It was the best after in a long time.

Don’t get me wrong. Thanksgiving was good. This was the first Thanksgiving without my dad, and the year before was the first Thanksgiving without my mom. It could have been strange, or awkward, or sad, but mostly, it wasn’t. Both of my parents came up in conversation of course, but there was no strain to it. It could have been hard as all three of us shifted from our roles as kids and helpers to our parents on the holiday, to just being us. But that worked out fine as well. Things changed of course. The dinner was at my sister’s house, not my parents. For the first time, not all of my kids’ generation could make it, but most did. It wasn’t a mid day meal with football afterwards, but a dinner time meal to fit other’s schedules. There were some new recipes and some old favorites were missing. But mostly there was a spirit of thankfulness and a genuine sense of gladness in being together. It was a good thanksgiving.

But this year, I think it will be the after that I remember.

The day after Thanksgiving, I had a chance to meet with Ellen Hall. Ellen was someone I knew back when I directed and sang in some music groups right out of college. We’re talking nearly forty years ago. We haven’t really kept up. But thanks to the magic of facebook we reconnected some time ago, and when I discovered she did not live far from my sister, we made arrangements to visit. She not only knew me, but also my sisters and so she came to my sister’s house and we talked an hour or two.

If you’ve ever reconnected with someone from your past, perhaps at a reunion or somewhere else, you know we are often disappointed. People don’t turn out the way we imagined. We’re not talking looks here, but instead we often find that they essential spirit we recall is not there, and we are left wondering if they changed, or if we only imagined that spirit. But visiting with Ellen was not that kind of reconnection. She’s been through good stuff and tough stuff but the central spirit of joy that I recalled in her as a teenager was still intact. It was a very reaffirming thing to hear her life story, joys, and struggles and see that spirit still shining brightly after forty years.

There was also time with my sisters. We’ve been through a lot together the last couple of years, losing both parents, one suddenly and unexpectedly, and one slowly. And then there was the breaking up of the household, never easy. But we have moved mostly past that period finally where every visit and every talk is not necessarily about cleaning up details. We’ve come to a place where we can talk about normal things. Kids. Plans. Hopes. Fears. Books. Thoughts. Life. After nearly years careening from crisis to crisis, from decision to decision, to simply get hours to BE felt like a luxury.

Today, James and I drove home. It was a warmish day, around sixty, and we put the top down on the convertible. We played the new Adele album, loudly. Some of it twice. And we talked.

Oh how we talked. Of the ten hours of driving, I suspect we talked non-stop for six or seven of them. Those of you who know me know how out of character that is for me. I’m not a talker. I’m a listener. But we found ourself talking about everything under the sun – music, religion, drugs, sex, history, family, past, future, hopes, fears, philosophy. It was the kind of conversation that only come when there is a sense of safety between two people. When they feel comfortable that whatever they say, whether there is agreement or not, will be treated with respect. That kind of conversation is rare between any two people, but it is particularly rare between parent and child.

It was for me, particularly precious. James was raised to not trust me. That’s something he has reminded me of again and again. Since the age of six, that has been the mantra he’s lived with. (both of my kids lived with.). Choosing to move from Virginia to Vermont and live with me  was more an escape from an emotionally hard place than any desire to be with me. How tough it must have been is pretty evident. No kid in a good place chooses to leave behind his senior year and move 11 hours away to live with someone he’s been taught not to trust.

So, understandably, trust comes slowly to this young man. Five months into his living with me. he is in a place of trusting me more, seeing what is and isn’t on a day to day basis. But he is not in a place of complete trust yet.  That trust as grown and earned, and I get that. I can wait. I believe time will get us there. But while I wait, and most importantly (to me), he’s come to a place where he feels safe talking to me about most things, even hard things most parents aren’t privileged to get to talk about in depth with their kids. That’s a major turning point.

This has been a year or two of turning points. Hard things. A lot of change. There’s so much I don’t know or understand exactly where it’s all going. But these past couple of days, reconnecting, or connecting on new levels, after nearly a decade of feeling like life was mostly a struggle and seeing little progress, only struggle, this “after” Thanksgiving time has become my actual thanksgiving. I’m OK not knowing where it’s all going. It’s going to be alright.

My work is changing and there’s a lot of uncertainty. It’s going to be OK. I’m in a relatively new relationship and deeply in love, but I don’t know exactly how it’s going to play out long term. It’s going to be OK. My kids futures are in the air, but they have turned into thoughtful, hardworking, compassionate people. They are going to be OK. It was like the “after” Thanksgiving was just one big flashing neon sign. God reminding me that he’s in charge, and….

Right, it’s going to be OK.

Definitely the best after ever.

Be well. Travel Wisely.

Tom