Those graduation tears were really about something else

Chapman, Upstate Model Railroaders trying to bring GF of 1900 to life

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It was 10 years ago my son graduated from high school.

Like any parent, I was happy and proud and a little wary of what life would be like without my only son at the dinner table.

That night after graduation I bared my soul in a column I still can't read without soaking the front of my shirt with tears. But age has a way of adding perspective, and a decade later there is a different realization of why those tears flowed.

It was about what I had gained, not what I was about to lose.

Three years earlier as my son embarked on his sophomore year of high school, my wife was diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer. She was 53.

After removing a grapefruit-sized tumor that September evening, the surgeon called me into the little room adjacent to the waiting room and told me he had removed six liters of fluid and gotten all the cancer. When I asked for a prognosis, he told me survival statistics were 50-50 for three years.

I did the math.

In those weeks afterward, the goal became to get Gillian to her son's high school graduation.

There were swim meets, parent-teacher conferences, play performances, orchestra concerts, proms, formals, college visits and many long, philosophical discussions late at night around the dinner table.

Those graduation photos have such a special meaning beyond the obvious milestone. Maybe that's why you can see me choking back the tears. Yeah, I was proud of my son, but maybe the bigger accomplishment was Gillian was there to see it all.

In April 2012, I wrote about those first six months of chemotherapy - two weeks on, three weeks off - and how our two-hour drives across the backroads of Vermont to Burlington became our normal Friday routine.

"She made it seem easy," I wrote at the time. "She made it seem normal, so ho-hum what she was going through, and that allowed us to go on with our lives. That was a great gift."

It was the only time I wrote about her cancer, but it was always hovering in the background, stalking her. She never saw it as some courageous fight to be honored or marveled at, just something she lived through, despite limitations it sometimes imposed.

She did not see that as anything special.

She did not see that as anything out of the ordinary.

Just part of life, part of her life.

I asked her the other day if she ever thought about writing about her experience living with cancer the past 13 years.

She shook her head without hesitation, incredulous there was anything significant about her experience.

I pointed out she had visited doctors in Burlington, Buffalo and Boston and absorbed more rounds of toxic drugs than many of her doctors thought possible. She had been treated with surgery, chemotherapy and radiation.

When we took the train to Buffalo's cancer center a few years ago, we were kept waiting in the examining room for more than two hours.

The doctor was a big-shot cancer specialist who was in high demand and very busy and did not have a chance to review Gillian's medical history until the time of her appointment. From time to time, an intern or medical student would come in and ask a few more questions. They seemed to be stalling for time as we waited, and waited and waited.

When the doctor finally arrived, she said she had never seen a history of chemotherapy quite so voluminous. She couldn't compare it to anything she had seen in the past because any comparable patient had already died.

I told my wife it was a compliment.

The treatments, the side effects and the worry are the most significant part of the journey.

Dealing with insurance companies, copays and pharmacies sometimes wore her down more signifcantly than the toxic chemicals being pumped into her body.

Gillian is a marvel to behold during a medical appointment. As a retired RN, she can hold her own with any nurse or oncologist. I've watched her infuse herself at home, reset pumps in the hospital and recently even drew her own blood from her port because the nurse on duty could not do it.

There were times when I saw her in despair, but they were rare.

In these past 13 years we have traveled more, done more and enjoyed life more than the previous 30 years combined. The clock was ticking and we did not want to waste a second.

The grander message is that cancer does not mean your life is over. For us, it meant it was just beginning.

That day nearly 13 years ago as I weighed the odds, I suppose I was selfishly wondering how long I would have a wife and Joseph a mother.

I'm only, shockingly, realizing now it was Joseph and I who needed her more than she needed us.

She was holding everything together and making our lives better.

Two weeks ago, Gillian had another one of those setbacks where she had to spend a few days in the hospital.

Joseph had invited us to meet him in Virginia for a few days and the trip appeared in jeopardy. But a few days after exiting the hospital, she was out there with us touring a Civil War battlefield and visiting the homes of Thomas Jefferson and James Madison.

She probably should have stayed homes and recuperated further, but she didn't want to miss anything.

Living her life is what it is all about.

That's something we all should remember. I remember it every year at graduation time.

Help bring downtown Glens Falls from 1900 to life.

All aboard

Since January, I've been working on a project at the Chapman Museum in Glens Falls to bring the old DeLong House to life during the Christmas season so it is a destination for anyone who loves Christmas.

We've been making great progress, gotten some great donations (wreaths, Christmas trees and other decorations) and are looking forward to Christmas as never before.

Along the way, we got together with the folks at the Upstate Model Railroaders Club about doing a diorama to replicate downtown Glens Falls shortly after the trolley began running in 1900.

The goal is to show the west side of Glen Street with historically-accurate three-dimensional buildings from Fountain Square and the Rockwell House hotel to the Civil War Monument complete with a live trolley line running up and down Glen Street.

The exhibit will be unveiled at the Chapman Museum as part of our Holiday open house in December.

Like anything, getting a historically accurate model of this type is going to take some resources. The Upstate Model Railroaders have generously agreed to donate all their time toward this community project at the Chapman Museum.

That means we just have to raise some money for the materials. The train guys are estimating a price tag of $1,450.

So we're hoping we can find three people to donate $500, six people to donate $250 or 15 people to donate $100 to help bring Glens Falls at the turn of the century to life again.

To donate, you can click on the Chapman Museum website and donate online. Make sure to stipulate that the gift is for the "Our Hometown Trolley" project.

You can also go to the Upstate Model Railroaders website and click on donations. Make sure to stipulate it is for the Chapman Museum project.

VP credentials - Ouch!

I was reading one of those roundtable discussions among opinion columnists at the New York Times this past week as they discussed the credentials of the vice presidential candidates and who Donald Trump might choose.

That's when columnist Bret Stephens said what most people only whisper about Elise Stefanik:

"I’d be happy to be proved wrong, but I think Haley is too threatening to his ego, too independent, and her barbs from the primary season are too fresh. As for someone like Elise Stefanik, the New York congresswoman, she’s a nonstarter for reasons explained to me by a person who has known Trump for decades: “She needs to lose 30 lbs.” Horrible? I know. But this is Trump we’re talking about."

Sadly, that is the world of Trumpian politics.

ATF off and running

The Adirondack Theater Festival opened this weekend with its one-nab show "Todd vs. the Titanic."

You have two more chances to see it.

There is a matinee and evening performances on Wednesday, July 3 at the Wood Theater with special $10 tickets.

Ken Tingley spent more than four decades working in small community newspapers in upstate New York. Since retirement in 2020 he has written three books and is currently adapting his second book "The Last American Newspaper" into a play. He currently lives in Queensbury, N.Y.