JOURNAL OF A LIVING LADY …#23
by Nancy White Kelly
Everyone wants to know about THE reunion. It has taken me a couple of weeks to come down from the high of visiting around the clock for two days with over thirty relatives from seven states. Some of these kinfolk I hadn't seen since early childhood. Funny how you remember people as you last saw them. Curly-headed Jackie was now bald John. Change is inevitable, except from vending machines.
For those who don't know, the newly founded Making Memories Organization granted me their first wish as a terminal breast cancer patient. I had mentioned to a friend on the Internet weeks earlier that if I could have a last wish, it would be for a reunion with my extended family before the funeral, not afterwards. That way I could get in on the party. Not long after, I got this wonderful phone call from the Executive Director, Fran Hansen, saying they wanted to grant my wish.
Our phone bill was over $150 last month, but it was worth every penny contacting relatives to see if they could come. Not only did they want to come, they wanted to bring all the nieces, nephews, and cousins. We even had a great, great nephew present and three newborns.
While the organization originally offered to pay for a cottage and couple of rooms, the number of relatives wanting to come kept expanding. I have never been good at saying, "No." We were soon making diagrams of who could sleep back to back without fighting. The overflow had to sleep at our home a couple of miles away which worked out fine.
A limousine company donated one of those stretch black cars that the rich and famous ride in. It was my first and probably last limo ride unless you call a hearse a limousine. Maybe it is the family who rides in the hearse. I don't know what they call the corpse car. I eschew obfuscation.
Just before I arrived at the entrance of the Brasstown Valley Resort, a TV truck stopped and ran a microphone cord down my jacket so from then on everything I said was on tape. I was hoping I'd get a chance to signal to all the relatives waiting for me not to say or do anything inappropriate on national television in the Jerry Springer style. My maiden name is "White," but we aren't white trash. Yet, you know the old saying, "Familiarity breeds attempt."
I was greeted at the Brasstown entrance with a dozen red roses and hugs from my sons, three brothers, and my only sister, Sunnie Anne. In the foreground were scores of relatives and friends waving and crying tears of joy. The big network cameras were there and lots of national and local reporters. They say everybody gets five minutes of fame in life. I got about two hours. All the interview questions were reasonable except for the first two asked of my sister: "Would you call this a salvage operation?" and "Is this event like the Phoenix rising from the ashes?" I sure was glad Sunnie Anne got those questions and not me.
The whole event seemed like something from a fairy tale. Davis Palmour presented me with a "Nancy Kelly Day" plaque from the City of Young Harris and read the resolution like a courtly prince. Buddy then seated me in a wheelchair and Kay Raymond from the Chamber of Commerce and Dale Rice from the resort escorted all of us to a back room for further surprises.
With all the spotlights on me, someone turned on a long audio tape that sounded just like my friend, Patsy Rahn, whom I had previously asked to sing at my funeral. Even Buddy leaned over and asked if that was Patsy. I nodded that I thought so. It certainly sounded like her.
With the cameras coming in for a close-up, Kay asked me to tell everybody the background of the lyrics. I must have looked like a dumb-founded plucked chicken. What words? I hadn't paid much attention to the lyrics, partly because I was in still in shock and partly because I was concentrating on identifying the singer.
Thankfully, my sister who was standing behind me, leaned over and whispered, "Knowing Nancy." It immediately rung my ringer and kept me from babbling like Goofus. Several days before, a perfect stranger, Bob Cleveland from Alabama, had read my columns and wrote a beautiful poem using the initials of my whole name as an acronym. I was so impressed with his thoughtfulness, I immediately forwarded a copy via e-mail to Sunnie Anne.
In the wee hours of the reunion morning, some professionals in Dallas had set the poem to music. The tape had arrived at Brasstown at 3:00 a.m. by Federal Express. Now I am told they are making a CD of it. Believe me, I am not a celebrity or heroine. Knowing me and one dollar will get you a cup of coffee in most any restaurant.
I can't help but wonder how I was chosen for such a special day. After all, my only claim to fame is having metastatic breast cancer. There are LOTS of ladies, and men too, who have breast cancer. I didn't deserve all this attention any more than they do.
My only hope is that when this organization is spotlighted on programs like Good Morning America, Rosie O'Donnell, and Oprah Winfrey, generous people will contribute to this worthy cause. The reunion helped me forget about breast cancer for a couple of days and have some truly cherished memories.
Good things still happen to common people.
