November 28, 2013 – Thanksgiving Day

15 degrees/snow/breezy

Pentoga Road

I was lying in bed earlier this morning, snuggled next to Sargie, staring up into the dark, thinking of past Thanksgivings. It’s become an annual habit. It’s a prayer, really, a pillow prayer of gratitude.

I was thinking of one particular Thanksgiving, almost sixty years ago, when we were at Grandma and Grandpa Reinhart’s on North Cherry Street in Galesburg, Illinois. There was Aunt Nancy and Uncle Glen, Uncle Bill and Aunt Phyllis… or Aunt Pete as we called her, and all the cousins were there as were my Great Grandma and Grandpa Astaford, Great Aunt Ila and Uncle Kenny, and my Great Uncle George and Aunt Jeri. It was a house filled with laughter, the smells of food, kids and adults, and one couldn’t move two feet without tripping over a toy, a baby, or a folding chair that had been hurriedly set up to help accommodate the family overflow.

Nothing special happened that day, but I well remember standing off in one corner, watching it all and thinking how happy everyone was… and in turn, that made me happy. I was just a little guy; a toddler really, but the memory is so vivid. The smell of Grandpa’s pipe, Grandma’s laughter, kiddies laughing and screaming in delight…

I wrote Mom earlier this morning saying, wouldn’t it be nice if we could turn back the clock for just one day to a time when Dad was still here… and we could be back with Grandma and Grandpa and all my aunts, uncles, and cousins. The air would be filled with sights and smells and sounds… just one more time for just one day.

So to begin with today, I’m grateful for the memories of past Thanksgivings that happened long ago, for my grandparents, both sides, who gave me such joy, and all my aunts and uncles, most of whom have passed on. I’m looking forward to joining them someday and having another Thanksgiving.

I’m grateful and thankful for Sargie, the woman who entered my life over two years ago. Neither of us was looking. In fact, the last thing I wanted was a relationship.  Thankfully, God did for each of us what we were incapable of doing for ourselves. He gave us each other.

I’m so thankful for Mom. As the years go by, Mom remains a major player in our lives. In native speak, Mom would be called a wise elder. If I live to see my eighties or nineties, I want to be the guy’s equivalent to Mom. She’s today’s spunky, perky, grandma. She’s here, she’s there, but most of all, she’s Mom, always available if we need her, fiercely independent, and a great example of how one should live life.

My boys… what father wouldn’t be grateful to have four sons like mine. I don’t get to see them nearly enough, but that’s okay. Our relationships are truly those born of a modern age. We email on a continual basis, text, video conference, and of course, occasionally talk on the phone. Each continues to be successful in his profession, those who have children are great fathers and husbands… I’m grateful for my boys… grateful beyond words.

And of course, my grandbabies and their mothers. Though we’ve been acquaintances for years, it seems I’m just getting to truly know my daughters-in-law. This summer brought a couple of heart-felt, getting-to-know-you conversations, and I came home feeling like the father of daughters as well as sons.

My grandbabies… my beautiful grandbabies. I’m so thankful for all. I often wished I lived closer so I could play with them, spoil them rotten, then ship ‘em home. All are doing well and they in turn should be grateful to have such wonderful, kind, and loving parents.

Sargie’s family… the Mighty Milligans. I went from a near-hermit state to becoming a member of a close, very tight knit, Irish Catholic family, who laughs, works, celebrates, and loves together. It makes no difference if you’re related by blood, a neighbor from the old days, or a new friend. When one is with the Milligan family, he is accepted as a Milligan. That family of love and laughter accepts and loves me unconditionally, just the way I am; and I love them back. They’re real and loving and they’ll give you the shirts off their backs. For that, I’m grateful.

I’m thankful for Sargie’s sons. Macrea and Mel are expecting their first baby early next summer and it’s our hope that after, our home will be filled with the squeals and laughter of the first of many grandchildren from the Milligan side. This house is way too quiet.

And I have to mention Mr. Milligan. He’s my inspiration and my hero. Even from the Veterans Hospital, he’s still the patriarch of the Milligan family. Quick to smile and laugh with never a harsh gesture or word, he’s the father-in-law I’ve never had. I hope he knows how much I truly love him.

My good friends… I’m talking REAL friends; those who would take a bullet for me. They are few, but then no one has many true friends. There’s Garry and Yooper Brother Mark, Preacher Pat… and of course, Uncle Bobby, Mandy Jo, and Aunt Joanne. I’d take a bullet for any of them. They are my family just as much as those who are my flesh and blood.

Brutus. My constant companion… a true gift from God. He’s huge, he’s a slob, he sheds and slops his food and water everywhere, but he’s become a part of me. Brutus is never more than a few feet away. 

Though he’s afraid of the dark, puppies, and the deep woods, where I go, so goes Brutus. All I need say is, “Home,” and he ambles out of the woods in a beeline fashion, making sure I’m in tow. There’s something about wrapping my arms around that huge boulder-sized head of his and giving him a hug that brings me great joy.

And I’m grateful for our home on Pentoga Road. It had become merely a house surrounded by a bunch of trees until Sargie came into my life. Now it’s a home, often entirely too quiet, but one filled with the love that only a man and woman can share.

Excuse me, I have to begin getting ready to head to the Mighty Milligan Thanksgiving Day feast where there’ll be moms and dads, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends from days of old and new.

Along with others, I will watch the Packers/Lions football game, and eat. After, I’ll probably remove myself to a corner and simply watch, knowing all who are present truly love each other and are very happy. In turn, that will make me happy.

So it’s time to get ready, but then I’m not surprised.

After all, a man’s work is never done. And for that, I’m most grateful.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…