This year I’m especially excited for Christmas, for the first time in awhile. Let me give you an idea why ….

Christmas 2008 – Found out my father had cancer a few weeks before. We didn’t decorate and all of us went to the beach.

Christmas 2009 – Gregory died 8 months before, and my Dad died Dec. 21st. Christmas was cancelled.

Christmas 2010 – I was forced to leave my home and move with less than 30 days by the probate court. Screw the holidays.

So this year has been a lot better in many ways. I’m settled in at the lake, I got a new Jeep, I’m in school, I’m hanging out with friends and family more. Except for the return of my cousin’s cancer, things aren’t too bad.

I’ve been excited about the holidays for the first time in awhile. I decorated for fall and Halloween, and I have been itching to get the Christmas stuff strewn about the house. I even bought a brand new sparkly silver tree, even though I’ve always gone with the traditional green tree. I usually don’t want to decorate until after Thanksgiving like a NORMAL person, but this year I WANT IT RIGHT NOW. I blame that damn Pinterest. 

Last night I decided to cull through things and see what I would use and what I’d take off to the local shelter, and of course, in the first box I opened, was what could have been a land mine.

Nestled between the Yankees ornament we got in 2007 and various Auburn ones, there it was……

Well, Scrooge.

But you know what? It only lasted for a second. Instead of curling up into a ball, I smiled. I picked it up and remembered how excited Gregory was when he saw it at Lowe’s, just a few days after we got married in 2006. How he picked it up and put it in our cart and said that technically that year wasn’t our “1st Christmas”,  but it was our first one with me as his wife and he wanted us to remember it.

So this Christmas, like all of the ones before, I’ll remember. And that will be the first ornament to go on the tree.

Life goes on, and it’s time to celebrate again.

I hope you can too.

Yesterday I sat with my family in a waiting room while my cousin had surgery to see if what was inside her was cancer, again. We huddled there, most of us minus a few, but otherwise the core, shrunken by time and life, only those of us that remain and carry on the bloodline of this thing of ours.

We reminisced, we laughed, we took over the waiting room as the largest and loudest group in there. The other nerds and I connected by DNA perused our iPads and laptops as the older ones compared recipes, talked about football, hunting, anything but the gorilla in the room. We nervously stole glances at the large screens that dominated one wall, searching the numbers for the one that had been assigned our patient, to see where she was in the maze of the hospital around us. It was almost comforting to see a number and not a name, as it almost made it impersonal, like tracking a package, not one of the best people you will ever know. Thank you HIPAA.

At exactly noon the phone in the waiting room rang. I know it was exactly noon because I was looking at the clock when the hand struck 12, anticipating the most eventful thing in my day to be Apple’s keynote. My cousin Kyle picked up the phone, said a few words, then passed the phone to his father, Jeff.

 Jeff held the phone with one hand and steadied himself against the wall with the other. We all looked at him with unknown purpose, silence enveloping us. Even the other families stopped their chatter, as if awaiting their own fateful news. After the longest 30 seconds I’ve known, his knees buckled a bit and he sat down.

He hung up the phone, covered his face with his hands and began to sob. For many minutes no one spoke. Hands were clutched, breath was held, tears trickled. We waited for the news, our minds racing with possibilities. Finally Jeff spoke, his voice cracking. The surgeon had gone into Debra’s left lung through her ribcage and found cancer just inside. He took a sample of tissue and closed her back up, not continuing the procedure that was to have been much more invasive. The tissue would have to be tested to know at what stage it was in, but it was for sure cancer. Cancer that probably returned from it’s original spot in her rectum to reappear in her lungs. He said that he had told her that very morning that he wished he could be the one hurting, that he could carry the pain for her. Every heart in that room broke a little more.

Hugs and tears were shared. Some of us left the room to recover, make calls, get some air. The other families began to talk amongst themselves again, one or two even coming over to speak to us and bring us the kleenex closest to them, knowing that the phone would soon ring for them.

Then a lullaby began to play over the PA system. I was so startled I almost laughed. Everyone looked at the ceiling in wonderment. One of the hospital information workers who had just entered the room explained that the lullaby played whenever a baby was born. I heard one of the people on the other side of the room wonder aloud what was played when someone died. I managed to slap my vocal filter on quickly enough that the words “Another One Bites The Dust?” didn’t slip from my brain to my mouth. It’s gonna be hot in Hell.

That lullaby broke the tension. There was some relief that now we had an answer, at least part of one. Now we know what it is, we just have to get to fighting it and supporting Debra. And Jeff. I’ve never remembered a point in my life when there wasn’t Debra and Jeff. They have been married almost 35 years. They are my cousins but they are as close to me as anyone ever has been. Their children and I have had a connection like no other since they entered the world. To see Jeff break down and see the fear in those boys eyes scares me. It scares me to think that she too may be gone from us and we can do nothing about it. And it makes me angry that the cancer came back and it’s taken 6 months of tests and insurance company shenanigans to get to where we are now. Ryan and Kyle are furious at the snail’s pace that seemed to be the norm amongst the doctors with test after test, procedure after procedure. I myself wrote how I cannot understand what took so long, why didn’t they know? I’m angry because I watched my mother break down after we cleared the hospital doors, holding in her pain and grief and memories of my father’s losing battle with cancer until she no longer needed her brave face for her family.

But my anger doesn’t matter. My anger will serve no purpose but to fester inside me while I need to be positive and support the people that I love the most. Now we know. We know that the beast is inside her again. I know the statistics, the history of this type of cancer. I couldn’t help myself, knowing better than to Google anything remotely associated with cancer after letting it consume me when my father was sick, yet I did it anyway. I cannot stand the feeling of utter helplessness that washed over me sitting in that waiting room. The urgent need to DO something for my family. For Debra, Jeff, Ryan, Kyle, Zoe. My mother. Me.

Now, all we can all do is wait. Wait for her recovery from the surgery. Wait for her diagnosis. The stage her cancer is in. The predictions. Wait for treatment, whatever it may or may not be, to begin.

And to live. To live and cherish the moments that we have had, that we will have. To bask in the love of our family and friends and to hope that we can stand strong together, no matter what wickedness this way comes.

That’s all any of us can do for each other.

For ourselves.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              My late cousin Buddy, me and Debra Ann 

Me and Deb , early 70′s 

Today I will be huddled up with my family at Baptist Hospital in Montgomery while my cousin has surgery. Surgery to remove what may or may not be cancer, but that’s obviously bad enough that they want it out. And it’s obviously pretty heavy because she’s going to be in ICU afterward to help manage the pain.

I wrote about what she’s been going through here .

I’m not usually all old wives tales about things, but for years, I’ve heard people say that if it is “the cancer”, once they operate on you, the air hits it and it grows. And it seems that everyone I know that’s ever had surgery gets worse afterward. I hope this time is the exception.

So if you can, pray, light a candle, rub Buddha’s belly, whatever you do for good karma, and send it Debra’s way.

Throw in a belly rub for me too while you’re at it.

Thanks.

 (My cousin Deb and her son Kyle)