Owen and Norm were kicking a small soccer ball back and forth. Norm was trying tirelessly to get Owen to use his foot to stop the ball instead of his hands, "No hands in soccer," I heard him say each time he kicked the ball back in Owen's direction.
Josie and I were running from one play structure to the next. She was climbing and jumping and sliding to her heart's content. She didn't really need me there any more. But fortunately, she still felt like she did. So I happily obliged.
While Josie climbed up the slide, I looked back at the old lady. There was something about her perfectly coiffed hair, her tiny frame and the dignified way that she held herself that reminded me of every old lady I have ever loved. Next to her was a single plastic bag filled with a few items she probably picked up at the market up the street from the park.
Maybe she came to the park every Thursday. Or maybe she just made a special stop today on the way home from picking up day old cans of turkey noodle soup because it was Thanksgiving and she wanted to feel a part of something.
I was conscious of every time I laughed at the park. Of every time Norm and I exchanged glances as our children did something funny. Each time my heart felt even the slightest hint of joy, I felt the old ladies eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
Without saying a word, she was reminding me just how much I have to be thankful for. To be thankful at how easy it is for my heart to feel overjoyed. To have a partner to share small moments with. To have children that want me near by, even if they no longer need me. To be lucky to have one place to for Thanksgiving and another place you wish you could be.
When it was time to leave the park, I turned back for one last glance. But she was already gone. Her days at the park with children and Thanksgiving dinners surrounded by family have withered away. And I left being so thankful that mine are still in full bloom.
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