Thanksgiving

My dad's favorite holiday was always Thanksgiving. As a child, I just thought it was because of the food since food was always a favorite passion of his. As I got older, I have deduced (whether accurate or not, I don't know) that why he actually loved the holiday was because it was a day to slow down the day to day and just be with family. Thanksgiving gatherings with extended family were a tradition for quite some time. We would travel a couple of hours to spend the day visiting and laughing and stuffing ourselves before heading home. Though our extended family gatherings were on the Saturday following Thanksgiving, we still celebrated it like it was the holiday itself because to us, it was. It was a time of a full house at Aunt June's - the kids' table under the carport (or in the laundry room if the weather was bad or the crowd was small enough to fit), the adults gathered around the furniture in spacious living room that suddenly overflowed with laughter and chatter, and back bedrooms serving as playrooms for kids until we got kicked outside to play in the leaves in the backyard. When the food was displayed on the bar and stove top, the line seemed endless to fill a plate and dig in. The dessert counter spilled over to a an added card table and the possibilities were endless. I remember those Thanksgivings at Aunt June and Uncle Marvin's during my junior high and high school years were some of the best memories. As time passed, people's lives shifted, illnesses overtook, death crept in, and traditions changed. We spent a couple of Thanksgivings at Aunt Holly and Uncle Roy's that served as their Christmas celebration with their children and grandchildren, and with that, the mini reunions continued. Then the extended family time at Thanksgiving dwindled, and it was just a small 3-person gathering for me and Mom and Dad.

Those simple Thanksgivings started with him tuning into the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Somehow watching it with him was more entertaining than just watching it on my own. He would comment on what people were wearing or how cold or miserable the weather must be, or about the performing groups or celebrities. If he saw something funny, he'd cackle a little. Every now and then he would holler out, "Ahh-strrridd" (and slightly roll the r's just to be cute and funny), and she'd holler back, "WHAT?!" and he would grin in his recliner with his feet kicked up and say, "make me drink!" Or he would come interrupt her kitchen prep and tinker on his own with some snack or drink he wanted at that moment and get in her way. Eventually, Mom would just stop what she was trying to do and let him finish, knowing her next objective was going to be cleaning up after him. He always insisted on making the cornbread dressing and it had to have enough sage in it. He would sample and add more sage and salt. And mom would shake her head and holler at him to not get it to salty for her. We never did a full turkey baked in the oven, but we had a turkey breast that mom would clean and season with care and she would debate what kind of gravy to make each year. Staples that we had for our family of 3 Thanksgivings beyond the turkey breast and cornbread dressing included green beans, sweet potatoes, corn, creamed potatoes or old-fashioned potato salad, fruit salad, rolls, gravy, and cranberry sauce. And dessert was always chocolate pie. We typically ate around 2 or 3pm and Mom took great care in creating a table fit for a magazine picture. Dad was anxious to dig in, and mom would make him wait to take a picture of our meal. I think for her it was a way to have this visual of all she was grateful for - the food on the table, the home to dine in, the people to be with, and the memories being created. Dad wanted to eat his delicious spread of favorites. With that, just about every Thanksgiving picture of the table features Dad with a slightly annoyed expression, silverware clutched in his hands, head tilted a little to the right, waiting for her to give the "ok" that she snapped the photo so he could start filling his plate and passing around the serving dishes. I remember how happy he was to sit and dine on food loved with people he loved. Content. Satisfied. Grateful.

I remember Thanksgiving 2019. Just me, Mom, Dad, and Fletcher. Dad wore his yellow Columbia fishing shirt that had an LSU patch sewed on it, khaki pants, and his brown loafers. I wore a black turtleneck and jeans. Mom wore a striped black and khaki turtleneck sweater, and Fletcher wore his LoudMouth donut pants with his Saints hoodie sweatshirt. I remember what we wore because we took pictures that day. I didn't know they were the last Thanksgiving photos we would take as a family. I didn't know that the family shot we took as we stood outside the front door to their place that they had only been living in since September of that year would later be cropped for Dad's obituary photo. Fitting though: that the image of him on his favorite holiday is the image we chose to reflect and celebrate his life and who he was. When Thanksgiving 2020 came upon us, Dad's loss was fresh. Mom and I tried. We did our best to make the day good, but we cried at the table briefly because we felt his loss so heavily. As we picked up each morsel of food from our plates, the vacant feeling within us remained. But we gave thanks, grateful we had each other, and grateful for an 8-month old Doodle whose antics and personality kept us laughing. And we gave thanks that we had him for the time we did - even though it wasn't long enough. I still give thanks for everything about him.

