The Bravermans yell too much. In that, they are certainly realistic. In that, they are certainly bothersome. But outside of the yelling there most certainly exists a gravitational pull into their endearing chaoses and successes. For me, my endearment lies particularly in Zeek, the 60+ father of the family clan. I can't even put my finger on the why, but it's there pulling me into his orbit of family. He's quirky and odd and delightful all rolled into one. There are others I like and others that push me over the mental ledge, but one never can be sure which will be which from season to season. Not Zeek, he had me at the get go. Yes, I know the Bravermans are fictional, but when you binge watch your way through 3 season in 9 days. they become a reality.
I've learned I very much like a family dinner. In the back yard, under string lights, in wooden chairs that don't match. And I like that attendance is mandatory. I also very much like a steady stream of music (right now for me "Every Kinda People") in the living room with everyone providing their own jive. The more geeky the dance move, the better. And the more people involved, the more endearing. I cherish the baseball game where everyone has their own bleacher spot, or the family crisis where everyone has their own recliner/sofa spot. There is merit to the fictional. And it has surprisingly pulled me in. I feel myself straddling the emotions of a failed adoption, raising a son with Asberger's and preparing him for his first dance, a first kiss for a daughter, a shy son pulled between father and mother, a success not attained, and a college not attended. It's portrayed so well that I forget that I am not part of the Braverman legacy myself. A cousin looking in from just over the wooden fence. So this week, when my least favorite "cousin", Christina, found a lump in her breast, my first reaction was "I wonder if this will play out in a realistic dialogue" and my second "why didn't anyone tell me this was coming and to skip those episodes?"
The timing was off for me, as Christina headed into surgery the same week as I, but very much spot on in the dialogue it prompted for Ron and I. And I wasn't expecting that. As they wheeled her back into surgery and Adam is left peering through the glass window obviously scared to his core, Ron turns to me and says "There were only two times in all of these surgeries that I was scared. The day they took you to surgery for your cellulitis (I briefly knew of this instance), and just a few days ago when they took you away (this one caught me off guard)." I hit pause and we traded places as the Bravermans turned into sculptures on the screen in front of us, and Ron and I became the action. It was a great moment for me to hear him relay emotions that I knew very little of. He's eluded to this in a round about way one time before (about the cellulitis surgery) but this was the first time I was brought into his emotion of 9 days ago. I won't speak of them in greater detail here as those words were said to me and not this computer screen, but I mention them as a reminder that there are almost always 2 people (if not more) involved in the complex emotions of mastectomy. I've touched on this before, but it came back to mind seeing Adam unravel in his wife's journey.
The second gem portrayed in this particular story line came from a fellow cancer patient when she told Christina about the cycle of a cancer diagnosis. Paraphrased: First, people will come out of the woodwork when they hear your news, even people you don't even know. They flock to you in "support" and it is almost more than you can handle. Well, you need to forget about those people and see who is left 1 month later. Those are your gems and what friendship is truly made of.
Boy, the truth in that statement, and the shame it can bring to mind for me. This nugget applies not only to a malignancy diagnoses (and it most certainly applies there!) but also to any crisis in life. I think of the people I let down by diving in head first at the announcement of the crisis, but failing to stick it through after the first few weeks as my life pulled me out of their orbit and back to my own. I want to be someone who sticks it out with people. They don't have to be the center of my existence, but they need to remain in my orbit for as long as they need me, because crisis is a very lonely place indeed.
While part of me wished I had been warned of this upcoming story line so I could delay my viewing of the the all too realistic/all too hitting too close to home, it was perfectly timed for when Ron happened to be at home on the couch beside me. We had a great dialogue. And I had a good bit of internal self-analysis. The Bravermans (Parenthood being the show) were to be my my escape route, and what a great job they did (thank you, Ron Howard), but they also remarkably timed the story line to create in me a stir of thinking that would turn into an unexpected character development of self.
Even this late in the mastectomy ballgame, I am still learning new things...about me and about my spouse. And for those of you who continue to grab your spot on the bleachers beside me 6 surgeries later making it past the 1 month mark, you've earned your spot. You know who you are. Our orbits continue to intertwine with sincerity intact. I appreciate you sticking it out for all 6 innings. I have a thing or two to learn from you.
