text: Rose’s crooked, brittle hands worked tirelessly as she sliced and diced. Her swollen finger joints ached. Her elbows ached. Her back ached. Her knees, ankles, and feet. Everything ached. There wasn’t a joint space in her body that wasn’t stiff. Cartilage had long since worn away. Bone grinding with bone. Of all days, today had to be the worst. Tomorrow wouldn’t be much better. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. Yet she’d still give thanks to the Lord above for her life, as painful and lonely as it may be. However brief a time, her old, tiny house would be filled with her family. Laughter no longer filled these dusty rooms, nor would there be laughter tomorrow. Nothing was as easy as it used to be. Hanging several strands of orange and white lights over the doorways proved to be nearly too much of a task. She at least was able to fetch the small box of decorations from the floor of the hall closet, setting out the decorative pumpkins, and the harvest wreath. Knife in one hand, celery in the other, both hands shook with old age. But she must continue. While her hands trembled, her frail mind wandered down the paths of her memories. Thoughts of her young children playing in the yard danced in her mind’s eye. Elizabeth with her wild imagination. All she needed was a rock and a stick and she was content for hours. William on the other hand, was always studying. Critters, insects, books, puzzles. He was the thinker. The observer. It was no wonder he became an accountant. Once the dicing for the stuffing essentials was complete, her next task was cutting up the sweet potatoes and crushing the candied pecans she made from scratch. Not one recipe came from a book or TV. Or the internet, not that she knew how the blasted thing worked. Every recipe was her own, or her mother’s. Every dish, every garnish was made from scratch. The turkey was special ordered. The best of the best. She spared no expense when it came to the holidays. If only her adult children recognized her efforts. If there was such a gift as a second chance at life, there were things she wished she could go back and do differently. Raising her two children by herself was far from easy. Their father died in the war when they were young. She did the best she could, she never doubted how her children would turn out until they became of age and went off in their own directions. Leaving her behind without so much as a glance over their shoulder. Had they never realized she gave them the best she could? Manners, prayers, and happy holidays. She worked hard to keep food on their plates. Did they not understand there was no one for her to rely on? Had she spoiled them so badly by doing everything for them? And expected nothing in return when they were young? Here she was, in her old age, with no one looking out for her needs. No one knew what she needed. No one knew how much she ached physically and ached for the closeness of her children. The knife slipped, just missing the tips of her fragile fingers, jolting her from her thoughts. She closed her eyes, swiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Be careful, Rose , she thought to herself. There would be no one to tend to her bleeding fingers if the knife had hit its mark. If she’d picked up the phone to dial one of her children, they probably wouldn’t have answered. Or they'd be too busy. That was always the excuse. She’d be left having to call 911 and would have no one by her side. How frightening it would be to ride in an ambulance. Thank God she never had to experience such a ride. Rose hadn’t any friends. The neighborhood wasn’t as it used to be. No one was friendly and they kept to themselves. Front porches sat empty, and back porches aplenty. Life was simpler when her and her husband had the house built sixty years ago. Starting their life together as newlyweds when they were twenty, nothing but their entire future ahead of them. Friends and neighbors came to call. The doorbell would ring happily daily. The front door rested open. Children played in the front yards and on the sidewalks. But now? Now the sidewalks weren’t safe for an old lady to walk upon. Cracked, uneven, and unkempt. Ankle twisters and hip busters. She cringed at the thought. The aching in her bones was nothing compared to the aching in her heart. Her children had all but abandoned her, only showing up for the food on the holidays. It was also the only time she saw her grandchildren, they never visited on their own. She hoped and prayed with every ounce of her feeble being that this year would be different. This year was going to be when they would all wake up, appreciate her, unite, and laugh together. She missed laughter. Through the years laughter grew into a distant memory. “What a fool I am, why didn’t I cook the sweet potatoes first?” She muttered to herself as she rubbed her throbbing, bony, knobby knuckles. Cutting the sweet potatoes into slices would’ve been much easier if they were softer. Her arms shook as she eased herself into the kitchen chair for a moment’s rest. Preparing the Thanksgiving feast by herself every year was getting too laborious. Burdensome. No. Not burdensome. Taking care of her family was never a burden. No matter how much it hurt. Christmas would be here before she knew it. Another colossal meal to prepare. But there would be no one to do it for her. No one around to lift a finger. Not now. Not at Christmas. This was the tradition. Every year it was the same. Laboring over a meticulous meal her family didn’t appreciate. Even if they had little love left in their hearts for