Turkey Day

Yesterday was my second Thanksgiving without Bill. Last year I hosted dinner at the house and felt an enormous amount of joy. One of my sisters and her family came down to visit specifically to be supportive of me. Kyle's family came over. We had eighteen people and I felt it was the way I wanted to spend Thanksgiving for the rest of my life. I was free and finally spreading my wings.

But over the past year the shine of my new freedom has worn off. This divorce has morphed into a strange burden. I have come to understand a form of loneliness at a level I never knew possible. It's not a loneliness of feeling rejected. It's not a loneliness of feeling unwanted. It doesn't make me cry. Instead it makes me stop and look at myself and think, 'I need to find myself. I absolutely cannot lose myself again. I may never have another union as I knew in my marriages, but I have to find the woman inside me.' There are times when I know I am closing myself off from others. There are times when I move through masses of people and feel as if I am both connected and disconnected. I examine the depth of my friendships and wonder how much of myself I reveal. I wonder if I glide through life as a semi-human. I wonder how much I am willing to give of myself. I wonder if I have created enough definition and enough boundaries in my life and in my relationships, and if this presence or absence of boundaries has interfered with intimacies for me. Will I ever know? And, in tandem, if I don't have clear boundaries, is that a product of me not really knowing myself? How can you define your relationships with others if you don't really know who you are and what you will and will not accept?

As Thanksgiving approached again, we accepted an invitation to Kyle's aunt's in the valley. All of Kyle's family was slated to be there, including the one aunt I had not yet met. There were 25 of us. Aunts, uncles, cousins, all sets of grandparents from Jack's side of the family. It was a good-sized group. I had a chance to talk with Kyle's younger sister, a girl who had attended Thanksgiving at my house last year but who hadn't uttered a word that I could remember. I kind of got to know her. She and Laura had been friendly in high school. And this is my favorite story about her: She and Laura had a Spanish class together. One day she and Laura were talking. Laura was talking about her new boyfriend. The sister said, "What's your boyfriend's name?" Laura said, "Kyle." (Kyle actually attended another high school in our district.) The sister said, "Kyle who?" Laura told her the last name. The sister said, "Oh, God! That's my brother. He's an asshole. Don't date him!" And all will agree that she was right. At the time. As I looked at her this time, I saw Jack in a skirt. It was remarkable how much this young woman looked like her father. Jack in drag. But she was talking this time. Kyle's other brothers were also there. Again, they had their silent rebellion against Jack's girlfriend, Becky. They apparently hate her. They refused to be photographed when she was in the picture. Kyle says they just need someone to hate. And with their mother absent, Becky gets to be the object of their disdain. Lucky Becky. Since I never really knew Becky when she was a drinker, I don't know how she used to behave. Perhaps I should say 'Lucky me'. I don't know.

Bernie and his wife were there again as was Jack's mom and her husband. Jack's mom's second husband's (Freddy ---who passed away almost three years ago) children were there and all cousins from all three of Bernie and Mary's children, Jack, Michelle and Suzanne. Altogether we filled the giant collection of tables in Suzanne's living room, we were packed in. There was also a man Suzanne had called her Uncle Don. Gee, I had two of those when I was a kid. But it turned out that Uncle Don wasn't really an uncle. He was one of Bernie's friends from as far back as junior high. He and I chatted for a while. He had a wedding ring on and spoke of his grown children and mentioned he hadn't married until he was 37. I thought maybe he was there because his wife was ill. It didn't occur to me until late in the afternoon that this was a guy they were trying to fix me up with. I most certainly blew this set up. I never realized he had been invited to meet me. He seemed so old. Not that I'm looking for someone who's young. But when a man tells me that in 1957 (when I was 6 years old), he was already out of the service and working, I don't think this is a person of my generation. This is someone who is more a member of my parents' crowd. I have not yet thought that this is an age of someone I should even consider dating. I don't think he was impressed with me either. Not at all.

I enjoyed myself and preferred talking to Bernie's wife and the aunts. It must be a phase I'm going through. The thought of embarking on another relationship, the thought of dating, the thought of trying to impress a man, seems like a nuisance. But you know what? I think it's a good thing. I think it's necessary, it's a necessary step for me now. I don't know why; it just seems right. And I feel comfortable with it.