The Last Road Run (Thanksgiving Day)

I don't know if I can go on to express myself about this day, because I don't remember much about it. I may have blocked out the loneliness and betrayal I must have felt (the way I often do), having arrived only the night before to be so happy to see my child all grown up and living on his own, in his own apartment. I am so feverishly proud of him. But, I seem to still be guilt ridden over my estranged lifestyle choices that he seems to be able to punish me for, or stand less by my side for whatever reason pops up. He asked me that night, after toting all my bags in and taking my dog for a walk for me, "I was planning to go into Dad's tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner, and they have invited you." I was a little shocked, "What?" I looked at him. "But...You knew I was coming to be here on this day. How could you make plans to be somewhere else?" He didn't grasp my feelings at all. He was flippant. "I thought you would want to go where I am going." "No." I made away, sat on the couch, looking further up at him. "No. I thought you would want to stay here with me or we could go out to dinner together. I guess we should have discussed this. I never thought you would make plans to be with your Father when you knew I was coming." I was starting to get angry. "He gets you or gets to see you all the time, you live in the same state. He's had access to you everyday since you were eight. Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" "He just called the other night and asked." "So, he found out that I was coming and had to make his claim and get first dibs on you? Of course." "No. It's not like that." "Yes it is my Dear. A lot you know about it." He had managed to destroy me again. I buried my face in my hands and cried. "I can't believe this..." My son was silent. I straightened up. Filed away the tears. "No. You go if you must and I know you must because you have to honor your Father because he demands it and manipulates you in ways you have no ideas about. I am not going. I will stay here with my dog and wait. What else can I do?" "We can go together." He replied sweetly. "No." I concluded. "I will not go to have dinner at your Father's house." "I have to go. All my cousins and Aunt Sharon will be there." "Of course. There is no way I am going to sit with a bunch of people who willfully meant to humiliate me and take you away from me." "What are you talking about?" "Of course, you don't know, you were there but you were a child, only interested in toys and they had all of them, didn't they? Big plastic and little plastic toys which you now have stored in several hundred plastic crates in a garage, but no honor for your Mother. No! You go to see cousins that you have seen every year at every holiday and be there with them instead of me who has to leave the very next day. That's how it has been, that's how it shall forever be." He had a couple of tears rolling down, but it would not change the course I knew. And, I for one cannot stand to see him cry, so I lightened up, even though the massive volcano inside me was ready to erupt. "I am going to take a shower if you don't mind." "Sure." He smiled and nodded, willing to forget. **************** That is one of the main reasons I refuse this "so-called" holiday, aside from the fact that it is a replacement traditional gig to maybe help us forget about the millions of indigenous Native Indians that were slaughtered to make way for the American dream of Wall Street's trading practices and endless rows of plastic. They make plastic soldiers with guns and in bright colored uniforms, plastic masks for Halloween, plastic Christmas trees and plastic bulbs that do not break. They even make plastic hearts that do not break for Valentine's Day. Wow. So wonderful.