We don't always think of cancer as being a teacher, but it taught me some important lessons. One of the biggest was that it's important to "enjoy the party".
For many years, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen at the holidays. Coming from a family of non-cooks, I was the one in the kitchen with my mother, fixing the feast for the holidays. Even my mother wasn't a big fan of cooking, although she was good at it. Usually, she would bake her pies the day before, and then get up early in the morning, to start the turkey. I often filled in with the rest of the dishes, with relatives contributing their specialities.
Over the years, I cared for her when her health began to fail. She still wanted to participate in the cooking process, but her energy was limited. That's when I became her sous chef, chopping and slicing, so that she could do the actual cooking. It was important for her to feel that she was making a meaningful contribution to the gatherings.
But when she was diagnosed with lung cancer, everything changed. She was too fatigued from chemotherapy to stand in the kitchen, cooking for hours. Neuropathy robbed her of the use of her hands and feet. It's hard to cook when your fingers can't even do simple things, like button your own shirt or tie your own shoes.
And yet, my mother was still determined that we would entertain the family. There was nothing she loved more than a big gathering with lots of laughter. I learned to get the meal together in stages, so that most of it could be re-heated when the guests arrived.
As time went on, I continued to sharpen my organizational skills, trying to find ways to make my life easier. After all, my mother was still going for treatments and medical appointments, and that meant we spent a lot of time at the hospital and in doctors' offices. I didn't have a lot of time to fuss with food.
But more than that, I learned over time that it wasn't so much the food that made the party. It was the people. Without family and friends gathering to share, a meal is just a meal. With the people you love all around you, there is laughter and love.
This year, Thanksgiving is going to be less complicated. I've got my pie crusts thawing in the refrigerator, ready to become apple pie when I chop my apples tomorrow. I made them in the Cuisinart earlier this week, with Julia Child's food processor recipe. My corn muffins are in the freezer, baked fresh last week. I made a double batch of cheese sauce, used half for tomorrow's cheddar broccoli and the other half for tonight's macaroni and cheese. I cooked the turkey today, so it can be sliced up, piled on the big casserole dish of stuffing I will make tonight, and moistened with the canned gravy I bought to save myself some time. Tomorrow, I will try my first pumpkin souffle, as a side dish. One of the guests is bringing a wonderful cranberry-walnut tossed salad with gorgonzola. I'll slice some cheddar cheese and make a platter with whole wheat crackers and red seedless grapes. If I have the time, I might even make a dip to serve with carrot and celery sticks. But one thing I'm not going to do is stay in the kitchen tomorrow.
Cancer is a big disease and the lessons it teaches us are big, as well. Tomorrow, I will join the party. I will listen to the stories, share the laughs, and be a part of the moment. I will appreciate the opportunity because time is promised to no one, and I know now that I should not wait until the next party to get out of the kitchen. We have to seize the day and embrace it. In the end, it's not the little things that really matter. It's the life you have. Make the most of it. Enjoy the party.
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