And today’s gratitude goes out to cancer. Specifically, not having it. Not me, not having it, although, I have not had it a more times than Trump has misspelled words on Twitter, but my cousin not having it. Sing hallelujah, with a chorus of NO CANCER.
My cousin Bobby is one of the most solid, nicest and best people I know. He has been an attorney to our entire whack-a-doodle family over the years, civic-minded, spiritual, a volunteer to many good causes, a stellar son, brother, husband and dad, a voice of reason and both generous and wonderful, with an infectious laugh I could mimic for you, except you’re not here and you can’t hear me (Are you? If you are, please disregard my hair, I’m having it dyed today, but until then I look like Barbara Bush before she died, may she rest in peace).
Anywho, the rest of the story is longer, but let’s just leave it at this: we thought he had pancreatic cancer. He is 75. He had a very involved surgery to remove the “pancreatic cancer,” only a funny thing happened, which is that there wasn’t any! But on the way there, my cousins and sister and I, were all FREAKING OUT LIKE WHEN THAT ORANGE-HAIRED, NO BRAIN BLOB BEAT HILLARY. Uh huh, it was that bad. So, for several very tense days, we waited and pondered the idea that this superhuman guy could be quite sick. It was hellish.
But, he is not! No, he beat the pants off of the big C. As I would expect him to do. And I’m telling you, gratitude parade coming to a town near you. Oh yeah, this is grateful on a big dose of steroids. Long live, Bobby T.!