Of Psychology and Psychosomatics

I sat on the wooden swing, looking out over the lake. It was a quiet, serene stillness- a few ducks were swimming, and the rowboat lay in the cattails to my left.

“Knishes!”

I spun around to see James come around the corner of the greenhouse. He walked lazily, with an odd bounce to his step. I groaned. “Aw! Now I remember!” He sat down next to me.

“I can’t believe we forgot what they were called! Mom made them for every one of your birthdays!”

James leaned back, arms behind his head. “Yeah…she’d serve them up with eggs and bacon. That was my favorite meal.”

“Was?” I was surprised.

He spoke softly, almost regretfully. “Well, I haven’t had a whole lot of time to indulge in favorite foods anymore.”

I didn’t have anything to say. Normally, I would have elaborated on how he’d squirt mustard all over the things and burn his tongue eating too fast. But I got a big lump in my throat before I said anything, so I sat, waiting for the words.

“It’s been five years since you left, James.” As if that wasn’t the most obvious statement I could come up with.

He thought for a while. “Yeah, five. Long time.”

“Yeah.” I tried a grin, but it came out like a twitch. “Five years since your last knish.”

He frowned, thinking. “No, I think I had my last one on my fifteenth birthday. That’d be…eleven years.”

“Oh.” Don’t say it. Don’t think about it. “That was the year you were diagnosed.” I said it.

“Yeah. That’s when tradition kinda died.” He looked away, and I knew what he was thinking.

“Huh. Cancer has a way of doing that to a family.” Why am I relying on sarcasm to carry on a conversation? I regretted saying it as soon as it left my teeth.

He rounded on me for that. “Dad!” Yeah, he understood where that came from. “I had a happy childhood. You and mom couldn’t have raised me any better than you did.”

I sat, rubbing my temples and trying to fix it. “And yet, I still feel like we didn’t do enough.”

“What do you mean? You put me in chemo! Not many people have the kind of money to do that!”

“Well, I still owe money on the loans I took out, but that’s not too big a deal.”

I felt like an idiot. What am I doing, spouting all this crap about not doing enough? I did what I could. I went to my friends and got help from them. Was I feeling insecure about it all? I wanted to change the subject, but I couldn’t seem to stay away from the obvious.

“It was hard when you left, James.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “It was harder for me.” He stretched his legs out towards the lake. The sun was starting to set, and the trees dotting the edges were turning into silhouettes. “After we stopped the treatments…I had to move on.”

I remembered that, all right. “You were getting too sick, and it’d been, what? Five years?” Five years of torture.

He looked pained. “I wanted to stop. It wasn’t natural.”

I looked over at him, surprised. “Should I have done something else?” A wave of guilt left me dripping, helpless.

He knew it, too. “No! You did enough!” This from the kid who went through hell for half his childhood.

I went on. “Because I would have gone somewhere else! I would have looked myself, instead of listening to the doctor.” I silently began remembering the names of the people involved in the treatment.

James countered quickly. “No! Dad! Listen to me! Listen!” I snapped out of writing my mental hit list as he grabbed my shoulder. “You did everything you could! I chose to stop, not you! Remember? Five years of me throwing up and losing my hair and worrying you and mom to death. I wanted to stop.”

I looked away. “I’m sorry. You’d think I’d be over this by now. I don’t know why, but I’m not.” I couldn’t put it out of my memory. I thought it was done, but I kept finding little shards of a window I’d thought was fixed. It was painful, and I knew that with every tiny splinter, there was a bigger one lodged below it.

The lake began to buzz with the crickets as the sun got lower on the horizon. The wind picked up a bit, making the cattails blow around and the water push the rowboat up and down on the bank.

“I wasn’t ready for you to leave. It was too soon after.” Why, oh why, couldn’t I change the subject?

He bowed his head, and I saw a small grin work its way around his mouth. The grin that told me he had a trick up his sleeve. “Well, at least I didn’t run off like you.”

That was startling. Wow…that… “What?” I couldn’t believe it. How’d he- “How do you know that?”

The grin got wider, and he knew he’d won that one. “Oh, mom told me years ago. She said she met you in a trucker’s diner.”

I got the kink out of my neck and tried to remember why I ran away in the first place. “Yeah, I had hitched a ride. She was on duty at the counter when I walked in, so I started up a conversation.”

