A Shush Update.
It's July 14th which means that it is my birthday today.
There's many things I wanted to write in this journal before now, particularly about my maternal grandfather that passed away in April. But something had come up and I did not feel like sharing the nature of it with the internet community at large. For my birthday, however, I feel inclined to open up a little.
First, a little bit about my Grandfather Lawrence Seymour. He had been a great man and the things I could say about him are far reaching and extensive. It feels to me to be a disservice to him, but I will be brief. The cliff notes would be something like this: He was the grandson of an affluent land owner in Louisiana. By the time he was a young man, the land had been given over to housing for the poor black populace in Plaquemine though a process I don't know much about. His father and older brothers were riverboat captains and the majority of them drowned in the Mississippi river.
My timeline for him is a bit out of whack, but he stopped working on the river and went on to work in other jobs during the Depression of the 30's. When World War 2 came about he enlisted in the Army and after his testing and evaluation was assigned as a secretary in the Pentagon. He met some of the generals of that time. From what I was told, he liked MacArthur and Eisenhower; didn't like Patton. Further from what I was told, he was the individual that handed the orders for D-Day to General Eisenhower. He wasn't supposed to have read it, but he did and was deeply shaken to know this secret before it's implementation. Perhaps it's hyperbole, and I can't even think about how either to prove or disprove it, but my grandfather was a humble, honest man and I am inclined to believe him if he said it.
Apparently he did good work and they asked him to stay and work in the Pentagon, but after the war was over, Lawrence Seymour returned to his roots in Plaquemine and went to college to become a teacher and latter a principle. I'll spare you all the details, but he struggled with that quite a bit as by about that time he had started a family and had children, starting with my mother, the oldest of 11. He had finally made it as principal after achieving something like 60 hours over his masters degree. He essentially had the equivalent education of a doctorate earned over the course of years while working and supporting his family and running a small farm with a garden, cows and chickens. (For a long while when I was growing up, I never knew he was a retired school principal and just thought he was a farmer.) It was him that integrated the schools in deep south Louisiana and for him it was no big thing. He had grown up with African Americans around him, but never developed any Racism. He only saw children needing to educated. It would be simple to say that he was a pillar of the community. A poignant example being that he was the only white man, ever, to be requested to speak at the all black church of that era, and this story was relayed to us by a lovely black woman that was working with my sister down in Baton Rouge upon finding out our family connection.
He retired sometime around the eighties, maybe just a little before, and spent his retirement along with his wife of 61 years doing counselling for couples planning to get married. They always offered to find a younger couple for the newlyweds to be, but more often than not, they kept my Grandpa and Grandma around. Being married 60+ years must mean something.
He kept up his garden until then end. He had a bad fall and was suffering alzhiemers at the end, but we were still sad to see him go.
And that was just a little bit on my grandfather.
Now the event that pushed all that out of my mind was this. My brother has cancer. Just six weeks after my grandfather's funeral, my eldest brother, Matthew, finally decided to go see a doctor about the severe diarrhoea he had been suffering. They found some pretty bad cancer in his colon and what's worse, in his liver. It's some pretty hefty information for me to have to deal with.
I'm angry at my brother. He smokes and chews tobacco. Or did. Not anymore. Not after find the cancer. But even still, he did, and he can't say he didn't know this was going to happen. So I'm angry with my brother. We've never been on the best of terms really. He's the one that used to bully me as kids. Some people had problems on the playground. I had a jerk at home. I've forgiven him for his past transgressions. I understand why he behaved the way he did. At least, I tell myself I understand these things. Maybe I don't. Not really. But I do know that I'm angry at him now.
I'm angry because I'm scared. Scared I might lose my brother and that there is nothing I can do about it.
In a more selfish perspective, what's worse (or perhaps good if you want to put a positive spin on things) is that my brother is not that old. He's 32. 33 in October. That's less than five years older than me, now 28 today. This is significant, because even though he smoked and chewed carcinogenics, the doctors tell us, that due to him being so young there is a 70% chance likely that it's partly due to a genetic tendency to be cancer prone. Despite not even being 30 yet, I have to go shopping around for health insurance. (No my work doesn't provide me with any health insurance.) Compare prices, compare the coverage I need, assess my budget and see that this will strain it to it's limits. Trying to get Insurance in New Jersey sucks. A lot of companies offer a lot of great customizable, affordable plans. Just not in New Jersey. For Matthew, you can find out more about his ordeal here: http://thefightingnoodle.blogspot.com/ Apparently he's doing okay so far and just got done with the second round of chemo today. (Which is a pretty good present to me, in my opinion.)
Well. That's what's been gnawing at me for the last two months. I apologize if I've by chance been less mellow than my usual self to anyone in particular. I'm going to go eat pizza and enjoy the last couple of minutes of the day. I spent most of the day alone and by myself. Which is all right. I'm a private person. I got a haircut.
