While visions of food and families gathered together are the traditional view of Thanksgiving, it will never be the same for me again. Seven years ago today, my mother died from post-surgical complications. Complications, including death, always are a possiblity of many types of surgery,but even though it was written in a consent form my mother signed prior to surgery, I was not prepared for the outcome. The only "thankful" part of her death was it ended a coma she had been in within 24 hours of the surgery which had lasted a week. Initially, I blamed the physician, as did my sibling, but we never took the matter to court, reasoning that our mother wouldn't want that, and no physician is perfect. I suppose I can be thankful that she had lived for nearly eighty years, but it wasn't a consolation then, nor is it now, seven years later though the grief has subsided a bit. Mind you, my mother and I were never close after I reached adolescence, and often got "on each other's nerves" as the expression goes, but I still miss her. Even though Thanksgiving's date changes, I will always remember the season as a time of sorrow in my life. This year it's even harder as I watch a co-worker in emotional pain because like my mother, her own mother has lapsed into a coma from which it is doubtful she will recover due to brain injury. I can only offer prayers and my support should my co-worker need it. It's tough to be thankful at such a time.
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