Thanksgiving turkey with an elephant in the room
My father-in-law’s fight against cancer is my inspiration
“Life, we learn too late, is in the living, in the tissue of every day and hour.” Stephen Leacock
We’re sharing Thanksgiving dinner with Sue’s parents, Jim and Carol - they live nearby. We’re all part of a small 5-person pandemic bubble along with youngest son, Louis.
The fall colours are magnificent this year and on the menu we’ve prepared the full spread of traditional fare – that in a normal year would be served to three times as many hungry guests.
Magnificent fall colours
We share a drink and tell stories in the living room while Sue and I take turns running into the kitchen to check on the roasting cauliflower (caked in mayo, Dijon, and cheese) or the pumpkin pie.
But there’s an elephant in the room this year.
My blood cancer has recently decided to transform itself – and after a few weeks of pokes, prods and scans – I’m embarking upon what my oncologist describes as “a journey.”
Truth is, I look to Jim, my father-in-law, for inspiration.
He’s 84 years old, marches to the beat of his own drummer, and recently beat cancer.
Tall, broad-shouldered and, perhaps due to some hearing loss, Jim has a deep inner life. If the stream of conversation eludes him he either smiles and remarks, “Sorry, I was at my own meeting,” or breaks out in laughter at what he thought he heard.
Sue calls this game “Wait, what did Dad hear?” because it’s usually better than what was actually said.
In one conversation a few years ago, behemoth brother-in-law and police officer, Brad proudly recounted how he had been assessed at work as being “a natural born leader.”
Brad’s little face furled when Jim exploded in laughter.
“That’s not supposed to be funny, Dad,” he pouted.
Sue seized upon the moment: “Wait, Dad… what did you hear?”
“I heard that they think Brad’s an asshole eater,” said Jim still chuckling.
“Pretty much,” Brad acknowledged.
Then there was the time Sue described the mixed breeding of Gidget, her latest rescue dog: “Dad, she’s a mix of shih tzu and Lhasa apso.”
Again, Jim erupts in laughter.
Before the conversation is allowed to continue, Sue intervenes:
“Wait, wait, what did Dad hear?” she asks.
“You said she shits through a collapsible-asshole,” he exclaims.
Gidget
Jim is kind natured and his emotions run deep. Proof of this is evident at any family event when he tries to say a few words. After fits and starts, he struggles to hold back tears, and someone nearby is nominated to provide a simultaneous translation of his choked-up message.
Jim’s lone wolf philosophy served him well in a successful career in wastewater equipment sales (It might be shit to you, but it’s my bread and butter!) and in myriad projects around the home.
Moving from one obsession to the next, his current preferences include apple cider vinegar and avocados - consumed with Swiss-watch punctuality and Internet-based claims of extraordinary benefits - from blemish removal to improved regularity.
At the time, his cancer diagnosis hit us all pretty hard. All save Jim. After surgery, they discovered some more of the bastard cells and proposed chemo as the next course of action. The medical team emphasized that, for many men his age, chemo would not have been an option – but Jim keeps himself in remarkable fighting form.
In spite of his affliction, his lawn and garden did not suffer from neglect. In 36C degree weather, usually on the days right after treatment, Jim was out there mowing the grass, tending to his tomatoes, and endlessly tinkering with his homemade irrigation system.
After his first couple of rounds of chemo, when he was advised that he pace himself or risk a prolongation of the treatments, I took it upon myself to lecture Jim. I chided him for his never-ending activities and begged him to spend more time in his La-Z-Boy.
The very next day, Sue and I were walking along the waterfront, appreciating the beauty of a summer’s day when we heard a shrill whistle.
We turned to see Jim in his kayak grinning from ear to ear. Ignoring the request to pace himself (but heeding the nurses’ advice to avoid the sun). There he was paddling away in a long-sleeve woolen sweater. Sue panicked as she imagined him tipping and struggling to stay afloat with the heavy garment weighing him down.
Not hearing our impassioned cries, (or choosing not to hear them… hard to tell) he kept smiling, turned and paddled away at an impressive clip.
It was then it dawned upon me that my lecturing of Jim was misguided. What I first saw as stubbornness I now see in an entirely new light.
At this year’s Thanksgiving feast, Jim described his golf game (at 84, it’s actually improving) and more than once displayed his ardour for Carol which seems more intense than ever. He carved the bird with his usual precision and then, as we sat around the dining room table, made a teary, incomprehensible toast.
Jim’s ardour for Carol seems more intense than ever…
“Wait, wait, what did Dad say?” Sue asked.
“Love,” said Carol. “He said love.”
Jim has a zeal to live life to the fullest – every detail, every moment, every day - and I’m trying to do likewise.
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