It’s worth a nickel

Dear Dolly Parton,

I’m excited and nervous to be writing to you, and I hope that among the mountains of letters you probably receive each day, that this one will resonate enough with you to bring about a response.

I’m a big fan, but I’m not writing for myself. You see, in October my grandfather will be 90 years old. He’s the last grandparent I’ve got left alive, and he’s had a rough couple of years. In April 2008, his wife (my grandmother) was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. She died in September of that year, and a lot of us thought he’d basically go along with her. You see, they’d been married for 61 years when she passed away, and none of us could imagine either of them without the other.

The following February, his eldest son, my uncle, lost a long battle with emphysema, and in May 2009, he lost his good friend and brother-in-law, too.

Still, Grandpa is plugging away. He has good days and bad days, but then, who doesn’t? He took a trip out to California last year to visit my cousin Cary, who lives in San Francisco now; it was Grandpa’s first flight in over 20 years, and he didn’t really enjoy the new security regulations. (True to form, he let the TSA folks know it, too!) And he still gets to see the family often, since most of us are close by. A couple of times a year, he gets out to the minor league baseball stadium and cheers on the team, eating hot dogs and french fries and enjoying the fireworks. He’s still living on his own, and he gets around the house in his bright red scooter. All I can say is—stay out of his way, or he could run you down with that thing!

Earlier this year, he decided he wanted to celebrate his 90th birthday with a party. It kind of surprised me that he wanted a party, but my dad and my aunt didn’t ask any questions: they just started getting things going. Grandpa loves his projects, and this one is no different. He’s chosen the food (barbecue), the music (country and western, “of course”), and supervised the guest list and distribution of the invitations.

Of course, the whole family is pitching in to help. My job? Well, I’m supposed to try to get the famous Ms. Dolly Parton to make an appearance! So I’m doing everything I can think of to get your attention, shorting of flying down to Tennessee to try and hunt you down! (I thought that might make it more likely you’d give me a restraining order than a “yes, I’ll come to the party.”)

Now Dolly, I know your schedule must be crazy. I can’t imagine that you are actually free, and willing to travel up to New Jersey, on October 2, 2010. But maybe I could convince you to send a card to my Grandpa Jerry? Or even record a little video wishing him a happy 90th birthday, and post it to your YouTube channel? I’d settle for a tweet if it were my birthday, but Grandpa doesn’t entirely understand what the internet is for, much less what the heck we do with Twitter.

You can reach me on twitter @sparklingwit, on Facebook, or right here via this blog… and I’ll also be sending you a copy of this letter to your official fan mail address, with my address and telephone number. Any token, any response that you can offer will be greatly appreciated, by my grandfather, my entirely family, and me.

I’m an uncle!

On Friday, 25 September 2009, at 8:13 in the evening, Lucy Grace Newcomb was born. Weighing in at a mere six pounds, five ounces, Lucy was 18 inches long at birth, but I think she’ll be growing fast.

Mom, Dad and Lucy are doing just fine, and my parents are thrilled to be first-time grandparents. And it’s pretty cool to be an uncle, too.

It seems to me that summer is irrevocably linked with family. I see my parents, my sister and my extended family a lot in the summer, and I like it that way!

I’ve made the 80-mile drive to my parents’ house twice already this month, and that’s on the heels of a baseball game and a birthday brunch in June. To cap off the week, we had dinner at my sister’s house last night… it was our first time seeing their new house, and so we got the grand tour and enjoyed good wine and conversation.

And the last week of July, we’ll be making our annual trek to Stone Harbor. There really is nothing like the Jersey shore! This year there will be 12 of us, and it promises to be a great week, despite the fact that we’ll all be missing my Uncle Tony a lot. He loved our trips to Stone Harbor so much that my aunt had him buried with his Stone Harbor tee shirt under his suit!

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing… take time to spend with your family, whether it’s your blood-family or your chosen-family. That’s summer.

My grandmother has decided to discontinue her treatment and has entered hospice care. The treatment was, in many ways, worse than the disease itself: robbing her of any quality of life and leaving her miserable. Her prognosis is not good, and the doctor gives her less than six months to live.

As much as this knowledge hurts me, I support her decision. It’s the kind of courage and strength I would expect from her and my grandfather.

Yesterday Paul and I went down to New Jersey to my aunt’s house for a barbecue in celebration of Independence Day.

My primary motivator for going was to see my grandmother, who was diagnosed with brain cancer in April and has since undergone a six-week course of radiation (5 days a week) and oral chemotherapy every single day. The chemotherapy will continue for the rest of her life.

It was wonderful to see her looking so well, considering the circumstances, but she was having a difficult day.

She wore a hat to cover her thinning hair, which she is losing. She cried several times throughout the day; that’s something I had never seen her do before. When I hugged her hello, she couldn’t let go of me, and so I held her for a couple of minutes until she calmed down.

My grandmother has always been strong, always funny, always loving. You can see her personality is still strong, unchanged … but her body is simply exhausted. It was really hard for me, but I made sure to talk to her and my grandfather just as I always have. I wanted her to know that in my mind, she’s still here with us. She’s still alive.

Some of the super drama queens in my family insist upon emotionally burying people at the first hint of an illness. Despite my own penchant for drama, I won’t be one of them.

I let the living remain among the living, and I do my crying privately. My grandmother and my grandfather don’t need to see it.