Third Cousin Once Removed

It was Steven's 18th birthday, and I couldn't think of what to get him for a present. I had met him less than a handful of times since our first meeting when he was around three years old, and I had no clue what his current interests were. What do you give a kid who has been undergoing treatments for brain cancer that make prisoner torture sound like a cake walk? Steven had complained of headaches and vision problems. His mother, Rebekah (my third cousin), knew something was really wrong, despite assurances from his doctor and optometrist that Steven was fine. Steven was rarely sick and never complained. Rebekah persisted until Steven's pineoblastoma was finally diagnosed. Close to graduation from high school, Steven took a sharp turn into aggressive treatment, including surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. It has been a rollercoaster ride that I've been able to follow thanks to Rebekah's postings on www.carepages.com. In his last two check ups, Steven has been cancer free. Now that he was turning 18, it was time to celebrate.

As I drove to Visalia Saturday morning, recalled events that kept our families close. I remember a photo of my grandmother and Steven's great grandmother, Miriam, sitting on a potato planter in a field in Oregon. The first cousins were both laughing. My grandmother (Polly) always looked for the fun in things. She later took her sunny disposition with her to Oregon to be a comfort when Miriam's first husband was killed in a train accident. Miriam had two young children to support (Freddie and Barbara), and she and Polly talked about going into business together as seamstresses. Instead, Miriam went on to become a schoolteacher, and Polly returned to California. Polly shared Miriam's joy when she married Porter and had a daughter, Sue, and a son, Steven. Polly was there for Miriam when she lost Freddie during the Vietnam War, Porter to a brain tumor, and Steven in a crop dusting accident. Miriam came to help my family when Polly suffered a terminal stroke and stayed on to keep me and my mother company. After my stepfather died, Miriam was there to give solace to my mother. Over the years, Miriam would invite me and my family to share special celebrations and holidays with her. I could always count on the love and comfort of this branch of the family tree that shared the pioneer spirit of our common ancestor, Granddaddy Hoy.

After a 3-1/2 hour car trip, I was now at the front door of Rebekah's friend Glenda's beautiful new home. I was apprehensive about going in. I had no idea how I would find Steven, and I imagined he might be propped up in the middle of the living room in a hospital bed. I was grateful to have Sue greet me and say that Steven was outside with friends. After making a stop in the bathroom, I went outside to the birthday buffet and collected my plate before sitting down. I could see Steven sitting across the patio in a circle of young people. 

I was thrilled to see Miriam again after several years. Despite her Alzheimer's, Miriam immediately knew who I was. Her bright eyes and huge smile let me know that she was glad to see me too. She asked about my boys and squeezed my hand. "It's so great to have all the family here," she said. Miriam has always been in the midst of things, although her role as manager is now over. She is content to sit and reminisce, which we did over lunch, and we had a wonderful place to do that. Sue and her friend Mike sat with us. Rebekah said that most of Steven's friends were away at college and couldn't come to the party. She also expressed disappointment that people have stopped coming by to visit. "It's awkard," she said. "They don't know what to say." I suppose it doesn't help that Rebekah, Doug and Steven live in a pretty remote area. The heat of the summer day was softened by a gentle breeze. The lovely yard, clearly designed for easy entertaining, had a patio filled with sunny and shady places to sit, a barbeque, a thatch-roofed bar, and a rock waterfull that spilled into a pool where the younger ones splashed and bobbed about.

Rebekah's husband, Doug, and his band amped up and began to play, but it was a false start. Steven ambled by saying that he needed to sit away from the full sound. He has lost some of his hearing because of the radiation and wants to protect what he has left. He took up court across the grass with his young folks around him. I went over and sat down on the grass at his feet, and we caught up on news. At just over six feet tall and weighing about 120 pounds, Steven looks like a stick replica of himself. His complexion is a tannish gray with tinges of yellow. His bald head is perfectly smooth, except for the bulge at the top where he has a surgically implanted shunt, and he has a serious, dark scar running from the base of his skull down his spine for several inches. I told him I was glad to see him up and about and that I appreciated his courage in sticking with his treatment. He admitted there are some things he just doesn't want to do, one of them being having a gastric tube installed again. I asked about graduation, and he said he hopes to take the GED test sometime. For right now, he has difficulty reading and can't concentrate enough to remember much. We agreed there would be time later to do the GED. He told me his Make-A-Wish Foundation request is a trip all the way down to the tip of South America and back up the other side. I asked him when he thought that would happen, and he said maybe next July. He asked me if I had seen the movie "Motorcycle Diaries" which had been the inspiration for his request.

Doug and his band got ready to play -- this time for real. And Miriam and I sat there smiling not able to understand the lyrics over the heavy bass guitar and drums. Sue encouraged us to go inside where it was quieter, but both of us insisted on staying out and enjoying the scene. Steven and his group came closer and gave their request to the band. It was glorious to see Steven, ramrod straight and rail thin, in his saggy white T-shirt, baggy black shorts, white socks and black Nikes, singing and playing his air guitar with all the gusto of any 18-year-old.
 

It was such a fine day. Everyone was friendly, hospitable, and we were all there to celebrate the day with Steven. Ian, Rebekah's dad, took photos of the festivities. He had also helped Steven put together photos of Steven's 18 years. I enjoyed finding my picture with my two sons, David and Daniel, with Steven at Cyrus's (Rebekah's brother, Steven's uncle) graduation. We were invited to write something on the commemorative photos, which I did.

I enjoyed seeing the photos of Steven. I first remember meeting him has a toddler and noticing the green of his eyes and the flash of his white teeth when he smiled. I last saw him at Cyrus's wedding in Montana three years ago. At the reception, Steven came up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked me to dance. His green eyes were twinkling and his smile was ear to ear. That wide smile is still there and the teeth were flashing all through the day.

Then it was time for birthday cake and ice cream. Everyone gathered around where Steven was sitting and Glenda attempted repeatedly to light the candles. Although there were only 18 of them, she never got them all going. The gentle breeze we had all been enjoying was not her friend. Steven was winded after blowing out the candles that did take. After a brief rest, he rallied and we went inside for the presents. There was a headset from Doug and Rebekah, an iPod from Grandpa Ian, and a fistfull of cash (Steven's request) from other well wishers. Then Steven pulled a green baseball cap out of a birthday bag (my gift) and put it on his head. The hat said: "Ventura, The Real California" and it matched Steven's eyes. As I leaned over the back of the couch to give him a hug, Steven said, "I'll put on the hat whenever I need to feel better. It will be my Feel-Good Hat."