Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 18: 'I can do hard'

 Part 18: ‘I can do hard’

“Oh Grandma Bird, are you serious?”, Dan asked in shock as he held the phone to his ear.  He was on the phone with my grandmother. Our ‘Bird Family Reunion’ was a week away.  My Dad’s side of the family was desperate to have us attend.  It was the only time growing up I was able to see my extended family.

“What is she saying?”, I pressed him to tell me. By the look on his face it was something that put him in a minor state of shock.  My grandma had adopted Dan as important a member of the family as she considered me to be. The concern my grandmother had for what we were going through was great.


 (My grandparents, Kenneth & Carma Bird with me)
Ever since my parents divorce I had felt very close to my grandmother.  As a child high emotions ran through my family for years after my young world was severed into two different lives.  

As a child of divorce you feel like you don’t belong to anybody.  

Parents remarry and make a new life with their new partner.  They are fully accepted into this new family, leaving behind their previous family exed out through divorce.  It isn’t the same for children.  They must try to find a place in two new families that they didn’t choose, but only belong to by a second marriage they have zero control over.  There is no reason for the new family to take the new child to be fully theirs to love and care for.  Assumptions that the other families have that covered are made and forgotten.

Divorce for a child is lonely.

 

(Grandma Bird and me)

My grandma lived around the corner from my dad.  She was a sanctuary for me to escape to when I was under stress or upset.  The differences my two families felt for each other were frequently discussed, heavy topics and burdens were forced upon my innocence.  The only place I didn’t feel I was a painful reminder of mistakes and regrets from a bad marriage was when I was on a visit with her.  I knew she loved me, and I loved her. She never made me feel like I was less important to her than her other grandchildren she got to see all the time.

Dan started to stumble over his words as he looked up at me indicating my turn to talk was next, “I don’t know what to say grandma...thank you, that means a lot.” 

He said his good-bye and handed me the phone with a simple smile of humility on his face.  I took the phone and listened to my grandma tell me what Dan was reacting to.  Her voice trembled as she tried not to become too emotional.

When the planning between my aunts and uncles began, my grandmother said she would prefer the ‘family reunion’ be canceled and all the money that would be spent on the week be sent from each family to ours.  She knew the heartache of disease and the expense that came with it.  My grandfather had suffered more years than most from Alzheimer’s disease.  As his condition progressed he forgot everyone he knew.  My grandmother was forced to place him into a care facility.  He had changed over time into someone he wasn’t before.  I recognized the similarities my grandmother and I might have in feelings about those changes in someone we shared our lives with. In a state of limbo herself for a lot of years before my grandfather passed away, her heart ached with what a young family should never have to experience.

(Ken and Carma Bird)
 My aunts and uncles not wanting to cancel the rare opportunities for family to see each other brainstormed for another option.  Traditionally a service project was arranged for the families to do together, as a group.  The idea was proposed that instead of the service project one day be dedicated to an auction.  Each family would spend time making or thinking of items they could collect to bring to the reunion. Those items would be up for bidding during a live auction every family member would participate in.  As my grandma recounted what she had told Dan, that the plans agreed upon were to spend an evening in financial service to my family I was overwhelmed, and speechless.  I could hardly respond in the conversation.  Family members I had felt hated me over the years because of my ties to my mother made my importance to them valid.  So many years I felt like an afterthought.  I only felt I truly belonged to someone on the day I got married.  What my grandmother had told me gave me reassurance that God knew my heart, that he felt my insecurities and provided opportunity for those feelings to be washed away by people he had entrusted me to, to be loved and cared for by.

Dan was not quite recovered from his fourth round of chemo when the reunion week came.  Luckily the location of the reunion was only 2 hours away. If Dan did too poorly on the way up or during the week we had the option to come straight home, or to the hospital.

Dan was down to a small frame of 135 pounds.  For a man 6’2” he was at a dangerous weight and looked like he would fall over if the wind blew too hard.  His doctors encouraged him to drink ‘ensure’ to keep his body fortified with something somewhat sustainable. He hated it but drank it anyway through a straw.  He resembled an old man about to be wheeled in a wheelchair to a bingo party where 'ensure' would be the drink of the hour.

He ran his fingers over his head while we drove in the car up to Logan.  “I miss my hair”, he said.  Our kids were asleep in the back.  I looked over at him and smiled, “I know”, I replied, “it’ll grow back, maybe even some before you have more chemo”.

My cousins, their babies, my aunts and uncles were all scattered in the main lodge when we arrived.  As the news spread we were there, most people dropped what they were doing to come greet us, and help us into our lodging.  Only 3 individual cabins were rented and available for the entire reunion group, consisting of over 75 members. One was assigned to us, for our privacy, and for Dan’s comfort. I felt happy to be around my family, but still somewhat uncomfortable.  My insecurities were catching up with me.  I wished to be  telling fortunes of the new house we just bought, or the sweet moments we were having as a young family together. I hated being there with cancer, on display, hating the feeling the misfortune I’d been struck with to be the central thing going on in my life.

