A year ago...heck, four months ago...I wouldn't have bet on the successful completion of this mission.
But it's the Year of the Joel, so all bets are off!
Four months ago, older son Josh was trying desperately to finish off his chemo regimen, the final phase of his brave battle against stomach cancer. The surgical part of the treatment, which consisted of the removal of his stomach, spleen, a small portion of his pancreas, two old Red Sox tee shirts, and an ancient pair of Converse All Stars, was completed last February. The oncologist had prescribed eight sessions of chemotherapy as a final measure of protection against the cancer's return.
By the middle of last summer Josh looked and felt weaker and more sick than at any time during his year-long battle. He was this close to "giving up." He couldn't walk from the living room to the kitchen without getting terribly light-headed, fainting on more than one occasion. His wife and kids were frightened. He felt lousy all the time, so lousy that he couldn't even imagine feeling "normal" again. He was at his absolute lowest point.
The chemo, which probably went a long way toward saving his life, shrinking the tumor down to a manageable size for his brilliant surgeon, Dr. Clancy, was now pretty much killing him.
The oncologist could see the trouble Josh was in and decided to forgo the eighth and final chemo infusion. This would have been around the end of July.
Cut to yesterday. Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. A chubby, balding 66-year-old man paces the baggage claim area, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his older son. The son has had a serious illness and the father has arranged for him to fly to Charlotte to join him and the son's brother for a Patriots-Panthers football game. The father is hoping that his son feels well enough to make the trip and enjoy the weekend, but he is trepidatious. It's been a long, harrowing year for the father as well. Difficult memories of another family member's brave battle against pancreatic cancer haunt him in his darker, quiet moments. He sees his son coming down the steps toward the baggage claim. His first impression is how strong and fit he appears, much different from the last time he had seen him during the final chemo infusions. He's got a spring in his step. As he has done repeatedly during the past 18 or so months, with great apprehension, he asks his son how he's feeling.
"This is the best I've ever felt either before or after the cancer," Josh happily tells me, so convincingly that I have no choice but to believe him. In other words, my brave son feels better now than at any other point in his life, including all those years when he actually had a stomach. If his oncologist and surgeon had been at the airport yesterday, I would have kissed each of them...passionately! If his wonderful wife Cindy, who spent last year in her own version of hell, had been at the airport yesterday, I would have kissed her...appropriately! If his twins, Sam 'n Sara, who had to try and be "normal" last year when life at home was anything but, had been at the airport, I would have lifted them up and hugged them so fervently that there would have been contusions.
Alas, it was just me, Josh, and this most welcome piece of news and that was more than enough.
We drove the short distance from the airport to the hotel catching up with each other. I was delighted to learn that my twin grandkids were still the undefeated and untied champions of the grandchild world. Sara has yet to get a grade below A in her middle school career. She's giving the tuba a try in her marching band despite the fact that she is shorter than most tubas. (Is it tubae?) She receives glowing texts from one very smitten young boy. While that last piece of news shocked and saddened me a bit, I know that this is the natural order of things, like it or not.
I don't like it.
Speaking of smitten, Sam, no slouch in school either, is smitten by the Boston Bruins, especially "The Little Ball of Hate," Brad Marchand. He'll sit and watch a Bruins game with his dad, identifying all the players with ease. He'll figure out a way to wear his Marchand jersey and his Patrice Bergeron jersey at the same time.
Even better, he has no one texting him.
We settled in at the luxurious accommodations I had so generously provided, (Fine! It was a La Quinta if you must know. I have a tendency to embellish.) and awaited the arrival of Matthew who was driving over from his home in beautiful Asheville, NC. It's been quite a year for Matt as well. He has settled into his life as a waiter/musician very nicely. His restaurant gig is both lucrative and enjoyable. The music portion of his life will ebb and flow as gigs become available; however, it is obvious that music is no longer his biggest passion. That would be Audrey, the lovely woman he met after his first year in Asheville. They have been together a couple of years now and come this June will be marrying. Throw in Farley, the couple's wonderful, loving pooch, and Matthew is living the kind of life he couldn't even have imagined back in his Vermont days.
Two sons. Two very different routes to happy lives.
And me watching it all unfold before my very eyes.
I swear someone up there likes me, and I know her name.
We started this reunion/football weekend off with, wait for it, barbeque. Josh had done a bit of research into Charlotte's barbeque traditions, and recommended we try a place called Bobby O's barbeque. We plugged the address into the ol' GPS and we were off. Something didn't seem quite right when we pulled up to the restaurant. Was it the sight of chairs piled atop tables instead of resting on the floor? Was it the dim lights that seemed to warn customers away rather than welcome them in? Was the freakin' place closed at 6:30 on a Sunday night?
It was. Luckily, the owner saw us peering through the glass and knew of our plight. He apologized for being closed and recommended another nearby barbeque joint called...wait for it...Bubba's. We thanked him and headed for Bubba's which was only a mile or so down the road.
There were scant few cars in Bubba's lot, but we were too hungry to worry about it. Once you get the idea of barbeque in your head, you have no choice but to satisfy it. This also happens to me with Twix bars but I digress.
I am happy to report that the ribs at Bubba's are very tasty and plentiful. I am also happy to report that the bathrooms at the luxurious La Quinta are soundproof.
A good night was had (not heard) by all.
The next day we gathered after breakfast for a closer look at the city of Charlotte, NC. First we scoped out the Bank of America Stadium, home of the resurgent Carolina Panthers and their mercurial quarterback, Cam Newton. Unlike Gillette, this stadium is right in the heart of the city. Good for getting to, but bad for parking. Well, these things only happen once a year or so, so a few headaches are to be expected.
Besides, my good friend Nancy always says that if you expect a great parking spot, you'll get one.
We'll see.
As for our walk around Charlotte, let's just say that it is a clean city, with a downtown filled with beautiful, gleaming office towers.
That's about it for Charlotte. But hey, we're here to watch a football game, not offer up some pseudo-sociological urban study. And it is clean. And there are offices.
At one point in my early years I entertained the notion of becoming a sportswriter. What follows is why I didn't:
The game was won in heroic fashion by the Carolina Panthers 24-20. There was some last second drama as Brady led the Patriots down the field with only seconds remaining. A last ditch pass into the end zone was intercepted and the game was over. But wait. There's a penalty flag in the end zone. A game can't end on a defensive penalty. The Patriots may get one more chance to win. Oops, the flag is picked up with no explanation and the game is final. I wish, loyal readers, I could explain what happened, but when you're at the stadium, paying hundreds of dollars to be an eyewitness to history, you really have very little idea about what's going on down there. The people at home, watching for free on tv, get a much clearer picture about the events that transpire on the field.
Of course, the three Getmans, dissapointed as we were with the outcome, knew that this trip did not require a Patriots victory to be worthwhile. It became worthwhile the minute Josh entered the baggage claim area. It was successful the minute Matt drove into the La Quinta parking lot.
Everything else was just gravy.
Speaking of which, Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
Repeat after me: Ain't life grand?
J
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