Family, the Tie That Binds. (No, not like cheese)

by Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I am taking my family on a road trip on the Fourth of July weekend.

I know, join the club.

AAA (‘Triple A’ for those of you who don’t drive) estimates 41 million people will be traveling this weekend, two percent more than last year and the highest number since the pre-recession Independence Day weekend of 2007.

With my luck, 40 million of them will be driving slowly in front of me in the left lane, not realizing that they should be in the right lane if they are not passing anyone. But that’s a complaint for another blog altogether.

I have never been mistaken for Job, the prophet in the Bible with all of the patience, but I have learned in recent months to ‘not sweat the small stuff.’  Unfortunately, there is too much ‘big stuff’ to sweat about these days. And I have always been a big sweater.

The Fourth of July holiday, as we all know, is when the United States celebrates its independence from the British Crown.  My biggest fear this Fourth of July is how soon my wife Terry will no longer be so independent.

So that is why my three kids and I are taking Terry on a road trip to visit her entire family.  This will be the first time many of them have seen her since she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.

We’re heading to Lachine, Quebec, just outside of Montreal, where Terry’s sister has a very large building where we can all stay.

Like in the Will Smith movie Independence Day, I call this building ‘the Mothership.’

It is a hundred year old building that has offices, conference rooms, a health facility, an indoor swimming pool and living quarters for over 300 people.  Up there they call it the Mother House and believe me, it is one mother of a house.

We had a family reunion at the Mother House two summers ago, walking distance from the St.  Lawrence River, and it was tremendous.  Terry’s large family has had quite a few reunions over the years and this will be the second one in Quebec. This one was not supposed to be for a few more years but they moved it up once they got the medical news about Terry.

Terry is the sixth of 10 kids. Number four is Rita, who lives in Montreal and is again serving as the ‘hostess with the mostest’.  Rita is a former college president and former publisher of a national newspaper, who now has a job where she reports directly to Pope Francis.   Rita is one of the most amazing people I have ever met. Very down to earth, wears sneakers and plays the guitar, was a mathematics major honor student in college and now has her Ph. D, and she even laughs at most of my jokes (okay, some of my jokes). She travels to Haiti every few months, where she has a hospital and recently opened up another school. She used to travel to the Congo, where she needed an armed escort while there, but fortunately she no longer has to make that trip.

Along with Terry’s mother, a saint if I ever met one, all nine of Terry’s siblings are expected to be in Lachine this week, along with several spouses and nieces and nephews. It should be a great time, especially for Terry.

Some people I know have a hard time relating to the fact that I actually enjoy spending time with my in-laws. What’s that old joke, ‘What is the difference between in-laws and outlaws? Outlaws are wanted.’

I am blessed with having married into a great family, full of extremely interesting and caring people.

But even if I wasn’t so lucky, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not going to Lachine for me. We are taking Terry there to spend precious time with her family, and for them to get to spend precious time with her, before things progress.

If anyone should be compared to Job, who was beset with horrendous disasters in his life, it should be Terry, with all the shit that has been dumped on her.

Although Terry is not able to do many of the things she once could (when we first got married she was allowed to take courses for free at the university where I work and she took Organic Chemistry, one of the toughest courses they have, just for the fun of it, and she aced it) she is still very much the happy-go-lucky, fun-loving Phys. Ed. major I met in 1978 when I was working at the college she was attending.

Terry realizes she can no longer do certain things, like drive at night, no matter how short a distance.  Making decisions is no longer an easy thing for her to do. (most of the time I don’t even ask her what she wants to eat anymore, I just make something I know she likes that I can put coconut oil in) Or read a map. (Terry is no longer my navigator when we go on road trips) Or remember what she did earlier that day. (I physically watch her take her meds every morning because at lunch time she could not remember if she took them or not, so I make it so she doesn’t have to even try to remember that) But it doesn’t frustrate her the way it would you or me.

One thing that has gotten Terry through these last few months, and hopefully the months and years to come, is her extraordinary faith. She knows, not thinks, but knows, that when we are done with this world, there will be a new system, and that we will live in a perfect world. And she is content with that.  Has been for a while now, even before the shit hit the fan.  (Maybe, like Job, she IS a prophet)

And she gets that from her family. They are all people of faith who live their lives the right way. They are all successful in their fields and highly respected, yet are down to earth and sweet.

The great Desmond Tutu once said “You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.”  I don’t know about the second part, but Terry’s family certainly has been a gift to me.  But unlike the Nobel Prize winning social rights activist who vehemently opposed apartheid, I prefer to think that family is like fudge; mostly sweet with a few nuts. That’s where I come in.

So over this Fourth of July weekend, if you are like me and are having an adult beverage, raise your glass and give a toast to continued independence. For the U.S. and for Terry.

Have a happy Fourth of July, and stay out of the left lane.

Until next time,

Bud

                                                        Desmond Tutu

                                          Job