Thanksgiving 2024

Wednesday: Lois is busy in the kitchen. Her customary immense energy seems magnified, both because my daughter and her family are joining us at the beach tonight for the long weekend, and because on Monday Lois returned with them from a five-day vacation in Puerto Vallarta. This was her first respite from daily care of me since my ALS appeared. To increase her stress, in late summer and early fall, she had a painful, fatiguing illness. Despite many medical appointments, she continued her time-consuming devotion to me. I am so happy that her illness has been diagnosed and treated and she took this break.

I have given a couple of homages to Paul Simon, but Lois’ and my favorite singer songwriter of our generation is Leonard Cohen. Despite the shortcomings of his voice, we often fall asleep at bedtime by listening to his mixture of romanticism and cynicism, of sex and religion. I always chuckled when he complained, “I ache in the places where I used to play” (Tower of Song); now I can barely count the parts of my body this describes.

If my lips were still strong enough, I would be humming “Sisters of Mercy” when I think about my main caregiver at the beach:
“Oh the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone
They were waitin' for me when I thought that I just can't go on.”

Lois left for Mexico shortly after six AM last Thursday. My Portland caregiver came at seven. She got me through the morning routine and into the wheelchair van. Gregg kindly drove me to the beach. When we arrived at noon, my main beach caregiver greeted us with an open garage door, a warm house, a full refrigerator, and a hug. For the next five days she stayed with me round the clock. Every morning, she called Lois in Mexico to assure her that I was thriving and to coordinate when we would start Spelling Bee. When I was busy on my computer, she patched and painted the many divots that I had made in the woodwork with my wheelchair.

Thursday: my caregiver dressed me in a new shirt and pants that she bought for me so that I would look suave for the holiday. She left early to cook Thanksgiving dinner for her family.

I sat in the kitchen enjoying the banter of my busy family of chefs. Debbie and Barry joined us for the night, and we invited my evening caregiver to bring his wife, so there were ten for dinner. When they spoke around the table, individually giving thanks, I had nothing prepared and was silent. I wish that I had had the foresight to preload my speech computer: “I am grateful to be celebrating with all of you here. I am grateful for my caregivers. I am especially thankful for Lois‘ health, help, and love.“

Friday: two couples, old friends and former partners of Lois, came by to talk for a couple of pleasant hours. Of course, I was silent but enjoyed the conversation. Thanksgiving has the reputation of being a time when families and friends meet to argue. I am happy that this is not our tradition.

I recall going on a blind date before I met Lois. When the talk turned to parents, I said that I could not imagine arguing with mine. She reacted with such disbelief that it was obvious we would have no second date. Avoiding controversy is intrinsic to my personality. When I had to make an exception for good patient care, I gradually learned to do so diplomatically.

I reread my journal entries for prior Thanksgivings, which clearly show my loss of muscle abilities but have the common theme of familial bonhomie.