Stage 4 Cancer: Why I Love My Brother-In-Law

People tell my 67-year-old brother-in-law Joe that he look like Captain Kangaroo, the star of that old kids’ show on TV: Joe has a little white mustache and straight white hair that looks like someone used a bowl to shape it. You can still see the outlines of a solid, stocky body, though his skin hangs more loosely now because of medication he has to take. 

He is in the hospital now with kidney problems, complications of stage 4 cancer.  Will he die soon?  I don’t know.  The complications are becoming intolerable.  Helplessness must be anathema to this man who has stood like a rock at the center of our family.  It’s bad enough to think of those who will mourn him most: his son and daughter, his wife.  Even more so to think of the bewildered grandkids who will lose their beloved Pop-Pop.  Though he doesn’t show it, Joe must be confused and frightened.  He did not expect his world to come crashing down so soon.

I want you to know who Joe is, so I'll tell you some of things he does:

--Dresses up like a pirate to go trick or treating with the grandkids.

--Hangs 100 lottery scratch cards from the ceiling in his heated garage, where we hang out over Christmas. Stuffs the envelopes with ones, fives, twenties, and one $50 bill.  Whoever wins a round of bingo gets to pull one down.  This continues until every single one of them is taken.

--Set up his own kitchen in what used to be an attached garage, complete with large warming trays, griddles, and multiple crockpots.  Cooks Christmas dinner. Makes breakfast for out-of-towners like us, whatever you want: pancakes, bacon, sausage, eggs.  Has the coffee brewing long before we get up.  We call it Joe's Cafe.

--Calmly wraps up his hand after a machine cuts off his thumb.  Says, “I guess I better go to the hospital.” Does the same thing later when another machine slices off the tips of four fingers.  Never blames the guys who hit the wrong buttons.

--On New Years Eve, show up at the neighbors in diapers and a sash. Period.

--Builds an apartment over a second, detached garage.  Leaves it unlocked and tells the neighborhood kids they can go up there if they’re locked out of their homes.

--Tells on occasional off-color joke that make me blush.

--Pushes a $100 bill into my hand just before I head into the airport.

--Plays jokes on the doctors and nurses.  Hold up his left hand, which is missing a thumb and the tips of four fingers.  It’s covered in ketchup.  Laughs at their alarm.  Plays this trick on new hires at the machine shop as well. One of them faints.

--Complains that his elderly mother-in-law pounces on him with a to-do list whenever he walks in the door; but keeps going over once a week to do whatever needs doing.  

--Has learned to anticipate my sister’s immediate reaction to any proposed change: “Absolutely not.” (I’m the same way.)  It used to drive him crazy but now he just chuckles about it.

--Wins damn near every card or board game we ever play.

--Goes to work every day no matter how bad the cancer makes him feel.  Falls asleep at his desk.  His sister is the boss and loves him too much to kick him out.  The guys he supervises do too.

--As the oldest child in his family of origin, took care of his six brothers and sisters.  Instinctively handles kids with firmness and respect.

--Never reads, is horrible at spelling.  Not educated beyond high school.  Voted for Trump.  Dislikes immigrants because a family of them trashed the apartment he rents out.  Would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it.

--Married my sister when she was 19 and weighed about 95 pounds.  When they danced the jitterbug, he’d throw her up in the air and swing her down between his legs. 

--When I first met him, I was the classic over-achieving, straight-A student and thought he wasn’t very smart.  Now I see how incredibly smart and talented he is.  He can build anything, fix anything, cook anything, out-play everyone at any game. 

--Puts bottled water and oranges in the fridge when we stay in the apartment over the garage.  Turns the heat up before we get there. Buys our favorite pretzels. 

--Opens his home to me and my family after I had been estranged from the family for 15 years.  Helps me open my wounded heart.  I thank him for the fact that I’ve come to love him.  

Joe, even when you're gone, our hearts will be full of you.  We’ll keep the lines from heaven open, in case you ever need to talk.