Some nightsApril 22, 2012
After decades of Sunday family dinners where the repast became as varied as the company, it occurred to me that some things never change.
Those who can make it to dinner, do. The welcoming scents of cooking and the sounds of family laughter don’t change very much from decade to decade, but with each passing year there are fewer of us. We miss those who are no longer with us. We still stay up longer than Grandma Beanie and talk longer into the night, but not nearly as long or as loudly as when Grandpa John was the Leader of the Band.
We go home now to lead our own lives, to deal with our own problems.
As Aunt Linda and I were clearing up tonight’s dishes and putting away food, Grandma Beanie, who had already headed to bed, came back out to the kitchen and looked at us. She then crossed to each of us and gave us a big, wet kiss.
Some things never change. I am grateful. Some nights feel astonishingly like other nights from long ago when all six of my siblings and I were around the table for dinner.
The most amazing thing is that though I see my brothers and sisters at the table in my mind, I also see you and Michael, Joe-your-dad and Jenny, Kirk Jr., Kimberly and Heather, and all of everyone’s children.
And in my mind Grandma Beanie goes to bed, comes back out to look at the whole mess of us, and then gives each of us, in turn, a big, wet kiss.