The Essential-ness of Hope

Dear Boo and Bubble,

A few days ago in Jacksonville, Captain and I took the occasion to visit someone that I consider to be one of the overall and universally acknowledged favorite cousins in the Bryant clan - Bryant Skinner - and his mate of many years, Betty. I hadn't seen either one of them, or their children, for almost 30 years which seems incredulous as they all were so special to me growing up. Both are in their 90's (well, Betty will be there on her next birthday!) and, because of age and condition live in separate places. Betty stays in a full health care facility near Ponte Vedra, while Bryant maintains a home in Deerwood which is the sprawling gated community that he developed years ago between Jacksonville and the beach.

Of course, much of our conversation centered around the past with fond remembrances of Great Granddaddy Schaefer and Mamaw Mary. And, we did a lot of catching up on children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren as well. But there was also time spent on the days ahead. For Betty, it's the anticipation of writing her third book. For Bryant, who zips around his house on a scooter, it's keeping things organized and meeting a schedule with the help of his secretary and caretaker. What struck me quite squarely was the lack of gloom and doom. No "woe is me" or self-pity. Just the opposite.....an optimism that tomorrow would not only come, but would be worth living......which is to say....the fundamental human element of hope.

As we left them, with promises to see each other again soon, I began to reflect on the last few months I spent with Great Granddaddy Schaefer before he died and the roller coaster of emotions they presented. It was January, 1994. Granddaddy had just been invited to deliver the commencement address at his beloved Alma Mater Furman University in May. He was both honored and humbled....... and so excited that he immediately penned his remarks in expectation of honing them over the spring until they were perfected.

In March, your great uncle Bryant was diagnosed with major blockages to the arteries of his heart and had to have multiple by-pass surgery. Captain and I drove up from Columbia to Winston-Salem to be there for the operation and Granddaddy came from Greenville with Uncle Gene. It was then that we noticed a change in Granddaddy's personality. His normal ebullient, irrepressible self seemed broody and short. Always the conversationalist, he now withdrew into a quietness that bordered on surly and his responses were more curt than engaging.

At the time, we attributed it to his anxiety over Bryant and figured once the surgery was successfully behind us, he would get over it. But, as the days went by, his mood grew darker. Granddaddy spent an inordinate amount of time in bed, neglecting his responsibilities at his law office and his editorial writing for The Greenville News. It became obvious that something was terribly wrong. Bryant, Gene and I finally persuaded him to go to the doctor where he passed test after test for all suspected possibilities until, at the very last, he had a chest x-ray done which revealed spots on his lungs. A further biopsy confirmed that Granddaddy had oat cell carcinoma lung cancer. We put him in the hospital and began the ordeal of establishing a plan for treatment which ultimately included chemo-therapy.

Those first days upon learning of his illness were some of the hardest of my life. We had always been especially close, completely free and open in our relationship. He was many things to me - cheerleader, adviser, admirer, bolster-er, friend. And to him, I was a source of joy and happiness of a kind perhaps reserved for an only daughter to bring to her father. But during those days.....those very trying days....I could not spark any uplift in him. Any energy or positivity or encouragement that I brought into his hospital room only provoked uncharacteristic chastisement which left me wounded and frustrated. He proclaimed that he did not want treatment. He loathed the thought of vomiting from the chemo-therapy and had no stomach for whatever other side effects he would have to endure with no guarantee of any positive result. With each passing day, he spiraled further into depression, carrying me and everybody else who cared with him. He had lost hope and nothing that had made his life worthwhile up until then - not his children or grandchildren, or his writing, or his many philanthropic endeavors, or his beloved colleagues, or his faith - could penetrate the loss. My inability to reach him devastated me.

Then, something miraculous happened. A young physician who was the son-in-law of one of Granddaddy's best friends came into his room - more on a personal mission than in the role of a doctor. After visiting for a while and listening to Granddaddy express the choice for non-treatment and ultimate desire to die, he said very simply - "Schaefer, that's all well and good. But, the rest of us are not ready to have that happen, nor are we going to let it."

Somehow, he convinced Granddaddy to try the chemo-therapy treatments. I remember asking the Oncologist how we would know if it was working. He explained to me that the cancer in the lungs plays havoc with a person's hormones which was the cause of Granddaddy's depression. "The first sign we'll have that it's working is when his personality returns."

We were advised to go on about our lives, so Captain and I returned to Columbia with the promise to return to Greenville the following weekend. I tried so hard to absorb myself in work and the activities of your mom and Aunt Bee. But my heart was very heavy. I couldn't get Granddaddy off of my mind. When Friday came, we headed back up to Greenville and for the very first time in my life, I found myself dreading to see my own father. I didn't think I could stand up to the moroseness anymore.

I will never forget cautiously opening the door to his room, fully anticipating the worst, and finding him sitting propped up in the bed reading. "Bethie!!" he exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're here! I've got something very important I need for you to do."

He was back....my dad was back! Overcome with absolute relief, I approached his bedside. "Of course! Whatever it is, I'll be glad to do it."

"I want you to deliver my commencement address for me at Furman. I'm not going to be strong enough to do it myself."

The request caught me off guard. Even though I was a graduate of the institution myself, the Board of Trustees had invited him, a prominent community citizen with bonafide credentials, to make the speech. My substitution in the role probably wouldn't measure up to the auspiciousness of the occasion in their eyes.

"Well......," I hesitated, "if it's okay with the folks at Furman, I will do it."

How wonderful that moment was......the twinkle in the blue eyes.....the chipper, confident voice.....the sensation of looking forward, of discussing with exuberance the possibilities of an event in the future.....in essence - the return of that essential ingredient to happiness - HOPE.

(Furman did agree to let me deliver the address. After Granddaddy came home from the hospital, I'd drive to Greenville on the weekends and we'd sit back in his bedroom where I "practiced." He instructed me on tone, emphasis, elevation, effective pauses and other techniques he had planned to use. He was adamant that I not change a single word, that I give the speech exactly as written. I had hoped that he would at least be able to attend the evening ceremony in order to hear his words imparted to the graduates, but he was still too weak to do so. By the time we returned from Furman, it was around 10:00 PM and he had already gone to sleep. I tip-toed down the hall and shook his shoulder to wake him up.

"How'd it go?" he asked like an excited child at Christmas. "Did they like it?"

"It received a standing ovation," I told him proudly.

"Good.....that's good....I'm glad." He lay his head back down.

As I slipped back towards the hall door, I stopped. "By the way, I must confess that I added something."

His head shot up off the pillow. "What? What was it?"

"I told them at the end that I was sorry they could not have heard you give them these words....because you are the most awesome man I have ever known."

He didn't seem to mind at all this particular literary license.

A couple of weeks later, I received a video copy of the commencement. I told Granddaddy that I would come up to Greenville the following Saturday and we would watch it together. It is one of my deepest regrets that he slipped away on the Thursday before and we never got to do that.)