“How old were you?”

“Hmm.” It was a birthday. “Maybe nineteen. Yeah, nineteen.” That’s right; a man’s liberty takes over at some point. “I ran away on my birthday.” A true man leaves his father and mother and cleaves to the open road right about then.

James looked surprised. “Nineteen? Wow.” He ran his hands through his hair, which was curly, and sat like an animal on his head. He pointed at the rotting rowboat, beginning to fill up with water. “You built that boat for my nineteenth birthday.”

Yes, that- no, wait. “No, that was your eighteenth. Remember? That was the year we thought we beat it, before we knew it spread somewhere else.” The thoughts and emotions from that day, that very second the doctor said it, rushed back and almost knocked me over. I lay back on the swing like a dead man.

James noticed it, but he said nothing other than, “Oh.” We both watched the sun ease behind the tallest oak on the other side of the lake.

“What was the purpose?”

He looked at me, confused. “The purpose?”

“Yeah.” I looked down at my shoes to see if they could help me out. “You know, there’s a reason for everything.” I said that a little sarcastically, but it was true. “What was the reason for your cancer? How did it benefit anyone?”

He watched a duck waddle out of the water to his right. “Well, remember the doctors? And nurses? You and mom were really nice to everybody, so that probably made it easier for them.”

This was probably true, but I refused to admit everyone was angelic. “Well, we wouldn’t have to be nice if you hadn’t gotten sick in the first place.” Whoops. Maybe that was too condemning. Try to fix it. “Remember the doctor with six fingers?”

He laughed out loud at this. I hadn’t seen him do that for a decade. “Yes! I had nightmares about that for a year!”

“Really? You said you thought it was cool.” That was a strange day.

James sat staring upwards, remembering. “I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. After staring at it for about a minute, I needed some excuse.” He laughed again- a huge belly laugh, and I laughed back. “And after I stopped having nightmares, I thought about how handy an extra finger could be.” He looked at his own hand and flexed his fingers.

I wanted to congratulate him. “Well, I’m pretty sure you made his day. He came up to me afterwards and told me how respectful and well-behaved you were. It…” Oh man, I better not get all emotional. “It made me proud to be your father.” I thought about how sappy this was becoming. I hated sentimental movies right about now.

I looked over and saw James sitting with his eyes and mouth closed like a Tupperware. I decided to ask the question again. “So what purpose did it serve to give you cancer? You were a perfect kid. What was there to prove?” I honestly wanted to know what he thought.

He opened his mouth to answer. “Prove? It had to prove something?” I think my eyes started bugging out of my head as he said this. “What if it proved nothing? What if nothing came of it?”

So this was his idea of suffering? Take it like a man and don’t ask why? “Then…what was the reason?”

He crossed his arms like Christopher Reeves. The pathos left just as quickly as it came. “Maybe nothing. Does it matter?”

I was about to stay quiet and hope the subject changed by itself, but something was bothering me. No, more than a bother- it was stupid. I couldn’t believe he just said that. “Wait… what do you mean, ‘nothing’?” What was he thinking? Is this heroic? Is this his idea of justice? I didn’t get it.

He let me get a little angrier before asking, “Do you remember when you first took me out driving?” I looked away. I didn’t want to answer. “Do you?” He was persisting.

I summoned the day back to my head. I played and replayed the scene like a home movie. “Yes.”

“You know how old I was?” I knew, but I didn’t answer. “I was 20. I was in pain, but I didn’t want to show it, because I didn’t want to stop driving.” Now that I didn’t know. “Remember what I asked you? When I stopped at the light and saw that mac truck roll by?”

I remember all right. “You asked if it would matter to anybody if you threw yourself in front of the truck.”

He pushed me on. “And do you remember what you said?”

What I said? Um… “I said it would matter to the truck driver.”

That didn’t throw him. “Yeah, but you said something else. You said it wouldn’t prove anything, except that I gave up.” I knew, and I stayed quiet. “You said, ‘James, all you would prove is that human beings are weak and won’t fight if it’s too hard.’ Remember?”

I lied. “Not really.”

He went on. “Well, then what would prove something? Wouldn’t me fighting back against the cancer, and you fighting back against the cancer, and both of us working together, prove something? What else is there to prove?”

