A Brother’s Perspective
His father had just been diagnosed with cancer; his sister’s wedding—for which he was the Man of Honor—was three months away. Here’s what their family faced.
By Bryce Edmonds
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” I said to my younger brother. Only, trust me, there were several less printable words strewn about that sentence. We were at our parents’ kitchen table discussing our thoughts on our sister’s wedding—and our dad’s cancer.
In mid-January, “The News” came down like a boulder kicked loose from a cliff. Dad has cancer. Bad enough for sure, but add in our sister Megan’s fast-approaching nuptials, planned for mid-April, and the result was a perfect storm of disbelief, worry and fear.
As soon as The News hit, the flurries of conversation started. Will Dad be able to walk down the aisle? Dance? Give a toast? Will he be there at all? Should we change the date? Cancel? What contingency plans could we prepare? Discussions were many—some secretive, some filled with tears. Meanwhile, Dad was talking to his doctor, determining whether they could plan treatments so the wedding would take place during an energy-upswing period. And finally the time for a decision was close. Today was Friday; Megan was planning to send invitations on Monday.
Back at our kitchen-table conversation, my brother and I had decided that in this case we were bystanders—highly interested and engaged bystanders, but still bystanders. Our feeling was that the only way to make sure Dad was at the wedding was for Megan and Donnie to jet off to a justice of the peace, pronto—but we also felt it was such a difficult decision, it didn’t really matter what we thought. Two more voices would only muddy the increasingly cloudy waters. Our job, we agreed, was to be the best support crew we could be for our family as they made some tough choices.
When Megan and our parents discussed the situation, Dad proclaimed that he would be at the wedding on the scheduled date. It was what he’d work for each day, the goal that would keep him going during the first half of his treatment. The downsides of that decision—primarily, that he might not be able to attend—were considered. And in the end, all three concluded that the wedding would go on as planned.
After they decided, our second-guessing was nearly constant. There were bad days. Days when we wondered if maybe my brother and I would need to help both our father and sister down the aisle. Days when we wondered how quickly we could set up big-screen TVs and a wireless live video feed at the hospital and wedding site. Days when we thought maybe my brother and I would walk our sister to the altar because Dad wouldn’t be alive to do it. In fact, a few days before the wedding, he was doing very poorly: He was having a hard time walking; his immune system was nearly nonexistent; he was having frequent nosebleeds. Mom confided, “I think we made the wrong choice.”
The wedding morning arrived, cloudy and cold, spring at its changeable best. Then it began to clear and became sunny and warm. We wheeled Dad up as close to the aisle as possible, and then he got up and waited for the ceremony to begin. He walked our sister down the aisle with a cane lent by a friend. His newly bald head looked better than his usual comb-over, we joked. And later, he danced, as dozens of cameras flashed and tears flowed. Then, holding the hands of my sister and her new husband, he gave a speech. He was there.
Bryce Edmonds is a writer living in Boulder, CO.
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