"People stare at me when I sit alone at a restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner," Barry told us as he sat at our kitchen table drinking a cup of black coffee.
"We want you to come to our house this year," my husband Brian told his friend.
Barry dropped his eyes. It was always the same. We invited him each year, but he never accepted.
"This year we want you to come," Brian repeated.
"You'll be with your family," Barry reminded us. "I don't have a family and I just won't fit in."
"Sure you will," I interjected. "You've met my family members. They all like you."
Barry again sat in silence. I had a feeling we weren't getting through to him. So I tried another tactic. "We're having turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, dressing, peach pie. Just come for the meal. You don't even have to stay to chit-chat."
"My problem is that I have nothing to be thankful for this year," Barry began on a philosophical note. Whenever he began to spout philosophy, we always knew we'd lose the battle.
I had very little to say that would be of comfort to him. He had no family members he was close to. The doctors told him he was living on borrowed time, so he didn't have his health to be thankful for. It didn't seem fair that life was so hard for one in his mid-50s.
"You can be thankful you have us as friends," Brian told him.
"Who says you're my friends?" Barry countered in his defensive manner. He wasn't joking. His words were often cutting.
"Will you just think about coming?" I asked him as he made his way to the door.
"I think about a lot of things I don't actually do," he concluded as he walked out of our house.
I thought about Barry as I did my Thanksgiving shopping, picking up a peach pie because I knew it was his favorite. I also hoped in my heart he would come this year. The way it looked, he might not be around next year.
But even though I had the peach pie and whipped cream waiting for him, he didn't show for Thanksgiving dinner. After the last member of my family left our house that evening, I asked Brian, "Where do you think Barry had dinner today?"
"I don't know," Brian answered. "Last year he had dinner at Bob Evans, I think."
"Why doesn't he ever want to have dinner with us?"
"I think this time of year is hard for a lot of people," Brian explained. "Instead of feeling included in someone else's family unit, they feel bitter they don't have a family of their own to spend time with."
"Does he take into consideration that we care about him and want his company over the holidays?" I inquired.
Shaking his head, Brian remarked, "I don't think he really cares."
If we'd have been able to see Barry's face at that moment in time, we may have changed our minds, though. Wiping a silent tear from his eye, he opened his refrigerator and set a doggy bag filled with leftover turkey and dressing on the bottom shelf.
"I don't even have a dog," Barry said to no one in particular as he closed his refrigerator door. He was still unable to block out the chill of his surroundings.
Laurie Lechlitner can be contacted by email at Laurielech@aol.com.