Thanksgiving comes around again, as it does. The stress of the holiday season always makes the kick-off a day of moment, but this one seems particularly fraught. I just turned fifty, and while I don't really feel old, there is nothing about fifty that feels young either. It's my first Thanksgiving without my dad, and that is tough. It's also my first Thanksgiving with one home from college and one waiting on acceptances, with his foot halfway out the door, and that is a different kind of tough. It is a melancholy day. And it is all I can do to keep from weeping.
People die, kids move out and on, we have each other for such a short while. It is the way it has to be. It is the only way it can be. Life moves on, ever changing and ever the same. The idea that it is time for me to figure out a third act is terrifying and reassuring at the same time. I have no idea what I'll do next. I have a few things to wrap up here in act two, but not many. I still have to finish the hands-on mom stuff with the boy and the estate stuff with my dad. But next is coming, whether I agree or not, so I need to get it figured out or get smacked in the head by the curtain coming down. And at the very least I know I'm lucky to have some future in my future. I'm healthy and sane(ish), so next is mine to write.
Our little family foursome has been so much fun. And I am ever so thankful to have the girl back home, even if for a short time. But this first visit home also really reinforces that those days are gone. The silly foursome exists only in memory. I know new happy experiences will take their own place. I know we remain a family. But I also know different is not the same. Change is the only constant. And while we live we change, so it's certainly better than the alternative. But oh how I miss those days. Just as I know someday I will miss these.