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On Thanksgiving night, my table was set, we were all gathered around and my Papa said the prayer. I saw my Papa cry once; it was at my Grandpa’s bedside as my Grandpa died. Thanksgiving night, I saw my Papa shed one tear and never did I see him cry again. He was so strong. He said a beautiful prayer and thanked God for giving him such a beautiful and wonderful wife. He said he had had such a wonderful life and was very thankful for everything and especially everyone God had given him. I can’t remember all of the words verbatim, but I do remember glancing around the table and seeing my sisters with the saddest look on their faces and with the reddest eyes, I remember watching my Mama trying to stay so composed. The absolute sadness that draped itself over the people around that table is hauntingly beautiful. That we loved each other so much, that we could share such an impacting moment, that we entered into sadness together, is the gift of life. We were not alone. My Papa was not alone. He was surrounded by his family; the family he grew, the family he loved more than anything on this earth. No specifics were mentioned, we just all knew life was about to change.
Excerpt from The Maypole Corollary A Memoir of Love on Amazon.com