It has been a long day. We
arrived at the cancer center 15 minutes early this morning. Daddy absolutely hates
to be late so we’re always well ahead of schedule when we arrive. About 20
minutes later, the nurse calls my Dad to take his blood. He is finished in five
minutes, the samples enroute to the in-house lab for examination.
And so we wait.
About 45 minutes later, we are
called back to the doctor’s office. She is a personable woman, Indian in
heritage, bearing the last name of a Hindu god, Rama. She is pleased with the
blood reports. No signs of lymphoma cells, the indicators for internal organs
which can be damaged by chemotherapy all normal. Of the 25 lymphoma caused
lesions with which he began three months ago, there are now only three. They
are shrinking, not at all “angry” anymore she says with a smile.
The treatments from here on
out will be reduced to one day. After three rounds of back-to-back two day chemotherapy
sessions with a third day of treatment provided by an attached automatic injection
device he wears home with him, Daddy is now 2/3 of the way through his
treatment regimen. The doctor remains optimistic the remaining lesions can be
healed by the end of the treatment period in July. I am hoping she is right.
We reward ourselves with a
lunch at Lee’s Famous Recipe Chicken, one of my Dad’s favorite places famous among
locals for its soul food. Daddy gets the chicken gizzards. He’ll need a lot of
hot sauce to finish up the dozen pieces plunked down on our table by an ancient
black woman who calls everyone honey and smiles revealing gold capped teeth. She
fishes the hot sauce and ketchup packages out of her apron pockets. Daddy will
leave Ruth a tip at the end of the meal, a rarity in this fast food joint. Ruth
will thank him and bless him repeatedly as we depart.
My sister’s house is close to
the restaurant so we go to there to await her arrival after work. Her boys come
in after school about 3:30 waking both of us from our naps. They adore their
granddaddy and will even watch the Fox channel with him. He is intent on
hearing the business report.
The older boy graduates from
high school in two weeks and we rode by the Livestock Pavilion on the north
side of town to make sure we knew where to go. The ceremony begins there at 8
AM which means Andy and I will need to leave Orlando by 6 AM to pick up Daddy
and get there on time. The younger boy is trying to find a summer job and is
working on getting his soccer skills in shape for the coming school year. He’ll
be a junior next year.
With the arrival of my sister,
it’s time for supper. We head to Aunt Fanny’s, yet another soul food joint
frequented by the locals, where the vegetable plate with lima beans, fried okra
and greens and a big chunk of cornbread is often the favorite meal in the
house. Tonight we all enjoy a round of fried green tomatoes before our dinners arrive,
swilling down iced tea served in plastic glasses big enough to take a swim in.
After dinner, as my Dad and I
head home, we drive down the local back road to Sumter County, a canopy road
that snakes through horse country and patches of rare surviving Central Florida
highland woods. The sun is setting through the limbs of the live oaks on the
west side of the highway, the Spanish moss swaying in the breeze sending
alternating flashes of light and darkness down the grey worn two lane roadbed.
We talk about my Dad’s desires
for cremation and internment with my Mother in the VA Cemetery near Bushnell.
It’s the town where he was born and I was raised. He talks about his bequests
to his children and grandchildren, about what he wants me, his lawyer kid, to
do as the personal representative of his estate.
He even talks a little about
dying, how he doesn’t fear death, it’s just the natural end of the life cycle. And
I think to myself of how the setting sun amidst those moss draped oaks so perfectly
symbolizes this reality, my 89 year old father, talking about end of life issues
with his oldest child who loves his father dearly, as we drive along a stretch
of country road we have both traveled and loved all of our lives.
Tonight I smile as I reflect
on all of the happenings of this day, my empty wine glass with the dregs of the
Malbec now consumed just to the left of my keyboard. I’ll soon be headed to bed
with my dear husband hoping to somehow claim a spot between him and our beloved
hound dogs, the dachshund who has tunneled under the sheets into his
make-believe badger hole and the beagle who prefers to lie diagonally across
the entire bed.
I think about how grateful I
am for this unusual, unpredictable but inevitably grace-filled life that I have
led. And I bow my head momentarily to give thanks to a very generous G-d for the
many unearned but never unappreciated gifts like these I have been given this
day and all of my life.
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Harry Scott Coverston
Orlando, Florida
If the unexamined life is not worth
living, surely an unexamined belief system, be it religious or political, is
not worth holding.
Most things worth considering do
not come in sound bites.
Do not be daunted by the enormity
of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly now. You are
not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it. – Rabbi
Rami Shapiro, Wisdom of the Ages, Commentary on Micah 6:8
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1 comment:
He, like my Dad, accepts the reality of the circle of life.
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