For most of my life, the Thanksgiving Tradition for my father's side of the family was to have breakfast on Thanksgiving morning. No turkey or dressing. Instead, eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, toast grits, grits with cheese, eggs with cheese, pastries, chocolate milk, orange juice, coffee, and on and on. Then off to the living room to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving parade, look through the papers, and to catch up with my cousins, aunts and uncles.
My grandfather died five years ago and my grandmother, Ma Bess, had to move to an assisted living home. But we kept up the tradition. My mom and my aunt would switch hosting duties and we'd still have the breakfast and trundle my grandmother back and forth to the retirement home.
This year my grandmother, who is 91, was too feeble and ill to leave the home.
The whole lot of us made the trip over there, but the home doesn't really have anywhere all of us could gather so we went in to see my grandmother in shifts. Afterwards we hung out a bit in the parking lot amidst blowing leaves and a slowly climbing sun. Anyway, I'm home now at 9:30. An era has ended this morning. I'm not overly sentimental about family, but it does feel a bit odd to have Thanksgiving mostly over with. I'll go to my brother's later today and hang with him and my nephews. My world has shifted slightly though, from now on.