Happy Easter

It’s Holy Week for Christians, and it began with Palm Sunday and the reading about Jesus’s arrival in Jerusalem to the waving of palm branches and shouts of “Hosanna!” Did Jesus, did his family members and friends think that triumphal entry was a sign that all was well and Jesus had “dodged a bullet,” as our family believed Brandon had “dodged a (cancer) bullet”? Considering the New Testament scriptures describing Jesus last (Passover) meal with his friends, Jesus seems to have become aware that all was not well, although most of his disciples apparently remained blissfully unaware. Were they so oblivious, or like me, did they take brief vacations to the land of denial because the alternative was unimaginable?

As the clock ticks, counting down the minutes, hours, days, this Holy Week moves beyond the initial triumph and beyond the camaraderie and concerns felt during a special meal with dear friends. It shifts to a favorite quiet place, the Garden of Gethsemane, and to very human Jesus struggling with what he knows is coming, even as he prays, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want, but what you want” (Matthew 26:39). Yet despite his continued struggle, he prays again. The prayer is similar but not exactly the same. This time his words bear a sense of acceptance. “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done”  (Matthew 26: 42).

The quiet struggle in the peaceful environs of the Garden of Gethsemane seems years away from the escalating suffering Jesus endures on Good Friday, yet only a few hours later Jesus utters, “It is finished” (John 19:30) and “gave up his spirit.” What did Jesus mean when he said, “It is finished”? Was it simply the last words of someone who knew he was about to die? I don’t think so.

Piet by Franz von Stuck (1891)

I watched Brandon’s mostly silent struggle as he – and we – realized the cancer was overtaking more and more of his body. I watched as there seemed to be a shift from “let this cup pass from me” to “if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” And I was looking into his eyes the first time he whispered, “Done,” and I was still looking into them the second time he whispered, “Done,” after I’d explained what that meant. Although I do think Brandon’s “Done” meant he understood he was soon to die, I now believe it meant much, much more.

With Jesus’s utterance of, “It is finished,” I believe Jesus was saying that he’d completed the work he had come to this life to accomplish. It struck me several months ago when reflecting on the look in Brandon’s eyes that his “Done” was telling me the same thing. Whatever it was/is that he was here to accomplish, he had "done" it.

Today is Easter. Without the physical and emotional turmoil in the Garden of Gethsemane, without the physical and emotional pain and suffering of Calvary, could there be Easter? I don’t claim to understand the Resurrection; I’ve had my moments (years) of doubt. Still, I believe in the Resurrection, even as I think it is quite different than many imagine. There’s a reason Jesus’s close friends didn’t initially recognize him when he appeared to them after his resurrection from death. What that reason is remains part of the mystery.

The artist didn't know he was capturing Brandon's welcome to another life!

Brandon lived his own Garden of Gethsemane. He lived his own Calvary. And I believe he lives his own resurrection with our God and “appears” to us from time to time in ways which are not always recognizable. And that is part of the mystery.

AC - We Thought He'd(we'd) Dodged the Cancer Bullet – Part 3

Where was I? Oh, yes, between the March 5, 2010, “Mom, the doctor called this morning; I have cancer,” and Brandon’s March 29, 2010 surgery, members of a “tumor board” met to discuss how to act on Brandon’s pathology report and we went with him to a “meet the head and neck surgeon” appointment. (I got the impression not many parents accompanied a 36 year old to such appointments!) The surgeon reviewed his plan for the surgical procedure.

Although he didn’t give the procedure a name, he went over possible outcomes based on what he might find once the surgery began. It was possible that very little tissue would have to be removed but he wouldn’t hesitate to do what was necessary to remove any disease from Brandon’s right maxillary sinus. He explained that he might have to remove some of the bone in that sinus, including bone of the hard palate, which would create a cleft palate.

March of 2010 went by in fog of hope and fear. Many prayers were said. Many tears were shed. 

The day of March 29, 2010 Joe and I joined Christina and her parents at the hospital as Brandon was admitted to the pre-op area. When the transport team came to wheel Brandon to surgery, we all gave him a kiss and then headed to the waiting room for several nerve-wracked hours. We had no idea what the surgeon would find or how extensive the procedure would be. At some point one of the OR nurses said the doctor had asked her to call and tell us things were going well – whatever that means.

