I know I haven't blogged for almost two months despite promises to the contrary. But sometimes life happens and you find yourself faced with things you'd really rather not deal with, with people who would rather not talk about them. So even though my mind has been overflowing with things I need to write about, I haven't really said a word.
I am lucky enough to have all four of my grandparents still living. Lucky seems like a meager word choice given that I'm 33 years old and they're all at or nearing 90, but suffice it to say I realize I am blessed beyond measure to have both incredible, wonderful memories of my grandparents growing up and the thrill of having them all in my life today. Jackson actually has seven of eight great-grandparents still living, and Chad and I were hardly spring chickens when he arrived, so that's notable.
I have a hard time imagining my life without my grandparents. And I
think it's because, no matter what was happening that was important to
me, they were always there. Every school play, choir concert,
graduation, wedding, Christmas...seriously, they haven't missed one.
No question about it, this situation is rare. I knew this as early as junior high, when many of my friends started attending their grandparents' funerals. And even as a teenager, I often thought to myself, "I wonder if this is the last Christmas/New Year's/fall/fill-in-the-blank I would be able to spend with all my grandparents."
Two decades later, I'm still thinking about those things. What can I say? I'm a planner.
As several of my grandparents went through health issues - colon cancer and heart stints and gallbladder surgery and broken bones and a whole host of other things I don't remember that I probably couldn't legally disclose anyway - one grandparent of mine seemed completely immune: Grandpa Howard.
It's no wonder he's a picture of health. This is the guy who eats
cucumbers for dessert. His weight hasn't vacillated five pounds in the 30 years I can remember knowing him. I've never seen him roll out of a buffet, pants
unbuttoned, proclaiming in his most boisterous voice, "Now THAT was a
good meal!" Grandpa Howard doesn't overdo...well, anything. If you look
up "level-headed" in the dictionary, I swear you'll find his picture.
Rumor has it that last year, when Grandpa was diagnosed with bladder cancer, one of his nurses at the Mayo Clinic asked him what medicines he takes on a regular basis. "None," he replied. Ok, she said, trying to kindly jog his memory. How about prescriptions for high blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes? Nothing. I'm not sure if he's ever even taken Advil.
So there was no question he'd bounce back from bladder cancer. Call it a momentary setback, maybe. A little discomfort, probably. But he'd be good as new in no time. It didn't even faze me. Because Grandpa Howard doesn't get sick.
But a routine check-up earlier this summer found something weird going on in his lungs. They tested again. And again. More appointments. More tests. More consultations. His bladder cancer, which we all thought was gone for good, had spread to his lungs.
Grandpa Howard couldn't be sick. Yet, he is. Very sick. Doctors said the mass in his lungs gave him a life expectancy of 6 months, maybe 12. Chemo might extend this to 18-24 months, but the prognosis just is not good. The cancer is very aggressive.
If faced with this dilemma, I would have weighed the options, given it careful thought, and likely said "sayonara" to life while spending my kids' inheritance on an around-the-world cruise. And no one would have blamed me, just as we wouldn't have blamed him for making peace with this diagnosis and using his final days to reflect on a joy-filled life.
But Grandpa Howard is taking a different path. At the age of 89, despite assurances of countless rotten side effects and no real promises, he's decided to fight this. He starts chemo next week. Maybe that gives him another Christmas, or another harvest, or another birth of a great-grandchild (hope he's not counting on me for that one right now because that ain't happening). Or maybe he just doesn't feel like his days here are done. I don't know, and I haven't asked.
Regardless of the reason behind it, I can't help but feel like there's something so admirable in choosing life when it's hardly the easy option. Even if the chemo proves too much and he needs to stop treatment, which we would all support and understand, he took a stand. He chose life. And that tells me that - clearly - our family patriarch, after decades of nobleness and dignity and a legacy that will live long after any of us are around, still has something to teach us.
