A Letter to Les

If I were watching a dramatic Lifetime movie and a character was informed by a doctor that he had just two weeks to live, although he felt fine, I would probably burst out with my characteristic skepticism, "Oh, come on! That's a little unrealistic."

But actually it's not. My stepdad had just such an experience earlier this week. In December we received the shocking news that he has an aggressive form of cancer. So aggressive that treatment wasn't really an option for him. A few days ago, the oncologist's friendly observation that "You look like you're feeling pretty good" was followed by the grim prediction that death will likely come within two weeks.

I can't imagine what it is like to be the recipient of such news. "Sad" seems pretty obvious. I imagine it's incredibly lonely, even with everyone around you. I can tell you what it is like to know someone who is the recipient of such news: surreal. (Of course, heartbreaking, devastating, depressing... but really, really surreal.) Because he is not feeling sick, and is going about his usual routines, talking about football, politics, my kids... it is like more like knowing someone is going to have a car accident or be the victim of a mafia hit than it is knowing someone is dying of cancer.

We are thankful he is not suffering physically, because he's a man who has been dealt far more than his fair share of physical suffering, as he has late-stage MS. (Multiple Sclerosis, this cruelest of diseases, has now been trumped by cancer.)

We will be saying our final goodbye soon. But I have a unique opportunity to say what I want to say now, so Les - this is for you:

I am so glad you married my mom. Sometimes relationships with step-parents can be challenging, but in 17 years it never has been with you. I've often thought that you and Mom found kindred spirits in each other: hardworking, responsible, moral and practical (yes, very practical!) with an appreciation of quality and a love of family. I remember you two going dancing, enjoying concerts, traveling to Mexico. As MS robbed you of so many activities these last years, I know Mom's heart broke for you repeatedly, as you suffered the loss of your independence.

I love your part in our family, beyond my mom. I love the relationship you had with my grandma (you two with your stories of country life and outhouses) and the fact that when we have family gatherings, you are one of my dad's very favorite people to talk with. (Vikings, Twins, Gophers...)

Thank you for being a caring, loving and interested grandpa to my kids. They love you, and I have always enjoyed your quiet, bemused smile at their antics. You've seen them play all of their instruments and sports - seen Ethan miss fly balls in the Little League outfield, seen Abby storm away from the piano after completing her songs at dreaded recitals, seen them play soccer too many times to count. And of course you've witnessed plenty of tantrums, messes, and priceless moments over the years.

You've been there for Randy and I as well, supportive and helpful over the years, as we've asked you for your advice on anything and everything related to home maintenance or improvement. Fifteen years ago when we were hunting for our first house, you told us what to look for in basement walls, what might indicate foundation problems. A couple weeks ago you explained to me about not needing to pre-wash my dishes before loading them in the dishwasher if I used a rinse agent. You've talked Randy through countless house projects, and encouraged him to be a do-it-yourselfer. (Oh, you must have cringed when you first saw our bookshelves made of bricks and plywood when we were dating!)

In short, I am so thankful for your presence in our lives. You know, for all these words I've typed, I realize I cannot adequately express how I feel, except to say, you are so loved and cared about, and I hope that you have felt that from us over all these years.