sticking him whenever he was too weak to do it himself.
“Keep a straight face, dont look scared, find the fatty part, don’t hurt him, God WHY?!?” I would think as I slowly pressed the needle into his skin.
I am not really a consumer of pork (besides bacon) but it was always something about that thanksgiving ham, so I had some slices. It was delicious, and yo’ girl was stressed, so I ate some more. And then, of course, came the migraine which accompanied all of my pork binges. So for the next hour I was in agonizing pain, and then for the subsequent 5 hours, I was asleep. Thankfully the migraine was gone upon my awakening, but you know what I am still thinking about during this thanksgiving four years later? Why did I eat the pork? I could have had six more hours with Greg.
And there you have it… an example of when the grief waves hit, knock you over, and submerge you. I am still beating myself up about missing those precious hours, while families are arguing over politics, potato salad, how many cheeses in the mac and cheese, and who’s hosting next year.
Remember to LOVE YOURS and be grateful for the time you have.
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