Tag Archives: grandparents

Round Two

by

1

Friends:

Something has been weighing heavily for a few weeks now but it was not my story to tell. However, my dad recently chose to share his story, so I can now share as well.

Two months ago, my dad was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. Several appointments and tests later, we now know it is a dangerous form of adenocarcinoma, Stage III, with involvement of one localized lymph node.

Dad just officially retired a couple weeks ago, which had, of course, been planned all year; we just weren’t expecting his retirement plans to be consumed with cancer treatment.

He began radiation therapy today, and chemo starts tomorrow. He will have 5 and a half weeks of these treatments, followed by a two-month “break” before they perform surgery to remove the malignancy. The surgery is extensive, essentially removing the majority of his esophagus (plus that stray lymph node), and then using the upper portion of the stomach to create a new digestive track. The recovery will take several months at best.

For those who don’t know… this isn’t my dad’s first rodeo with cancer. He was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma in 2007; he was successfully treated and has been in remission for 10 years. But they say that if you’re going to get cancer, NHL is the kind you “want”, as it has the highest successful treatment rate. Esophageal adenocarcinoma doesn’t carry the same optimism.

Fortunately for Dad, it was discovered before it had metastasized, which is one reason for its lower recovery rate. His oncologist believes that with This aggressive treatment plan and a successful surgery, Dad’s odds of survival are 65%. That’s a helluva lot better than the normal 25% odds of someone at Stage IV.

If you know my dad, you know he’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. He is brave and otherwise healthy, which is in his favor. He has a good care team in place, friends in Colorado to help him, and a family (including a brother who is an MD!) who are supporting him completely and will be helping as needed. Right now, we are asking for your prayers, thoughts, healing energy, and positive vibes as we tackle this horrible demon yet again.

P.S. Yes, my Munchkin knows what is going on with his grandpa. We decided that he was old enough and this was too serious to keep from him. So far he’s handling it well, but keep him in mind as well as we face the weeks ahead. He has a big heart for a little guy, and he loves his grandpa. They are looking forward to a “boys-only” Rocky Mountain camping adventure once Grandpa is well enough to go… a retirement promise that Dad really wants to keep.

My dad, The archaeologist, teaching a session in Colorado

On Behalf of a Grateful Nation…

by
Ed. Note: This piece was written both as catharsis on the loss of my grandfather, and as ethnographic research paper for Dr. Marvin Sterling‘s ANTH-E393 World Fiction and Cultural Anthropology class at Indiana University. It is both biographical and fictional. 

The sky is a brilliant blue. There’s a warm breeze drifting up over the hill from the river below. The beauty of this late summer day betrays the solemnity of such an occasion. I’ve always thought so. Some might complain about duty in the cold or rain or snow; to me, it always felt like the weather should match the mood. It’s as if the warmth of the sun is a slap in the face to a family in mourning.  Continue reading →

On Ma’s porch swing…

by

Today was a busy day. But I couldn’t let it pass by without taking a moment to remember my “Ma.”

My paternal grandmother would have been 85 today. She left us almost eight years ago… the unexpected complication of a perforated ulcer. I had already been thinking about her birthday, four days before mine, for several days. This morning, my Facebook memories brought up a story I’d forgotten. 

A couple years back, the Munchkin and I were having a discussion about cicadas. He finds them creepy. I told him that, while I don’t like the way they sometimes divebomb one’s head, and I do agree that the empty shed skins are creepy, that I love the sound they make… 

Hearing the sound of cicadas takes me back to my childhood. When I was younger, every summer I would spend a week in Southern Indiana with my paternal grandparents, Ma and Pa. There was usually a trip to Holiday World, hitting golf balls into the back field with Pa, walks in Cox’s Woods, visiting great-aunts, and sometimes a drive down to Springs Valley and to the tiny hamlet about ten miles down the road where my grandfather grew up, to be spoiled with a trip to the old five-and-dime store. 

But in the evenings, we would sit on the front porch, eating ice cream, watching lightning bugs and listening to the cicadas. I remember one summer in particular when one of the 17-year cycles emerged… one evening the cicada song was so loud Ma and I couldn’t hear each other talking, though we were sitting next to each other on the porch swing. 
I got to know my father’s parents more in the last five years of their lives than I had in the previous twenty. You see, they did something remarkable for me. 

We live in the Bible Belt, and I grew up in two large families which both observe Christian faith. And although my parents, long divorced, were (and are) much more liberal in the ways of modern relationships, our extended families remain fairly conservative. So, when I became pregnant at age 23 with no husband, I thought for sure that my grandparents would disown me. I truly believed that I would lose them. I was so afraid, I couldn’t even tell them myself, leaning instead on my dad to break the news. 

A couple weeks later, I came home from work to find a bag on the front porch. Inside were groceries, gas money, and a sack full of baby onesies. And a note, scribbled on the back of a receipt: “Sorry we missed you. Ma and Pa” That was just the beginning. 

Throughout my pregnancy, the Munchkin’s early years, and through my divorce, my father’s parents were wonderful. They weren’t the emotionally distant old people I remembered growing up with. They were affectionate, warm, and doted on their only great-grandchild. They bought clothes and baby things. They helped with groceries when money was tight. They were never wealthy people, but they were generous. It was a surprising and wonderful gift they gave me, to be able to know them differently in their final years. 

This is one of my favorite pictures of my grandmother. Not because it’s wonderfully composed, but simply because this is how I remember her: sitting on the porch swing and caring for her family. I wish I, as well as my sister and cousins, had had more time with the woman she was in those last five years. But I will always treasure the time that we had, and how they didn’t turn their backs on me when I needed them. Whenever I hear cicadas, I remember them, and I smile. 

Happy birthday, Ma. Love you always.