which was taken on Thanksgiving last year. The only difference, of course, is the length of my hair, which got considerably shorter. And, well, the size of my son, who got considerably larger. Last year the challenge was getting him to stay propped up on his arms and not flop his head back onto the ground. This year the difficult part was keeping him from crawling two feet forward, standing up, and then running out the back door to play with my cousins. Last year he ate breast milk, rice cereal, and a bite or two of mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. This year he ate ham, potatoes, cranberry sauce, yams, green beans, corn, roll, pink salad, pie, and olives. We tried turkey. We tried turkey with gravy. We tried turkey hidden in things. It repelled out. Apparently, he doesn't much care for turkey. Weird kid.
My grandmother, approaching the end of a nearly two year battle with lung cancer, made the trip. When she was getting ready to leave, I leaned in to the car and hugged her. There's a chance I will see her tomorrow, if she's feeling up to making it to my cousin's birthday party. There's a chance that she will hang on until I visit in February. But there's a chance that it was the last time I will ever hug her. And as the wire of her glasses pressed coolly onto my cheekbone she whispered, "I'm going to miss you when you're gone."
I whispered back, "I'll miss you, too." But, of course, I didn't mean when I'm gone. And it was a very strange sensation, saying, "I love you" as the door closed and knowing that there is a very real possibility that it was the last time I will ever see her. It made my Thanksgiving that much sweeter and it made me that much more thankful.