This, That and the Other One is a blog by PM Taylor. She's only been writing it for a few months but I always make a point of reading it when I can because it's profound, poignant and just a bit melancholy..
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Thanksgiving Leftovers ...
Not your usual fare in this post ...
I was sitting in the kitchen sipping on some coffee this morning, when my younger daughter asked me -
"Remember last Thanksgiving weekend?"
"Yes," I replied.
It was the tone of her voice and not the content of her inquiry that piqued my maternal antennae.
"We went to the Jim Gaffigan show at The Grove that weekend, remember?"
She knows I have an uncanny memory and I'd already told her I remembered last Thanksgiving, so she was going somewhere with this.
"*He* (name redacted for the sake of my sanity) and I used to do all Jim Gaffigan's funny lines, remember? We used to do the Ihop routine."
Gulp, blink back tears I never let her see. His was not a name that she had mentioned in months. At least not to me.
"Remember he and *son's name* went to that Lacrosse tournament in Palm Springs and his car battery died? And we were going to drive out with your Triple A card, but somebody on the team jumped his battery so he could get to their condo."
How the hell does she remember these things? I'd actually forgotten the car battery detail.
"Do you think *he's* doing okay? And *his son's name*? Do you think he's okay, too?"
"I'm sure they are doing fine. In fact, I'll bet they are doing great."
Fake smile. Confident tone.
"Do you think *son* is still playing Lacrosse? Do you think he's doing okay in school?"
It's something I wonder about all the time. Do I tell her what I think, or what I hope?
"I hope *son* is doing great."
"You still haven't talked to *him*?"
There it was ... somehow this is what she was getting to.
"Not since February. Not one word since he said "I'll call you later." I would tell you if I had talked to him."
I hate this conversation. I hate that she remembers, because if she remembers, she still cares and if she still cares, it still hurts her. Leftover memories and feelings from last Thanksgiving and beyond.
"What if he called? Would you want to talk to him?"
It must be a wonderful thing to be thirteen and to still be able to visit the world of "What if ..." rather than to live in the world of "What is ..."
"He isn't going to call. He made his decision about the life he wants, and I'm not part of it."
"We're not part of it."
Ouch. That one really hurt.
"But I'm just saying what if, Mom. What if he knocked on the door?"
When he knocked, it was always two sharp knocks, followed by him opening the front door and calling out "Princess ..."
"What if he knocked on the door. What would you say?"
"I guess I'd say ... welcome home."
She'd know if I lied to her and what would be the point, anyway?
"Ok. I was just wondering. I'm going to have a piece of banana bread. Do you want one?"
"Yeah, I do, thanks."
"Okay, love you, Mom."
"Love you too, baby."
Until next time.