Content to give thanks
Lori Borgman | Monday, Nov 23, 2009
One of my father’s favorite lines was, “We have a lot to be grateful for.” He
wasn’t the only one in his family who punctuated sentences with thanksgiving.
My dad and I had driven to Beaver City, Nebraska to visit one of his brothers
who had not been well. As we settled in, a large fly was trying to take
possession of the kitchen. House flies are part of the landscape in rural
America, a given along with cattle and horses, screen doors and open windows.
As we were visiting, my Aunt Adeline began moving around gunning for the fly
with an old rag. It landed on the jelly jar; she took a swing and missed. She
took another swing at it on the table.
My Uncle Ivan had suffered a stroke that had affected the right side of his
body. He was a big man with big bones, broad shoulders and massive hands. He had
farmed and ranched and for a time was the town sheriff.
Their bull dog, Addie, was circling beneath the table growling. Growling is
what Addie did. Constantly. Even when she slept. Every few minutes one of them
would pause the conversation and say, “Oh, knock it off, Addie.”
Addie had been growling for years and had never knocked it off. None of this
– not the fly, the growling dog, the impaired movement from the stroke -- gave
way to a hint of complaint or self-pity.
The fly landed on my uncle’s shoulder – the side affected by the stroke. My
aunt stood, eyed the fly and said aloud, but mostly to herself, “Oh, I don’t
know.” She drew back, snapped that wet rag at the fly and my uncle never even
flinched.
Uncle Ivan then mentioned that he had fallen recently. He hadn’t been able to
sleep, so he had gotten up, gone downstairs and had fallen on the steps. My aunt
was sleeping upstairs and there was no way she could hear him.
I said, “Oh, that’s too bad.”
He said, “Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t outside. It wasn’t cold. I wasn’t
getting rained on – I knew someone would find me eventually. It wasn’t anything
to get excited about. Something like that happens and it just is what it is.”
There was a short pause and then: “Really, I had a lot to be grateful for.”
It was the same line my dad had so often said. They had their share of
successes and setbacks in life. They experienced both sides– having more
than enough and having not much. In good times they were thankful for the
bounty, and in challenging times they were thankful because they knew it could
always get worse.
They’d be embarrassed to know I was dissecting all this but, to a
self-absorbed generation, understanding constants like contentment and
thanksgiving is very educational.
My uncle wasn’t on the stairs muttering, “Why me? Why now? She and that crazy
dog are never going to find me.”
He had a lot to be grateful for.
We all have a lot to be grateful for; it’s just a matter of acknowledgment.