“What?!” He honestly didn’t know? “After all that, all we have left is strength? Or- hope? Both of those things die, James! Give them enough time, and you lose your strength! Wait until the next doctor’s report, and all your hope dies.” And I believed it, too.

He looked at me like I was crazy. “So what are you asking? What else is there to do? It’s over!”

I sat up. There was nothing left to lose. “Isn’t there some other road I can take? Isn’t there some peace I could find? All the memories I have of your cancer are memories of pain.” I slammed the bench’s arm, hard. “All that comes to mind is me in the bedroom, crying my guts out and wishing I could discover some magic pill to give you and make your pain go away.”

I was hurting him, even while I said it. But I hurt more, and I was sure of it. “When I looked at you lying in bed, throwing up in a bucket and going through every pain imaginable, I wanted to kill myself.” My voice got higher and louder. The ducks started flying away. “That question you asked about the truck; I was talking to me. If I didn’t keep telling myself how much you needed me, how much you depended on me, how much you loved me, I would have thrown myself in front of the same truck. All I remember is misery. All I remember is financial struggle.” I finished my tirade and sat silent.

He looked at me, and asked quietly, “Do you know what I remember?”

I covered my face with my hands. “No. I don’t want to.”

“Yes you do.” I guess I did. “Dad, the whole time, from the moment I got the news until the moment I quit the medication; I felt peace. Every time I saw you talking with a doctor or holding mom’s hand in the hallway, or stroking my head when you thought I was asleep. I felt peace, and joy, and I could go on feeling miserable, because I had peace.”

Oh, so it’s his turn to rant, huh? Well, it was ridiculous. “How could you have peace?”

He straightened up, justified. “I knew that my suffering would probably help someone else.”

Okay, now that was ridiculous. “What?”

He leaned back again and assumed the wise man look. “Well, I got cancer. What was I going to do? Complain? Act like a martyr and whine and make myself more miserable? Why not try to be the best cancer patient the hospital ever saw? Why not share the joy you taught me with the doctors?”

It still didn’t make sense. “Okay, but peace? How could you have peace when you were on your way to dying and the cancer kept appearing?” Just the thought of those huge purple things on the cat scan-

“I don’t know.” He grinned. “Because I knew that you were there and weren’t going to run away like you did when you were nineteen.”

I snorted and stood up. Snorting and standing up are good ways to discourage the arguments in a conversation. “What a peaceful thought.” I started pacing. “So it’s been five years since we left the hospital. Have you seen any repercussions you started?”

“Who knows?” He shrugged. “It might have effects ten, twenty, a hundred years in the future. We can’t decide when anything happens after we leave it alone.”

Huh? Again? “But what if nothing happens?” I turned around and stared at him. “What happens when nothing happens?”

He gave me the look I hated- the one where he stares at you and you know you’re wrong. I hated it, because he was always right. “Does anything need to happen now?”

No way. This can’t be happening. I’ve stayed alive on the hope that something changed, or got better. I wasn’t about to give that thought up too easily. “James, it’s been five years! FIVE YEARS!” I was yelling at the top of my lungs.

He kept his voice low, but sharp enough that I wouldn’t mistake him for backing down. “Must something happen for you? Is that what you want?”

“Why not?” I yelled. This wasn’t fair. “I went through all that! I lost those years! Why shouldn’t I get something back?”

I grabbed a rock and threw it away from me. It arced out over the water and splashed into the middle of the lake. Ducks and geese took off from the grass beyond, and the noise they made drowned out the sob that escaped my throat. I watched the ripples move outwards and fade.

There was no denying that fear. That fear of selfishness in a time when my son needed selfless love in abundance. I realized that all the emotions I’d crammed into my heart had stayed there for five years, and only now were they surfacing.

James’s voice behind me interrupted my thoughts. “So it’s about you, then.”

I slumped to the ground. My forehead hit my knees and my hands covered my hair. When I spoke, my voice was muffled by my jeans. “Yeah. It’s about me.”

I heard him shift in his seat. His voice assumed a parental air. “Well, I can’t do anything about that.”

I agreed. “You can’t. I needed to find that. It’s been haunting me.”

“The more you talk, the more you might dig up.”

