Chapter 15

March 3, 2007

Everyone came to our house for Don's fortieth birthday-- his parents and both brothers, as well as their wives and kids. In the morning, I asked Don whether he thought he could make it downstairs, if he took it slow.

He thought about it for a moment. "I don't think so," he said at last.

The party therefore took place in our bedroom, with Don's long, lanky, far-too-thin body sprawled out on the bed. His mom took the chair next to him, and the rest of us sat or stood in various chairs, brought into the room for the occasion.

Don told his family what the doctor had told us earlier in the week, and his mother blew out her breath in a long, exasperated sigh. "We need some good news," she complained. "Where's the good news?"

Don looked at her steadily, smiling just a little. Despite everything that had happened, he still had his faith, and he never wavered in it, no matter how bad things got.

"Mom," he said, very gently. "We already have the Good News."

Eventually we had the cake (chocolate with chocolate icing, because Don had always insisted that chocolate was the only true flavor of cake), although in deference to the oxygen machine, we skipped the candles. I kidded him that forty candles would probably have set the smoke alarm off, anyway.

After the cake, he opened presents. I'd gotten him a Star Wars book. He'd always loved James Bond movies, and to my dismay, the latest James Bond movie hadn't been released on DVD yet.

"It's coming out on March thirteenth," I told him. "I'll get it for you then."

His parents got him a card, with a scrawled note: We'll have a big party for you when you're better! I looked at it, and wondered what level of denial we were dealing with here. Did they still really think he was getting better better, or were they just referring to him getting off the oxygen and getting around a little more?

I got a bit of a clue as to what his parents thought when everyone was getting ready to go. I was standing outside with Don's brothers, chatting a bit, when my oldest child came outside, looking worried.

"Mommy," she said, "Gammy's crying in the kitchen."

Gammy was a tough woman, who never cried, and who was so stubborn and determined she'd managed to get through her third son's wedding while suffering from a badly inflamed appendix for a whole week, never letting on how much pain she was in. For her to be crying in front of other people was outright shocking.

I realized how much of a shock it must have been to see her oldest son lying in the bed, unable to even sit up, dependent on oxygen and painfully emaciated. I had grown, if not comfortable with the situation, at least somewhat used to it. She hadn't.

Struck by sympathy, I turned and went back into the house. Sure enough, my mother-in-law was sobbing, very quietly.

I went to her and put my arms around her and hugged her.

"Hey," I said in her ear. "Hang in there."

I wanted to tell her things would get better, that everything would be okay, but it wasn't true, and for the first time, I was pretty sure we both knew it. Don might get somewhat better, but he was never going to be truly healthy again. I'd known that for a while.

And now his family understood it, too.

Read Chapter 16 here.