A Coming of Age: Thanksgiving

This is a coming-of-age story. Although perhaps not in the sense to which we are most accustomed, that of the passing of our childhood into what comes after. Literature is replete with tales of such stories of characters who, through seismic or circumstantial events, come face to face with a world that is bigger, darker, and more wonderful than themselves, perhaps realizing in that moment that they are forever changed. Changed in how they view the world, and in how they understand themselves and their place in that world. This is perhaps the beginning of wisdom, this coming of age. But indeed, it is only the beginning.

We tend to think of this coming of age as a one-time occurrence. But as I look back, I'm not so sure. I can point to many such transformational events in my life, the results of which brought revelation - sometimes euphoric, oftentimes humbling, other times devastating. At ages 11, 19, 26, 41, and perhaps now again, at 54. It is marvelous to consider that the experiences that are common to us all are as yet so wonderfully and painfully private. We understand this, and yet something is arrested in us when that experience becomes fully our own. In a way, laboring through to the clearing on the other side is in its own way yet another coming of age.

I confess that my thoughts on this are not fully formed. Indeed, it has been so long since I've put pen to paper, I'm finding the words slow to come. But I am thankful. Interestingly, it is the Thanksgiving holiday itself that is both the bane and the bounty of this telling. Thanksgiving night, three years ago, featured the last meal I would share with my father. After dinner, a medical crisis ensued, and the ambulance was called. Over the next six weeks, I held vigil. I would find hope, only to lose it. It just became too much, and he surrendered to the inevitable. There is much from those days that I keep inside, and yet this is not really the story I wish to share. Missing Dad, though, especially at Thanksgiving, is an ache that never quite seems to ease.

With the graduation of my youngest from college this past May, we are truly (and financially) empty nesters. My sons are grown and are living their still-young lives, learning to make their own way. But last night, we were able to gather together around the table for an early Thanksgiving meal. The joy of having a full table, every chair taken - I'm not sure I have the words to convey the feeling. My thoughts went to my father, and that last meal around his table. Past and present seemed to converge. Later, the boys took turns on the piano (well, keyboard), and there was music. In that moment it occurred to me how much I missed that - having them in the house, fighting over whose turn it was to play, and most of all, just hearing them play. The piano has been quiet since they moved out, but last night, the music was back. The emotion in my heart came forth just a little through my eyes. How I miss this! Did Dad miss this too?

This afternoon, the piano will go silent again, and I will find myself back in the place so many others have known. It is one thing to know that seasons change, in our lives as in nature. It is another thing to finally come to an understanding, an acceptance. I am closer to the end than I am to the beginning, but perhaps there are more surprises yet to come. For every pivotal moment of my journey, and for all of those moments in between, I can only be grateful.

The view here is different than what I'd have expected in my ignorance, to be sure. To appreciate what was - and what is - there is always more on which to reflect and contemplate. But not at the sacrifice of what is to come, because the lesson of this coming of age assures me there is more - higher up and deeper in.

And I am thankful.

May the Lord bless you all and your families.