He was right. I had dug this up, and I had no idea how much was left. If I really cared about him, and his sickness, and his comfort, I wouldn’t have holed it all up. I would have gotten it out and left it lying in a big pile to be burned, like so many leaves. But instead, I’d held onto it like a raft, and now it was dragging me down.

I wanted to let him know all this. “It’s my own selfishness.” I picked my head up and twisted around until I could see him. “I’ve been ignoring it, and convincing myself that it wasn’t, but I never dealt with it.” He lounged on the bench like it was the most comfortable chair he’d ever sat in. “Thing is, how can I overcome my own selfish feelings and thoughts, when you’re the one who had to suffer?”

He questioned me ruthlessly. “Dad, it’s been five years. Who’s suffering?”

I opened my mouth to tell him it was a one-time outburst, but I had to stop. “I’m suffering.”

He continued. “And the only reason you’re suffering is because you don’t see any results. All you see is pain and anger and helplessness and ruin.”

That’s not the only reason. “Yes. And you’re gone.”

He smiled, not at all cynically. “So would you like to know what was affected?”

Why not? I wanted to know so badly before. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He crossed his arms again and looked up. “Remember the doctor with six fingers?” I nodded. “Well, after that day, he went home and questioned his own self-worth. Through that questioning, he met a God who loved him for who he was in his heart, and not for some of his oddities on the outside.”

I knew I was going to regret this. The wind started to blow again, and I hugged my knees to stay warm.

“And do you remember the nurse who was so shaken when I heard that the cancer metastasized in my brain? She was crying after I came out of the scan. You went and comforted her, and told her you hadn’t given up yet, and you were going to fight it. She went home and gave up on her suicide plans, because she knew that if the father of a cancer patient hadn’t given up, she wouldn’t give up treating them.”

“Oh God.” There was nothing else for me to do but sit and weep.

He went on, speaking softly, joyfully. “And do you remember the last ten minutes of my life? You took me out in that boat and we just talked. We talked about everything. The beach, dogs, birthdays. And remember? I fell asleep when you were just remembering the name for those little potato pockets mom always cooked.”

I smiled through my quaking sobs. “Knishes.”

He was beautiful to listen to. And the more he spoke, the more relief I found. “And the service you had. You invited all the doctors and nurses who treated me. And you told them all about how much you loved me and thanked them all for their hard work and support. And do you know what every one of them did afterwards?” I shook my head slowly, haltingly. “They went back to work with a fervor. They knew they could make a difference in people’s lives, and curing the patient would only make it better. Dad- you did all that.”

I was still shaking my head as I wiped my eyes. The silence around the lake as the last light framed the trees against the sky wasn’t as overwhelming as before. In fact, it was the first silence I wasn’t eager to break. For once in fifteen years, I felt pure relief, and there was no looming feeling of doom in the background. I could breathe unrestricted, and feel good about it.

James, smiling as he lounged like a monarch, looked as pleased as he could. “Do you still need results?”

I knew now. “No. Not anymore. I…” I wiped my face on my sleeve and stood up. “I think I can live with that.” I walked over and sat back down next to him.

“You’d be surprised.” He reached over and gave me a sideways-hug.

I hugged him back and sighed. “I needed to get that out. I’m sorry, James. I can be a pretty lousy person.”

He didn’t try to contradict me, and I didn’t expect him too. “Well, as long as you keep that in mind, you can overcome it. You helped me…now it’s my turn to give some of that back. Alright?” He grinned.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The sun disappeared behind the horizon as he looked at me, and then at the ground. “I’ve got to go.” He stood up and put his hands in his pockets. “I love you, dad.”

I looked at him standing there above me, and realized that I was never going to see him again. It was a regret that struck deep within my heart, and yet, again, there was peace about it. I stood up next to him. “I love you, James. It was-” No, not was. That’s not right, and never will be. “-It is… a pleasure to be your dad.” I offered my hand.

He shook it, with a strong grip, and looked directly into my eyes. In them, I saw eternity. “I’m proud to be your son. Proud and joyful. I’ll see you soon.”

He dropped my hand, gave me one last grin, and walked away, by the lake. As he passed the rowboat, lying serenely on the bank, he looked back. My eyes watered up again, and I wiped them quickly. When I could see again, he was gone.

The clouds over the water were losing their reddish glow and the crickets were chirruping happily as I whispered, “Thank you, God,” and walked away.