Lessons From My Cousin Joe: Strength, Love, and The Importance of Family
The air was stiff and frigid. My father and I studied the road, looking for my uncle’s car around the curb. We had arrived much earlier than my uncle, aunt, and cousins at a Christmas tree farm in Northern Washington State, my aunt’s favorite one. We were there visiting on a somber occasion—my cousin Joe had recently been diagnosed with stage IV esophageal cancer, a sickness that wasn’t curable. It could be treated to prolong the amount of time he had left, but only 2.8 percent of those diagnosed survive beyond five years. Unfortunately, my cousin was not going to be one of those people. The experience Joe was having showed me what family really is and why it truly matters. Joe showed me to never take for granted certain values like resilience, loyalty, love, and the ability to be positive when against the very worst odds.
As a kid, I always remembered Joe as a tall, thickly-bearded man with a slight beer belly, and as a generally large guy. But when I saw him for the first time since his diagnosis, he weighed at least 30 pounds less than I did. My mother told me that I should expect this change, but nothing could prepare me for what he was going through. He had bags under his eyes, and his skin was pale. His bones protruded due to the weight he had lost. He fought hard that day, and every day, to enjoy time with his family. He had willpower stronger than any sickness or diagnoses, and stronger than any symptom or side effect—I know that seeing this will always be one of the most inspiring acts of determination I will witness in my life.
Finally, after a half-hour, my uncle’s white Ford Escape appeared around a bend in the road. I stepped back onto a patch of grass that was covered with a thin layer of snow to allow them to pull into the farm. They parked, got out of the car and the search began. My family has always taken Christmas trees seriously. There was never a specific kind we liked the most, but it usually came down to which tree had the strongest and most pleasant aroma. As I looked around, I was surprised by the quality and price of the trees. They appeared much more beautiful than the trees I was used to, the ones set on a wooden rack on the streets of Manhattan. It was as if the atmosphere of the city swallowed the trees’ smell, or at least overpowered it with the competing smells of gasoline and garbage. I watched my family as they searched. There was an unspoken awareness among us that this was going to be Joe’s last Christmas. Joe seemed less interested in finding a tree than in enjoying everyone’s company and trying to keep the symptoms of his illness to a minimum. He was bundled up that day in his bright blue jacket, blue jeans, mittens, and one of his classic baseball hats.
My uncle and aunt, Joe’s parents, debated which tree was the best. My uncle had his eyes set on a wide Douglas fir with a significant patch in the middle that did not have any needles. It was beautiful nonetheless. My aunt preferred a Fraser fir that stood quite tall. I signed off on both trees as they each had a powerful natural smell. I then went to look for Joe, who had walked away from the group with his girlfriend Christina, to get his opinion on the two trees. That is when I saw him inside of his car, with his big grey mittens on, his hands pressed against the heater. It was easy to tell that he was struggling. The cold was too much for him, and his symptoms were getting the best of him. I saw how hard he was working to try and enjoy his time with us; family was one of the most important things in his life and he valued being together. It upset me when I thought about the distance between us. I’d never previously considered the impact this distance has had on me. My aunt, uncle, and cousins live in the Pacific Northwest while my parents, brother, and I all live on the other side of the country, in New York. If we lived closer to one another, we could gather more than just once a year.
***
We chose a tall, beautiful, pine tree with a pointy top, so that the star would be secure. When we got home that night we played Ariana Grande’s Christmas album, along with Frank Sinatra’s and Michael Buble’s. We ate good food, homemade pizza which was my uncle’s specialty. He taught me how to throw the dough up into the air and how to catch it, and reminded me to put olive oil on the dough before applying the tomato sauce. I have held onto this knowledge since. My brother, father, and I toasted with my uncle’s favorite bourbon while on the other side of the kitchen counter the rest of my family played charades. We joined the charades game and played a few other classic family games—activities that, at that moment, seemed as though we were the only family to know about them. That was how sacred this moment was, a moment that felt still, as if the night would never end. I remember feeling content, an emotion that was often out of reach within my daily life in New York. But the biggest gift was seeing Joe laughing and smiling, surrounded by the people that loved him most.
***
Joe kept a blog so that he could update his friends and family about what was happening in his life. One post read, “I hope that I’ve done enough in my short time on this earth to have made a little mark and that whenever the time comes I can say that I lived a good and full life and I didn’t waste what a gift it was.” While he didn’t say this to me face-to-face, it was as if he did. Life, I realized, is an incredible gift. Often people like to focus their lives on the standards we have to follow, like going to school, getting a job, and building an identity in the world. It is easy to lose sight of how special it is to merely be alive. Joe helped me realize that if you take a step back from all those things, being here on this earth is a gift in itself, one that begs to be taken advantage of.
***
Joe had a love for the outdoors—hiking, backpacking, and camping were some of his favorite things to do. He was raised that way, growing up in the Pacific Northwest, and having a father who loved hiking and camping. My uncle took Joe on his first hike in his pack when he was six years old, to a high lake above Lake Wenatchee in the Cascade mountains. He climbed the same trail with a portion of Joe’s ashes— my uncle’s final hike with his son. His two brothers, Andy and Mike, accompanied him. My uncle said at Joe’s memorial service, later, “So Joe did get back there and is there forever now, with spectacular views of the green valleys and Mount Rainier.” Many people came to honor Joe at his memorial service in Bellingham, Washington—loving family, loyal friends, and his incredible partner of ten years and caretaker for a year and a half, Christina. The rest were people who were inspired and touched by Joe’s incredible vigor and bravery, and his ability to keep an open and positive mindset throughout his illness and decline.
For the rest of my life, I will try to administer values to my life that Joe possessed—values he had before his illness, and that deepened while he was ill—like feeling more content within myself, and realizing the blessing that life is, even while having to do the various tedious chores in my life. I remember Joe always taking care of me when I was a toddler, at my other aunt and uncle’s beach house along the Oregon coast. My family would often have reunions there. The Pacific ocean was frigid all year, and I’d plunge in only to run back out, but it served as a beautiful backdrop. I have memories of these times but they are hard to recall, memories that had been diluted over time, turned to foggy images in my mind. But my mom showed me photos of Joe and I after he passed away. One was of me, no older than 3 or 4, climbing a small sand dune on the beach with my big cousin Joe’s hand on my back holding me up. I always think of that photo now, and think of the way my family tried their best to hold him up, and how much he valued that.
Joe will forever live on in my family, inspiring us through the resilience we witnessed, and the words he wrote. His passion for just living never dwindled. Shortly after 2018 began he wrote, “I’m planning on cramming as much into my 2018 as I possibly can. New experiences, new travel, and I just want to learn as much new stuff as I possibly can. I want to be a sponge for new knowledge. I want to cook better. I’m learning how to make stuff out of clay. I want to spend as much time as I can with friends and family as long as I am feeling good. I want to snuggle with my dog as much as I possibly can. I don’t want to dwell on negativity and be as present as possible. I hope that however crazy this world can seem everybody realizes how lucky we are to be alive and with each other.”
Dedicated to Joseph Jacobson McClenahan, 1986-2018. You can read more of Joe’s blog here.