(My cousins whom I spent summers with, Heather, Brandi, Misty, and me)

Dan had thrown up several times on the drive up and he was tired.  I wanted to stay up at the main lodge to catch up with my cousins I hadn't seen in years.  I missed our childhood memories and silly laughter. I knew Dan needed me and prefer that I be there to help him as he got settled into the cabin.  It had been a week since Dan had been home from the hospital.  Although he was doing well considering, he looked scarier to my family that they expected him to look.  I had watched him change on a daily basis over time, while the last time any of my family saw Dan he was the vision of a tall, healthy, and vibrant man.  His hunched over death look gave some family members reason to be upset over what they couldn’t imagine I was going through.

 

(My dad, Marlon Bird, and me)

My dad was there. I hadn’t seen him since my baby was born.  He hugged me.  I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.  I had adopted a policy of being tough around him.  I knew he expected that of me. 

The theme for the reunion was centered on this theory as well.  Any trials the ‘Bird Family’ had gone through was remedied with the mantra “I can do hard”.  I had heard this phrase a lot growing up. It was encouraging, perfect for what we were going through.  I wasn’t sure I could do it, but I did know that it was hard.  This theme made me believe that although surviving cancer was something I would have to do, no matter how hard it was, I had loved ones behind me, cheering me on, telling me I could do it. Everyone received a shirt with this phrase printed on it for reminder.

 

(Cole and cousin Kate playing in the stream wearing reunion shirts)

The week consisted of many family activities.  My dad helped Cole make a boat for the ‘river race’ out of plastic cups and pipe cleaner.  Vessels made from every thought up idea were launched into the river and cheered on by their creators in hopes of a first place win.  I watched my little boy and his grandfather he didn’t really know send a pile of cups they constructed together down stream.  He screamed with excitement. I saw my father with a mini version of myself.  Lost opportunities of father/daughter bonding over the years grazed my mind for a moment.  When my dad had remarried my relationship with him had been replaced.  Although not personal, nor intentional, my stepmother was less sensitive to what was important in my father’s life before she entered it.

 

(Me, my dad and siblings, Ryan and Melissa Bird)

The next night we had a talent show.  Dan had finished a bag of fluids being pumped into his body and retired to our cabin early. I sat with Cole and our baby watching my cousins participate in musical numbers and rehearsed skits with each other.  It was beautiful, yet devastatingly painful for me to watch.  Tears escaped my eye every now and then.  I wiped my cheek before the tears had a chance to be noticed.  I was embarrassed at my jealousy.  My siblings and I were the only ones within the entire extended family who knew what it was like to not have a complete family.  I wished it had been differently for me growing up.  Feeling like a stranger to your father, and in your own home is the worst feeling.  It was never our home anyway, it belonged to the woman my dad married.  I had learned early on to make this woman my friend, or there was a chance she would make me her enemy.  I loved my stepmother, but wasn't fond of how my siblings and I were treated on most of our visits.  It was hard to tell if she really loved us or just tolerated us because she had to under the circumstances. She and I both knew she ruled my dad’s roost.  My siblings and I were underdogs to her control over how our extended family viewed our relationship with her since our exposure was minuscule compared to hers.  It was a lost battle from the beginning.  I had learned early to ‘go along to get along’.

 

(My step-mom, Marian, and me)

I watched my father perform with my younger half brother, stepbrother, and his step grandchildren as I sat on the sidelines with Cole.  I pushed my petty hurt out reminding myself how ridiculous it was for an adult to feel so jealous.  I sincerely loved my stepbrothers and I loved their children.  They were also victims of a hard upbringing and needed to feel that they belonged to my family as much as I wished I did.

Before the talent show was over I left the lodge and made my way to the cabin.  I wanted to be with Dan.  My emotions were spent and I needed to feel the comfort from the only person I had chose in life to call my family. He wasn’t asleep yet. His body was still in pain, making it hard for anyone to sleep near him.  I folded out the small futon into a bed and put both boys in it next to me.  Cole was struggling with his addiction to chocolate milk and began crying for his brown drug like a junkie in detox. “Chalk it milk…..chalk it milk”, he moaned.  Dan and I laughed.  We joked how our true reason for bringing our son to the family reunion was to cure him of his obsession. We started referring to the reunion as ‘C.M. Camp - kids with drinking problems’.  Our marriage always had a healthy sense of humor.  Laughter could remedy any issues we were going through.