her, she would always pour herself into anything she did for them. Always. She began to wonder how many Thanksgivings and Christmases she had left. When her body ached the way it did today, she felt the breath of death at her door. He was the only one who stood at her doorstep. But by God, the grim reaper himself couldn’t tear her away from what awaited her in Heaven. It was her only happiness in her daily, mundane life. The satisfaction of knowing she was almost Home. Would her grown children and grandchildren miss her? Would they regret the years they spent without her? Would they long for the stories they never knew? Or would they not know what they missed? Her eyes started to puddle with tears. Shutting her eyes to hold them back, the teardrops dripped from her sunken eyes and slipped down her paper-thin cheeks. The thought of her grandson bringing his new girlfriend entered her mind, giving a pleasant reminder that there was still something to look forward to while her life remained here. A new face to see. A new soul to get to know. Maybe the young girl would like Rose. Maybe she would be this old granny’s last connection. Rising from the chair was more arduous than settling in, her elderly joints felt cemented in place. Was it the chair creaking, or her bones? She couldn’t tell the difference anymore. A little bit more preparation tonight and she could finish the rest tomorrow. The next morning, the early sun peeked through the dusty, ruffled curtains piercing her eyes. She jerked her head out of the way only to pull a muscle, straining her neck. The poor old lady couldn’t lay in bed in peace without hurting. How much longer could she live like this? Shuffling to the kitchen, she realized she was wrong the previous day, her body ached more today. Especially her hands. How was she going to finish? She must continue. Family would arrive by 2 o’clock, dinner on the table an hour later if all went as planned. Fine bone china was pulled from the china cabinet. Etched crystal glasses from Czechoslovakia sat at each place setting. A leather case, lined with blue velvet, held the silverware. The entire display, adorned with a Chantilly lace tablecloth, was reserved for the most important of holidays and served as a decoration itself. The doorbell rang, and again before she reached the door. William was already impatient. The greeting he gave his mother was anything but warm. Plopping down in the chair, he glued his eyes to his phone. Following behind him was Elizabeth, her two sons, and one girlfriend. No one offered to help. Rose’s heart began to sink. Today wouldn’t be the day. Rose eased herself into her chair, she had time to visit before returning to the kitchen. Her attempts to revive the spirits who sat in her living room was to no avail. “William?” She waited before saying his name again. “William?” “Hmm?” He glanced up. “What?” “How has work been?” Rose asked. “Busy, mom. Always busy.” His eyes returned to his phone. “Elizabeth, where is your husband?” Rose inquired. “He brought home a lot of work yesterday. He won’t make it today.” He couldn’t set aside work for his family on Thanksgiving? Rose wondered what kind of man and husband he was. Her daughter never allowed her the time to get to know him. She was an outsider in her own family. Mouth-watering scents of food filled every nose while silence filled the living room. That is, until the young girl’s voice pulled Rose from her depressing thoughts. “The house smells wonderful. Leo told me your food is always amazing.” She smiled at Rose, sincerity lighting her eyes. Rose’s heart melted into a puddle. Her grandson had not only spoken of her to his girlfriend, but complimented her food! She looked over at Leo, who gave her a faint, half smile in return. There was something behind that smile though. What it meant exactly she did not know. Returning her eyes back to the young girl, “Why thank you, dear, that’s kind of you to say. I’m sorry, what was your name again? My weary old mind plum forgot.” She smiled again, “My name is Emily.” Rose opened her mouth to say something, but the timer in the kitchen started buzzing. With shaking limbs she rose from her chair. Smiling as she shuffled back into the kitchen. Emily nudged Leo’s arm and whispered. “Doesn’t she need help?” “No, she’s been doing it all on her own as far back as I can remember.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “I feel like we should have brought something. It’s rude of me to come empty handed.” “There’s nothing to bring. She takes care of everything.” Silence took over once again, except for the sounds of the old lady in the kitchen. Emily debated what to do. She was a guest, her first time here. But that doesn’t mean a guest shouldn’t offer to help. In fact, that’s the exact reason she should. Determined, she stood from the couch and traveled into the kitchen. Rose barely heard Emily, she was as quiet as a mouse when she entered. She wouldn't have known she was standing there if the girl hadn’t spoken up. “Is there anything I can help you with?” The girl’s voice was no louder than a peep. The words entering through Rose’s ears were as foreign as any language. She must have heard wrong. Was it possible she longed for love and thoughtfulness so bad she imagined she heard the question? She turned to see Emily standing in the center of the tiny kitchen. “Bless your heart.” Her eyes had just begun to water when she forced back the emotion. “I’ll be happy to help with anything, Mrs.