Family Ties

About two months ago, we learned that my father-in-law’s health is failing. Understand that we learned this third person, from my brother-in-law who lives in Boston and was visiting the Georgia coast where my father-in-law lives. It’s not unusual for my husband’s family to go weeks, months, even years without speaking, so it came as little surprise to me, actually, that Billy was sick and that none of his three sons knew.

This has always troubled me about the Pyrons, their ability to disconnect and reconnect with each other. When I lived in another state, eight hours away from my family, my heart ached. Every year when the first hint of fall was in the air and the smells of summer turned into autumn, I longed for my family. I still can’t pinpoint the reason, but that was a big trigger for me. We relocated our entire life to be near my family, so it’s hard for me to grasp how you can not need your parents and siblings. But the Pyrons don’t, for the most part, and it’s taken me almost 10 years to butt out and let Charles handle, or not handle as the case may be, his familial relationships.

When I first met my father-in-law, he was an imposing figure. My husband hadn’t spoken to him in almost 9 years, and I, the new fiancée, was right in the middle of their reconciliation. Billy was every bit a character out of a Faulkner novel. Wide, strapping shoulders. Calves the size of my thighs (I was thinner then, but still!). He lived in a renovated share croppers cabin on the edge of his best friend’s “estate” outside of Gay, Georgia, close to Warm Springs where Roosevelt received his polio treatments and took his refuge.

Billy was eccentric, is eccentric still. His cabin and yard were decorated with “art.” Things like “hog in a log,” which was a decaying hog carcass residing peacefully in a hollowed out log. A plaque on his door read, “Flat Shoals Road Porch Sitters Club: Residence of the President.” He’d have given Rev. Howard Finster a run for his money for sure.

When we heard he was ill, we panicked a little. How could this tour de force be anything less? How could the man who spent days hiking and hunting in the woods possibly get lost and not be able to find his way home from the post office? We made plans. We rented a car. We hopped a plane. We ended up in Brunswick, Georgia, on the doorsteps of a man my son barely remembered and of whom my daughter had no memories at all. We had a good week-long visit, and yet Billy recently told his oldest son that he “hadn’t seen Charles in a long, long time.”

All of this has weighed on my husband. It must be hard to deal with the failing health of a parent when you don’t think you have your siblings to lean on. We got a call last week that Billy has severe diabetes. Two days ago, a doctor determined his two carotid arteries to his brain are 99% blocked and he only has 29% heart function. That crazy strong body is wearing down.

Tonight, I watched and listened as my husband talked to his oldest brother, who is in Georgia handling things and will be on hand for the procedure to clear out the arteries. Bill is bearing a tremendous weight and obviously needed to vent. They talked for over an hour, as Bill recounted the day’s events and told story after insane story about the goings on of the day.

As Charles listened, I saw a weight lift from his shoulders and his face. He grinned from ear to ear as Bill talked. He belly laughed like I haven’t heard him do in months. I watched him connect with his big brother – reminisce, commiserate and enjoy the relationship that only siblings can have: the common remembrances and emotions that two adults who lived the same life, have the same parents share. I’m so glad that’s there. I think that will sustain them through the next few months, as we cope with Billy’s health and prepare for the inevitable. As long as we can laugh with our family, I think we’re all okay at the end of the day.