The day of the auction came.  Blankets covered the ground and fold out camp chairs were set out in rows.  Items started being brought out from tents and the lodge.  Many hand made items were lovingly placed up for bid.  Several people in my family were crafty and could appreciate things handmade.  I had learned to sew handbags as a way to earn extra money during Dan’s cancer.  All my free time had been dedicated to sewing and selling hand-sewn bags made from designer fabrics.  The women in my family loved my designs and often asked me to make one for them or a daughter about to have a baby in need of a stylish diaper bag.  I was paid generously for my sewn creations by my family. It was a known source of supplemental income.

My step-mom had asked me to bring several bags to the auction so she could buy one for her daughter in law who had a baby shortly before Ethan was born.  I laid out three bags of individual design onto the blankets. 

(My sewn handbags, 'beansprout designs')
My uncle, whom I’d been intimidated by as a child, stood in front and welcomed the family.  He introduced the reason for the auction and the importance it was to be generous for a worthy cause.  I felt emotional before things even got started.  People who had known me my whole life were there, wanting to support me, show me in substantial ways that they loved me.  I could care less about the money.

I finally felt like I belonged to my family.

New items were brought forth, bid on, and claimed by the winners.  If an item weren’t bid to a dollar amount my uncle expected it to be bid at he would assign a dollar amount and bidder to the item making sure the auction raised a healthy amount of money.  Envelopes with surprise contents were auctioned for hundreds of dollars and gave the family something to banter playfully over during the event.  My grandmother had been waiting for my bags to be up for bid as she verbally announced she was going to win one at any cost.  It was her excuse to shower me with a large bid and boost my confidence in my talent of sewing.  She had a way of making her grandchildren feel that their talents and gifts were unique and something to be proud of.

“$100.00!”, she called out as she sat up in her chair and promptly raised her hand.

“$110.00”, my stepmother meekly said.  The bag they were bidding on was the one my stepmother had her heart set on for her daughter-in-law.  She had privately pulled me aside when she saw me pulling three bags from my car to add to the auction.  Quietly, so others wouldn’t hear, she told me she wanted me to not put the bag she wanted in the auction.  She told me she wanted to not have to spend too much money on the bag and that she would buy it from me later at my regular rate of $50.00 a bag.  My grandmother had overheard part of the conversation about the bag not being placed in the auction and had scolded my step-mom in a joking manner, that the bag had to be in the auction and she would have to try and outbid her for it.  Her effort was to get a spirit of spending and giving going, as she made her announcement loud enough for others to hear.

 As soon as my grandmother had continued walking past us to the auction my stepmother shot me a disapproving look letting me know she was upset about spending more that she wished to on the bag.  I knew she wanted the portion of money coming from my father’s pocket to be little as she made a big deal about allowing him to gift my siblings and I money all throughout my childhood.  My father made a healthy living my entire life.  He started his own businesses while still married to my mother. Soon after he remarried money became a bitter source of conflict when concerning my siblings and me.  It was something we resolved to walk away from.  Our father’s money was not worth the abuse we would have to tolerate from those who would have more control over it that we ever would.

(Ryan,  Melissa, and I while visiting our dad)
The bidding on my bag went back and forth between my grandmother and my stepmother.  At $200.00 my grandmother could see the tension from my stepmother wanting the win without having to pay the price.  I knew I would pay for entering the bag later. I went to my grandmother and whispered that if she let my stepmother win I would make an exact replica of the bag she wanted and send it in the mail. My stepmother won the bag and immediately got up out of her chair and took a break from the auction.

 I knew my step-mom wanted to love me, and did to a large extent.  I desperately wanted her to like me, and at times we were good friends. It was hard for me to completely blame her for not loving a child that wasn’t hers as much as she loved her own, and probably reminded her of a woman that once came in my dads life before she did.  Her own divorce undoubtedly affected her in ways I couldn’t comprehend and resolved to not judge.  She had children in my same circumstance and wouldn’t purposefully cause me stress.  I forgave her shortcomings growing up, and hoped she would do the same for me.
 
(Marian and me)
 The auction came to a close, with a thought on gratitude from my uncle who had headed up the event.  He became emotional.  It was touching and reverence for what was being said was given. Dan stood from his chair and asked if he could say a few words.

I stood with him as he spoke.  He expressed deep gratitude for what was done for our family.  He talked about his cancer, how it was hard, that it was an unexpected trial.  He raised his affected hand for everyone to see.  “In a few weeks I will loose my finger, part of my hand”, he explained, “but I know it will be okay, because I won’t loose my life, and I have a great family”. He continued his impromptu speech, “the important things are not what happens in our lives, but how we deal with them.  Tatum and I could not get through this trial as well as we have so far without the family support you have given us.”

It was the most talking Dan did the whole week we were up at the reunion.  Everyone was silent as he spoke. He bore testament as to what life was truly about.

‘Life was truly about the loved ones in it’.

 A family prayer ended the evening.  Lessons had been taught in my heart that night.

  I could overcome anything with loved ones in my life.

 I could get through Dan’s cancer. 

I could do hard.

 

(early photo's of my dad and me)