Finally, the surgeon called us into a consult room. Brandon was in the recovery area and doing well he said. He’d stripped the entire right maxillary sinus of its mucous membrane. No cancer was detected in any area other than one small bone facing the nose. (One of the turbinates, I think.) He’d removed that bone and sent it with the other tissue to Pathology. Brandon would be followed closely with check-ups every three months for several years, but everything looked good. (I got the impression the surgeon was taken by surprise when I threw my arms around him.)

March 29, 2010 - Post-maxillectomy

March 30, 2010 - the day after

We took Brandon home to recover and after a few days he headed back to his own place. I’d found out the name of his procedure was a “maxillectomy,” and it often involves the removal of much of the hard palate or of bone underneath the eye, which means the eye must also be removed. (I was glad I hadn’t known the name of the procedure before the surgery, which really isn’t like me! I usually want to know every detail in advance!) Of all the bones that may have been affected, Brandon lost one that seemed the least consequential. Yes, it would cause discomfort and its removal involved some long-term unpleasant side effects, but compared to what might have been….

And our family breathed a collective sigh of relief and felt thankful thinking Brandon/all of us had dodged a lethal cancer bullet. 

Guilt Lives On...

Every birth results in twins – twin A: a vulnerable, needy, immature, unique human individual and twin B: Guilt. (I suppose I had quadruplets when I gave birth to twins three years after Brandon, and Elizabeth’s and Brandon’s Guilt twins grew more demanding when I brought twin babies and twin Guilts home!)

Unlike a unique human individual, Guilt never seems to die. It may seem to others to make no sense, but every bereaved mother I’ve met continues to nurture Guilt. I am no different. Guilt sometimes wraps itself around me. It clings so tightly I need no wrap, sling or carrier.

Did I do – or not do – something when I was pregnant with Brandon that later caused him to develop this weird, virulent cancer? Did I eat or drink – or not eat or drink – something when I was pregnant with him that led to this cancer? Did I somehow expose him to something or not watch him closely enough so that he was exposed to something that led to the development of this cancer? Did I do everything in my power to track down treatment options after he was diagnosed? What did I miss? How did I fail to protect him?

There must have been something I did or didn’t do, because he shouldn’t have died. He should still be here.

My head knows this is stinking thinking. My heart doesn’t always believe or accept it. Guilt lives on…

AC Ever After – Part 2

Where was I? Oh, yes, “Mom, the doctor called this morning. I have cancer.”

The moment Brandon hung up, I leaned against a shelf in the closet and the tears started. I think that’s how Tony found me. The fuzzy numbness still wrapped me in its arms.

I spoke with my husband Joe, but I can’t remember who called whom. He said he had a call in to the surgeon who’d removed Brandon’s nasal polyps, and he promised to call again after he’d spoken with him.

There were beds to make, rooms to straighten, and a dining table to set. Joe(y) and Mia were  already on their way from Chicago, and our in-town children would be arriving for dinner within hours. With Tony’s help, I woodenly checked off each of the tasks on my list, moving through our house in a daze.

Joe called back after he’d spoken with the otolaryngologist. Brandon had some sort of squamous cell carcinoma. The “tumor board” at our university hospital was to discuss Brandon when they met the following week. Then they’d recommend what they thought should be done next. Joe also said he’d decided to leave Florida early and come home. He already defaulted his tennis match and had scheduled a flight later that evening. I wrote down the details, and Tony said he’d go to the airport when his dad’s plane came in.

I had mixed feelings. I wanted Joe home and was glad he’d have more time with the entire family. But did he really need to interrupt a trip he’d planned for months? My brain wanted to think this really wasn’t a big deal. If Joe was ready to default and come home, it felt as if he was trying to tell me something. 

Soon younger Joe(y) and Mia arrived, creating a happy distraction. The house filled with adult children and their significant others. Brandon worked his magic in the kitchen and chatted with the rest of us as we snacked on appetizers.  Bottles of wine were uncorked and glasses poured. Eventually, dinner was ready and we moved to the dining room. More wine was opened and poured.

