Poosey Digest: My personal thanks

Greetings from Poosey.

I’ve taught theatre for some 40 years and therefore I know it’s not cool to step out of character. So, forgive the intrusion of Ken Bradbury into the world of Freida Marie Crump. On this Thanksgiving week the temptation was simply too great, the opportunity too obvious.

When I began writing this column some 35 years ago (printed elsewhere as the Coonridge Digest), I took a personal vow to never appear personally in the column. But a diagnosis of esophageal cancer some months ago has changed my thinking on a great many things. Forgive a bit of self-indulgence on my part. Next week I promise that Freida will once again grab the reins.

I’ve always given thanks at Thanksgiving …first because my grandmother told me to, then my Sunday School teacher, and, yes, I eventually played a part in one of those fifth-grade Thanksgiving pageants. I have no idea what part I played but I know that my 10-year-old figure was rather round so I may have been the turkey. But this past summer my thanks became deeper, richer, and more genuine, as I waded my way through chemotherapy, radiation treatment, and finally a bit of major surgery in Barnes Hospital. My surgeon says that my recovery is remarkable. I think it’s darned slow. I guess it depends on who’s holding the scalpel.

I had to stop writing new columns for quite some time. I think that most of the 14 newspapers in Illinois, Missouri and Indiana carrying Freida Marie ran old columns in my absence. That was their call. I couldn’t write the column in the roughest days of chemo and during my surgery stint in Barnes. And now it’s taken a few weeks at home for me to bring myself to write again. But I will, and gladly.

Enough of that… this is a column of Thanksgiving. Some editors chose to explain my health situation in their newspaper and that was fine. After all, cancer is real. And as a result I have been showered …no, that’s too mild… I have been blessedly bombarded with letters and cards from Missouri and Illinois wishing me the best and promising prayer on my behalf. Okay, none from Indiana yet — but that’s okay. They were probably busy playing basketball.

At no season of my life have I had more reason to give thanks than in November of 2017. The chemo was effective, the radiation did its job, and the rest was cleaned up with surgery. I still get a bit of a painful thrill when I sneeze, and my energy isn’t back to my old rpm’s, but the cancer is gone… at least as much as any cancer can be truly gone. Doesn’t matter. I’m claiming healing and you can’t talk me out of it. True, my new stomach only holds a half-cup at a time, but by-golly I’m alive and glad of it, and for that I give thanks. Thanks to the many readers who were my cheerleaders, thanks to the church prayer groups who kept my name on their list, thanks to friends who have stopped by to urge me onward, thanks to a very special group of caretakers including my family, and thanks to God for bringing me through this alive. The scars on my chest, back, and side will pretty much knock me out of the two-piece bathing suit competitions next summer, but that’s okay. Let someone else win for a change.

To celebrate the Fourth of July you really need a few fireworks and a crowd of people. Valentine’s Day is made more special when shared with a loved one. But the very best Thanksgivings are personal. You may be surrounded by cranberries and cousins, but each of us has the opportunity to give private thanks for the many ways we have been blessed.

There will be those eating turkey this week who still have the diagnosis of a dreaded disease hanging over them. There will be those who’ll be spending their first Thanksgiving without a special loved one. The world won’t be perfect. But I have found that the very act of giving thanks is healing in and of itself. An elderly saint once told me, “Ken, it’s like you have this cloud hanging over you and you can’t quite reach out and touch God. Then you give thanks and you suddenly bust a hole in the clouds.” I’ll take that. I’ll take that any day.

So, to those of you who have written, called, emailed, cried, hugged, laughed, encouraged, prodded, reminded, cheered and prayed, thank you. You are very much a part of my Thanksgiving. And I promise that next week Freida will return. She told me, “Okay, this once, then that’s it, Bubba.”

You ever ’round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.