The Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past
I can't remember if this was a Thanksgiving photo or not. But this was probably taken in 1986, judging by my beard and the deerskin rug on the living room floor. I can’t remember the last happy Thanksgiving that I experienced in Miami before my mother died in July of 2015. As Thanksgiving 2020 lurches its way to my current abode in New Hometown, Florida like a dreadful creature from a 1930s horror film (complete with artificial fog generated by dry ice), I sit in my now claustrophobic bedroom/study and try to recall a holiday season that wasn’t in some way dampened by discord or drama. And even taking into account the passage of time, the unreliability of memory, and my own biases, I can’t remember any truly happy Thanksgivings where my half-sister Vicky was present. Oh, sure. I can recall those recurrences of the holiday that were peaceful and even joyful because Vicky was absent. Thanksgivings at home with Mom and – on occasion – friends and family members who happened t
