Archives for posts with tag: family

Art Linkletter thoroughly proved that kids do say the darndest things. But when it happens at your own dinner table, you definitely must take stock.

I realized tonight that despite my valiant efforts at “normalcy” (whatever that is), I really wasn’t fooling my 10-year-old. He stated right to my face that he’d had quite enough of my meanderings through the healthcare system.

In response to my explanation about an upcoming hospital stay, he didn’t miss a beat: “Is it life-threatening?”

This is the kid who cuts me no slack. He’s the one who looks for buttons to push, always finds them, and even creates new ones. Face of an angel, soul of a hurricane. So, his question was a good one. Because yes, without the hospital stay, it is life-threatening. But with it, we — as a family — have fewer worries.

So the challenge as a mom is to not take this personally and to inject some humor. Does he really care that I’ll be away overnight? Of course not! It means late bedtime and possible x-box. Does he love me? Of course he does! I’m his mom.

Would I have it any other way? Not on your life.

It is Thanksgiving eve. Despite the recommended four-day refrigerator thaw, my bird is still frozen. While he takes a salt bath to “chillax” a little, I’ll be making a pie and prepping brussel sprouts. But, before I do … a moment at the keyboard.

This holiday will be the first for my family without my grandfather and my older brother. I was able to write a tribute post to Granddad but can’t yet put my brother’s passing into words. I’m not sure that I ever will.

There is something ultimately unfair that the 97-year-old died hale and hardy from complications of a fall, while the 50-year-old withered away in six months from cancer. A few days before his death, Granddad was whistling for the dining room waitress to bring him his chocolate pudding after each meal (poor form, but he did have a charming, dairyman’s way about him). A few days before my brother died, he was in hospice, writhing in unrelenting bone pain from esophageal cancer, which had metasticized to his lungs, kidneys, liver, spine…everywhere, it seemed, except his poor, suffering brain.

Oddly, in a way, they went together—just a few months apart. The day I helped transition my grandfather from the hospital to the hospice on the West coast of Florida, my brother confided he was too sick to make it over from the East coast to say good-bye. His back hurt terribly and he couldn’t keep food down. He said he preferred to remember Granddad as full of life as he was, so he wouldn’t make the trip. My mother and I urged him to go to the ER. He said he would let us know how he felt.

By the time my grandfather died, my brother had gone back to his internist, who sent him directly to the ER, which immediately admitted him with Stage IV esophageal cancer. I still don’t understand it. Probably never will. He was discharged to endure four months of cyberknife surgery, chemo, and radiation. The only time he admitted he was very ill was on the drive from the oncologist’s office to the hospice.

Realizing this is not the most “peppy” Thanksgiving post ever, my message is this: give thanks for what you have, when you have it. If we take competition and comparison out of the equation, we can each say we have lived life to the fullest. Life, ultimately, is a journey of one.

And now, back to the kitchen. Wishing you a peaceful Thanksgiving, full of who and what you love.