Tradition

The structure and the feel of the day have changed, but the sacredness of the gathering remains. It's been close to 11 years since our family started making a point of gathering, all fourteen of us, for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We usually get together a day or two after the fact. 

It's easier logistically for us than for a lot of families who are scattered across the country. The farthest away of us is only six or seven hours from home base in central North Carolina. When we began, the children were toddlers and hugely entertaining to watch. Now they're young adults, or teenagers who have perfected the art of eye rolling. Still, we gather.

For a number of years, we got together at the home of one of our number in Charlotte. A little over a year ago, though, Mom entered an assisted-living facility. She is a survivor of polio, struck just a few years before a vaccine made the disease nearly obsolete, and after seventy years of making one leg do the work of two, her left leg went on strike, costing her her mobility. At the same time, we had to face the reality that she was in early dementia.

So now we get together for a few hours at a local restaurant, which we did this past Friday. Mom was at the head of the table. She didn't talk much or engage much with the rest of us. But she enjoyed her lunch, and the whole time she sat there with a smile on her face. She knew who we were. She could look down the table and see what she and Dad had created unto the third generation.

I'm in my fifties and incredibly fortunate to have my parents still living. Many friends my age have lost their parents long ago. I don't know how much Mom got from the day's gathering - but the smile on her face was genuine. She was surrounded by family who loved her. And that is enough.