-” “Just call me Rose,” she said with a smile, “or grandma, or grandma Rose. Whichever you fancy.” Emily did the heavy lifting, taking casserole dishes from the oven, and pulled out the turkey. Rose was delighted someone offered to help. She liked this young girl. They all gathered around, Rose at the head of the table, with Emily taking the closest spot next to her. Conversation was light, short, and impersonal. William, Collin, and Leo gobbled up enough food for six people. By the time they were finished, there was little left. Rose would have to make a trip to the store sooner than she planned. Elizabeth managed to fit in her little irritancies, critiques, and jabs. Emily made her compliments known, Leo slowly following suit. With Emily’s help, there was hope he might break free from whatever brainwashing Elizabeth had done. She feared all was lost for the rest of them, saddening her heart even more. While shoveling in the food, William asked, “What’s for dessert?” “There is none.” Rose answered. The shoveling stopped. “No dessert?” “If you haven’t noticed, I move slower these days. There was no time for me to make pies from scratch.” She regretted not being able to. She felt she let down her family. But who was failing who? How did her children grow up to be spoiled, selfish individuals? Had she been that bad of a mother? When the gluttony ceased, they headed for the living room, leaving their plates, glasses and silverware at the table. Emily stayed seated, watching the family leave their mess. Disappointment filled Emily as she watched Leo walk away. Rose took a stack of dishes to the sink. She stood there trying not to cry. Emily entered and rested her hand atop the old, wrinkly skin thinly covering the bones in Rose’s hand. “I’ll help you.” Her smile was encouraging. Rose’s sad, sunken eyes met Emily’s. “Christmas won’t be much different I’m afraid.” “Yes, it will. I have an idea.” She gently squeezed the ragged hand. “Let’s break tradition. It’ll require a little wit, if you’re up for stirring the pot.” ~ Christmas was here in a flash. Snow devoured the streets and sidewalks. Ice like glass covered every twig and tree branch. A winter wonderland. As predicted, family arrived with nothing in their hands. No joy. Nor laughter. Emily greeted Rose with a friendly smile and warm hug. She winked before stepping aside. “Mother, your house is joyless and dim. Where are your decorations? You have no tree?” Elizabeth asked tersely. “I am too old these days to be decorating. My whole body aches. And I have no help. Besides, the atmosphere fits the mood you all are in.” Without waiting for their reaction, she headed for the kitchen. Emily smothered her satisfied smile. When it was time to call to meal, William, Elizabeth, Collin, and Leo strolled into the dining room, all held a look of aghast. “Mother, we are eating off of paper plates and plasticware?” Elizabeth asked angrily. “And solo cups?” William pointed out while holding a red plastic cup. “Where is your fine china?” Elizabeth wondered allowed. The old lady stifled her smile. “I am too old and tired to wash all the dishes myself. Sit down and I will bring out our Christmas meal.” Rose shuffled into the dining room with a casserole dish of Stouffer’s lasagna. Aghast was an understatement, for it was no longer the correct word to describe the faces of the family. “What is the meaning of this?” William's voice rose. “Where is our Christmas meal?” “I just thought I would put in as much effort as all of you do.” A shameful silence swept over the table like a thick fog on Christmas Eve. “I’m too old and too tired to do it all myself. None of you have lifted a finger in years. I’m breaking tradition.” No one moved. No one dared to look the old lady in the eyes. Rose reached for the tray of lasagna, Emily assisted. “Mother, why didn’t you tell us you needed help?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “Would that have made any difference? You all have eyes don’t you? I can’t force you to help an old granny out, or your own mother. It’s always the same excuse, no matter when I call or what I need. Both you and William are always too busy. Maybe now you will realize how much I have done for you. At least now I won’t have a sink full of dirty dishes. You can throw your trash away. I’ll have no clean up.” “I’m sorry, Grandma.” Leo said wholeheartedly. “I’m sorry I never stepped in to help. Emily saw it, she saw how you needed help. Let’s break tradition.” His sorrowful smile told Rose he wasn’t lost. He’d turn out to be a good man after all. The remainder of the evening was heavy with regret. As difficult as it was for Rose to watch her family have a miserable Christmas, there was a lesson to be learned here on this night. Before the family separated into their vehicles, they stood in the driveway after they said good-bye to Rose. It was decided, next year they would all step in to help for the holidays. What they gravely failed to realize was old Rose needed help with everyday life, not just monstrous family meals. Their promise was still too weak. Rose didn’t live to see the next Thanksgiving. Her family mourned. But what were they grieving? Were their hearts heavy from all of the moments, stories, gatherings, and laughter that was forever lost, never to be experienced? Were they mourning for the mother and grandmother they dearly loved? Or were they grieving over the epiphany of their own selfishness? Their own cruelty? Whatever it was they were grieving, Rose no longer suffered in this world. She had no aching body to weigh her down. No sadness caused by her family. She would never be abandoned again, she was back in her husband's arms. She was Home.