What a year! I’m sixty-three, almost sixty-four and I don’t remember a year quite like this one. My parents or my grandparents, I’m sure, could point to horrendous years – they got through the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War. They never talked about the hardships, though, except indirectly. Instead, they’d talk about the fun they managed to make even in dark times. Polka dancing in the kitchen during the War while listening to Glenn Miller on the radio. Figuring out ways to stretch a meal to accommodate a few more with inventive (and weird) ingredients. Certainly, they hoarded strange things like string and glass peanut bar jars, and reused wrapping paper – just in case. They rarely, if ever, dwelt on the darkness that surely was there.
The year 2020 was the year that my husband dealt with the ravages of cancer – he lost his voice due to surgery for laryngeal cancer, endured radiation and chemo through January and February. Slowly, very slowly he got his strength back, figured out how to talk after a fashion, and we made do during this weird summer – having fun not just in spite of, but because of the terribleness of this year. I know – in the midst of such awfulness it seems a contradiction, but going through cancer (and its treatment which is just as bad if not worse) really does change your perspective on what’s important and wonderful. Taking a walk around your neighborhood and waving to your neighbors from afar is wonderful. Going for a ride by the ocean and stopping to sit on the rocks in Rye is wonderful. Playing golf with your OG’s (Old Guys) gang is awesome. Even though he wasn’t playing his best, my husband enjoyed every minute of his time on the course. We even managed to take a couple of weekends in New Hampshire to celebrate some milestones we put off while he was dealing with cancer – his 65th birthday, our 40th anniversary, me graduating (at last) from college. And it was glorious. Every single day we had was a gift.
I’ve written in the past about my dad’s mother – she lost her husband when she was in her early thirties and was left with three children under the age of eleven – in the middle of the Great Depression. Her resilience and strength have long been touchstones for me. But, during this strange year, I look also to my mother’s mom, Helen, for inspiration. Helen lived for all but the last six months of her ninety-two years in her hometown of Saugus, Massachusetts. She was tiny in size but gigantic in spirit and love. When my grandparents were in their sixties, my grandfather, Harry was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Through his inevitable decline, my seemingly timid grandmother became a lioness. For someone who would rather let someone cut her off in line at the deli counter than make a fuss, she challenged doctors, nurses, aides, and everyone who could provide my grandfather help with a polite, but not to be denied, roar. Her courage was the quiet kind. Taking care of someone through a terrible illness requires a lot of things – and I haven’t always done it well, but I try, keeping Helen in my back pocket to remind me how to do it better.
When Harry died, she still managed to find enjoyment in life – she read good poetry and bad romance novels, she loved Elvis, a phone call with her brother, and having her biweekly ‘perm’ and pizza party with her sisters. She found some measure of happiness, but we all knew that she missed Harry terribly – her spark was dimmed. She was self-deprecating about her lack of education and would joke that she was an old lady who didn’t know much, but she did. She knew a lot and she’d seen a lot in her nine decades – her youngest child was born deaf, she eked and saved and made do through the Depression and worried about family members during World War II and the war in Korea. And, she lost Harry, the love of her life, too soon. She never complained, though. But, her hardships gave her such wisdom and empathy that it made her the most beloved of grandmothers to me.
Oddly enough for a grandmother, she wasn’t big on giving advice – except for one thing – and that was not to wait to do fun things. That when you wait too long, those things might not be possible any longer. I think that was her form of complaint – she regretted that they’d waited for Harry to retire to do the things they wanted to do…and never got the chance. My advice to anyone who reads this is the same – don’t wait to do fun things. They don’t have to be expensive either – a walk in your neighborhood, a ride up the coast or having a pizza party – even if it’s virtual – with someone you care about.
2020 may have been a shitty year in many ways – but each day that I got to spend with my husband was a gift. And this Christmas, in this weird year, is one I’m very grateful to be able to celebrate with him. Thank you, Gram– love you always.
J. Gardner Hurd 