There's many things I wanted to write in this journal before now, particularly about my maternal grandfather that passed away in April. But something had come up and I did not feel like sharing the nature of it with the internet community at large. For my birthday, however, I feel inclined to open up a little.
First, a little bit about my Grandfather Lawrence Seymour. He had been a great man and the things I could say about him are far reaching and extensive. It feels to me to be a disservice to him, but I will be brief. The cliff notes would be something like this: He was the grandson of an affluent land owner in Louisiana. By the time he was a young man, the land had been given over to housing for the poor black populace in Plaquemine though a process I don't know much about. His father and older brothers were riverboat captains and the majority of them drowned in the Mississippi river.
My timeline for him is a bit out of whack, but he stopped working on the river and went on to work in other jobs during the Depression of the 30's. When World War 2 came about he enlisted in the Army and after his testing and evaluation was assigned as a secretary in the Pentagon. He met some of the generals of that time. From what I was told, he liked MacArthur and Eisenhower; didn't like Patton. Further from what I was told, he was the individual that handed the orders for D-Day to General Eisenhower. He wasn't supposed to have read it, but he did and was deeply shaken to know this secret before it's implementation. Perhaps it's hyperbole, and I can't even think about how either to prove or disprove it, but my grandfather was a humble, honest man and I am inclined to believe him if he said it.
Apparently he did good work and they asked him to stay and work in the Pentagon, but after the war was over, Lawrence Seymour returned to his roots in Plaquemine and went to college to become a teacher and latter a principle. I'll spare you all the details, but he struggled with that quite a bit as by about that time he had started a family and had children, starting with my mother, the oldest of 11. He had finally made it as principal after achieving something like 60 hours over his masters degree. He essentially had the equivalent education of a doctorate earned over the course of years while working and supporting his family and running a small farm with a garden, cows and chickens. (For a long while when I was growing up, I never knew he was a retired school principal and just thought he was a farmer.) It was him that integrated the schools in deep south Louisiana and for him it was no big thing. He had grown up with African Americans around him, but never developed any Racism. He only saw children needing to educated. It would be simple to say that he was a pillar of the community. A poignant example being that he was the only white man, ever, to be requested to speak at the all black church of that era, and this story was relayed to us by a lovely black woman that was working with my sister down in Baton Rouge upon finding out our family connection.
He retired sometime around the eighties, maybe just a little before, and spent his retirement along with his wife of 61 years doing counselling for couples planning to get married. They always offered to find a younger couple for the newlyweds to be, but more often than not, they kept my Grandpa and Grandma around. Being married 60+ years must mean something.
He kept up his garden until then end. He had a bad fall and was suffering alzhiemers at the end, but we were still sad to see him go.
And that was just a little bit on my grandfather.
Now the event that pushed all that out of my mind was this. My brother has cancer. Just six weeks after my grandfather's funeral, my eldest brother, Matthew, finally decided to go see a doctor about the severe diarrhoea he had been suffering. They found some pretty bad cancer in his colon and what's worse, in his liver. It's some pretty hefty information for me to have to deal with.
I'm angry at my brother. He smokes and chews tobacco. Or did. Not anymore. Not after find the cancer. But even still, he did, and he can't say he didn't know this was going to happen. So I'm angry with my brother. We've never been on the best of terms really. He's the one that used to bully me as kids. Some people had problems on the playground. I had a jerk at home. I've forgiven him for his past transgressions. I understand why he behaved the way he did. At least, I tell myself I understand these things. Maybe I don't. Not really. But I do know that I'm angry at him now.
I'm angry because I'm scared. Scared I might lose my brother and that there is nothing I can do about it.
In a more selfish perspective, what's worse (or perhaps good if you want to put a positive spin on things) is that my brother is not that old. He's 32. 33 in October. That's less than five years older than me, now 28 today. This is significant, because even though he smoked and chewed carcinogenics, the doctors tell us, that due to him being so young there is a 70% chance likely that it's partly due to a genetic tendency to be cancer prone. Despite not even being 30 yet, I have to go shopping around for health insurance. (No my work doesn't provide me with any health insurance.) Compare prices, compare the coverage I need, assess my budget and see that this will strain it to it's limits. Trying to get Insurance in New Jersey sucks. A lot of companies offer a lot of great customizable, affordable plans. Just not in New Jersey. For Matthew, you can find out more about his ordeal here: http://thefightingnoodle.blogspot.com/ Apparently he's doing okay so far and just got done with the second round of chemo today. (Which is a pretty good present to me, in my opinion.)
Well. That's what's been gnawing at me for the last two months. I apologize if I've by chance been less mellow than my usual self to anyone in particular. I'm going to go eat pizza and enjoy the last couple of minutes of the day. I spent most of the day alone and by myself. Which is all right. I'm a private person. I got a haircut.