Two years later, Norman Rockwell immortalized those four enumerated freedoms ~ Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Worship, Freedom of Want, and Freedom from Fear ~ by crafting posters to illustrate the concepts. After the works were summarily rejected by the War Department (as a donation), Rockwell went on to offer the illustrations to the Saturday Evening Post. When first published in February of 1943, the popular response was overwhelming resulting in thousands upon thousands of poster prints ordered up by everyday people.
The images were instantly iconic.
Freedom from Want.
This poster never fails to capture my interest; it tugs at my emotions. When contemplating the scene, I am at once a guest among a family of strangers, intruding as they gratefully celebrate another Thanksgiving. Yet, even in the midst of these strangers, I can’t help but feel a familial connection, and am instantly transported to another time, place and celebration of my own choosing. This is the essence of the sway this illustration holds over me; it plays on my nostalgia for the days, now past, when an ideal gathering of my family was fully realizable.
For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving has been spent visiting Mother. This year was no exception. Time and circumstances, however, have changed everything.
My first reaction Thursday when I arrived at Mother’s nursing home was, “Who are all these people?”
Spending time with someone in a nursing home, you gradually become familiar with your surroundings. One aspect of this comes with the eventual recognition of many of those family members who frequently visit loved ones. Over the course of this past four day weekend, however, GVM was replete with people I had absolutely never seen before; seeing them for the first time, I couldn’t help but reflect on the individuals whom my father once derisively referred to as the “ETC’s” of Churchgoers ~ those who only attend services at Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.
I am not passing judgment. I have spent enough time visiting Mother at the nursing home that I have now also come to know and even care for many of her fellow residents. To see so many of the elderly spend days, weeks, and months with nary a friend or relative stopping for even short visits is enough to tear at the most callous of hearts. From my perspective, it is a form of neglect I will never comprehend.
But these folks who were swarming about the nursing home this past weekend, unfamiliar to me or not, had at least made the effort to fulfill a Thanksgiving wish. It was very good to see.
There is a fairly large activity room immediately adjacent to the private residence wing of Mother’s nursing home; there is generally very little interest in it most days. As a result, my family makes great use of the room mainly as a way of breaking the monotony of Mother’s days given that she is effectively bedridden. During the holidays, however, other families sign up to reserve large blocks of time for the room; on these occasions, I will jokingly admit to an ever-so-slight tinge of resentment borne out of a squatter’s sense of entitlement.
The family of one resident who reserved the room this past weekend must have numbered twenty or more. Every generation from infant to great-grandmother was well represented. Chaos was abundant as one might well imagine.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the great-grandmother, a fellow resident at GVM, sitting quietly in the midst of all this organized confusion – smiling and happily soaking it all in. She was as much a stranger to me as the Mother in the poster, but just as I am able to immerse myself in the artwork, I instantly understood this grand lady knew exactly how our Mother had always felt when the family was together for Thanksgiving.
Imagine two people living quietly on acres of bucolic terraced gardens, ponds, meadows and woodlands complete with coyotes, deer, and wild turkeys. This was the scene on any Tuesday leading up to the arrival of family before Thanksgiving; twenty-four short hours later, however, several planes, and automobiles always brought new meaning to their understanding of the word “wildlife.”
My family is not shy, for the lack of a better word. We are also – most definitely – not quiet (except for me). We laugh and talk a lot, and since someone invariably feels he/she isn’t being heard, the volume eventually works toward a cacophonous crescendo that can become deafening – even, maddening. It’s family.
Watching the great-grandmother in the activity room, I was immediately taken back to near picture perfect mental images of Mother during our Thanksgiving conversations. She was never interested in being in the thick of these bull sessions or the center of attention. No, Mother always took up an unassuming position at the perimeter of these confabs, sitting quietly, taking in all the noise and general craziness.
It wasn’t until I reviewed some old video from a family gathering several years ago that I first took notice of something curious which had somehow never registered with me before. Seated at a chair in a corner of her formal dining room, Mom was again listening intently to the mayhem surrounding her Thanksgiving table. No matter what jokes were being told or political editorials made, there was Mom – sitting quietly, smiling a smile that spoke volumes.
Her smile was beautiful in its simplicity; Mom was at home with her children and grandchildren. Nothing was wrong with the world.
Our Thanksgiving at the nursing home was a subdued affair this year. The four of us took our homemade meal in her room where there was very little conversation, the only real noise coming from a flat-screen football game.
While I was very happy to have the opportunity to share another Thanksgiving with Mother, I couldn’t help wonder if she might have preferred trading places with the great-grandmother down the hall.
I was also left reflecting on the poster; if given the opportunity, to what nostalgic time, place and celebration would the image transport her?
Whether it was down the hall in the activity room or home, with strangers or family, so long as there were people surrounding a table enjoying each other’s company, free from want, I believe Mother would have simply sat awash in the chaos and smiled.