Dad was that person who had this seemingly tough exterior. If you were meeting him for the first or second time, he seemed rather expressionless and stoic. He definitely was one to observe, listen, and take it all in when deciding if you were worth his time. And I mean that blatantly - if you were worth his time. He didn't invest anything in anyone who he felt wasn't worth it. If he ever laughed with you, talked to you, shared an anecdote, defended you, bought something for you that was a favorite of yours, or gave you a genuine smile, he valued you. Once you got to know him, you were easily entertained by his stories and laughter. He shared the laughter more often than the stories, and his laughter is what drew people to him. He was stern on the surface and held anyone he cared for to high standards, and you knew quickly, or rather innately, when you disappointed him. If you knew him - really knew him - you definitely could read him. It was obvious when he was proud, upset, content, disappointed, happy, frustrated, angry, or sad. When those he loved were hurting, he hurt, too. He gave objective advice. He talked to you about issues and situations that made you think for yourself. He encouraged you to be yourself, stand up for yourself, and know your worth. He demanded it. Because he knew it made you better, stronger. I am grateful for all of those things. I'm even grateful for the parts of him that weren't perfect. But I am most grateful that he passed on to me just how important family was, is, and always will be.

We've stumbled into a new Thanksgiving tradition. For a couple years now, we have made the trek to Morrison, Tennessee to spend the holiday with Sonya and Barbara. A couple of times we have been blessed to also see Danna and Glen while there. But our recent Thanksgiving meals have been in a beautiful log home surrounded with lovable canines, cold weather, football, laughter, card playing, and story-telling. Mom tinkers in the kitchen and cleans endlessly and comments on how much food we have. She chimes in on football commentary, spoils the animals, and munches at slivers of pound cake that Sonya makes. Sonya gives us the rundown of the menu for each day. Barbara preps the kitchen and makes drinks. Fletcher keeps us laughing with commentary about the games, and pokes fun anytime someone says something that he can work into a joke. And I take it all in. Because this is what Thanksgiving is about. Family. Love. Togetherness. Peace. My biggest problem with this new tradition is that it ends on Sunday when we head home and have to go back to work and the day to day of life. But being there makes me grateful for this life. And grateful for moments like Thanksgiving. The first year we came for Thanksgiving, we didn't know what the dynamic would be with all of us together and day after day how it would go. I loved it. This is the tradition I want to hold onto now. After feeling Dad's loss so heavily this time of year, being here with Sonya and Barbara, Mom, and Fletcher, I somehow feel his presence lingering. He would have not loved the idea of a 7-hour drive and he never liked staying away from home, but I believe he would have liked it here. I "see" him in certain chairs in the house and on the porch. I "see" him pretending to be annoyed by the dogs but secretly loving them and their personalities. I "see" him tinkering in the kitchen next to Sonya as they talk about how to cook what dish next. I "see" him playing hand and foot fussing at Mom for throwing away the wrong card. And I "see" him admiring the views outside from the windows within while saying how cold it is out there.

But I also "see" him in things Sonya says and does. Something in their similar head tilt, seemingly tough exterior, and boundless love for family are a few of the things that come to mind. Maybe I have always seen similarities between my dad and various family members. Maybe I try to see them now that he is gone so I feel like he is still present. In any case, when we came for our first Thanksgiving here at the Wilkwood homestead, I noticed the care Sonya took in her cornbread dressing. I chuckled to myself remembering how Dad was picky about his, too. (Both are delicious by the way.) I noticed how she catered to Mom but also affectionately joked with Mom. I noticed that her way of taking care of those she cares about is to provide good food, good company, share stories, and share laughter. That is very strongly a common thread with all of the Wood family, but somehow watching Sonya firsthand causes my mind to drift to seeing Dad do things in much the same way. When we spend several days here, we cross into conversations that go a little deeper about life, and discussions take shape with poignant reflections and advice and frustrations. Her feedback and advice are tempered with the same inflection that Dad would have. Her same seemingly tough exterior masks her soft and vulnerable heart just like Dad's.

I will always miss him. And I will miss him especially during holidays and even more so this holiday. But I have settled into this new tradition, and I've realized that no matter how traditions may shift, the heart of Thanksgiving remains no matter where it's celebrated. Grateful for Family. It's as simple as that.