Conversation remained fairly light, the meal was delicious, and the evening’s conversation seemed to set the new family standard of sadness coupled with joy. The unwelcome guest, Cancer, became a topic of conversation for the first time, and I think fear led everyone to treat its intrusion as a joke. Discussion of Brandon’s news mingled with joyful conversation of the two upcoming weddings. Tony updated us on the plans for his wedding to Kristin in late June. Brandon and Christina shared the details for their July wedding. Tony left for the airport and then returned with his dad. Joe jumped right into our boisterous discussions.

Then Joe(y) and Mia announced their joyful news. They were expecting their first baby in September! The excitement was palpable and everyone was speaking at once.

As the room finally quieted, Brandon hugged his brother and joked, “Wow, you couldn’t let me play the cancer card for even one night!”

With that I felt joy and sadness settle in my soul as inseparable inhabitants. My guess is that both have taken up permanent residency.

AC Ever After - Part 1

Four years ago yesterday our family was blissfully unaware that our world was about to be turned upside down, inside out and would forever after exist in an altered state. Like you, we went about our lives unknowing. An unwelcome guest, one that had been lurking in our midst for months and perhaps for years, was about to make the surprise announcement that it was claiming permanent residency within our tightknit family.

It was a busy week. My husband Joe was in Florida to play in a tennis tournament or two. He wasn’t expected home until at least Sunday, March 7^th. I’d spent much of Monday with Brandon after he’d had an outpatient procedure to remove the nasal polyps causing his frequent nosebleeds. He bounced back by late afternoon, and I thought no more of it as I went about the rest of my week. Thursday, March 4^th, our family’s last day BC I taught a day-long seminar and later drove to the airport to meet our son Tony who was coming in for the weekend from New Jersey. His twin Joe(y) with wife Mia were driving in the next day from Chicago. In addition to their plans for a weekend catching up with high school and college friends, the family looked forward to having both of them home so we could celebrate their March 9^th birthday a few days early. A family dinner was planned for March 5^th, a Friday night.

Depending on your age, do you remember where you were when you learned of the attack on Pearl Harbor, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, the flying of planes into the World Trade Center? There are other dates, personal touchpoints, in the lives of every human when some profound truth is revealed that causes time to stop. Not only can one remember where she/he was, the minutiae of the environment at the time of the discovery may be recalled with sharply focused detail and the words of any conversation may replay in the mind like a broken record.

I was putting laundry away in the closet of our Master bedroom. The phone on a nearby nightstand rang. I ran and picked it up, hitting the “on” button as I returned to the closet to continue putting clothes away while I talked. I saw Brandon’s name on the phone screen and figured he was calling about some detail about the coming evening’s dinner menu, as he was to be the chef.

“Hi, Bran. What’s up?” I asked. I was not ready for the answer. If I lived one thousand years, I would never be ready.

“Mom, the doctor called this morning. I have cancer.”

I can still hear his voice, how it sounded, in my ear telling me this.

“All of the other polyps were fine. Just one had cancer.”

I could hear Brandon’s fear. I could feel my own. I clutched a shelf to keep myself from collapsing in a heap on the floor. Every protective instinct I possessed pushed forward. Instantaneously, my wonderful adult son was my baby once again.

My mind leapt back three days to the conversation with the surgeon after the nasal polyps removal. Something in his voice or its expression – or was it my intuition – caused me to mentally lurch when he said the word “cancer” as he told me he’d sent the nasal polyps to the pathology department for examination, which is standard procedure and I knew that.

“Did he say what you had to do next? Have you called your dad (a physician) yet?” I asked.

I can’t remember if he said he’d already talked to his dad, but I think he said he needed to hang up so he could call his dad next. I think he said the otolaryngologist was to get back with him after he’d discussed with a colleague who and what Brandon should do next. I can’t remember. I just remember hearing his voice repeat over and over, “Mom, the doctor called this morning. I have cancer.”

A fuzzy numbness was setting in and my mind seemed to have gone blank. I think I was taking off on my first business trip to Denial. I can hear myself thinking cancer’s not a death sentence, we don’t have enough information yet, Brandon will get treatment, he’ll be fine.