Perfect

This past Saturday, our twins celebrated their B'nai Mitzvahs. You probably know the phrases "Bar Mitzvah" and Bat Mitzvah." When there are two or more such celebrations, the plural is "B'nai." It marks the time in a Jewish child's life when they become responsible for following the rules as an adult. Technically, this happens automatically when a boy reaches age 13 or a girl age 12 according to the Hebrew calendar.

Explaining the Hebrew calendar is a topic for another day, or another website. Suffice it to say that it differs from the calendar in your iPhone and is the reason why Hanukah begins on Thanksgiving this year, but can coincide with Christmas in other years.

In the US, most Jewish families make an event out of the Bar Mitzvah. The child often learns to read and chant a passage from the Torah (Old Testament) in Hebrew, and may lead other aspects of a service - usually on the Sabbath. Family and friends are invited to the service, and it's common to have some sort of celebration, ranging from a simple lunch after the service, to something that rivals a high-end wedding.

OK, so that sets the scene. It's a big deal, for the kids and the rest of the family. The date was set over a year ago, and there's no moving it. In my darkest days last summer, I sometimes worried, "what if I can't be there?" Even if I were there, what if I were feeling crappy? So imagine me, every time in the last year or so upon the start of a new chemo routine, trying to project, "is October 26th following a chemo week or an off week?" As it turns out, I was due for chemo last week. Dr Z and I had talked about this many times, and until two weeks prior to the 26th, he had always said we could just shift the schedule by a week.

But suddenly, on Wednesday the 16th, Dr Z, brought up the idea that perhaps we'd do 2/3 of my normal routine, presumably lessening the side effects, but keeping on schedule. He was concerned because the last time I'd had a break from chemo the cancer had progressed. I accepted the possibility on the surface, but I was really quite scared.

A chemo treatment, any chemo treatment, is going to make you feel "off" to some extent, and of course could be much worse than that. The last thing I wanted on this very special day for my twins was to not be able to fully enjoy it. I've come to learn that feeling joy is all but impossible for me in the days following a treatment. I also didn't want Marcie and others to be worrying about me rather than focussing on the amazing job the kids were doing with their responsibilities.

So last Wednesday, I showed up at Dr Z's with no computer to entertain me, no lunch, and wearing a  shirt that would make accessing my port difficult. I prepared myself to fight with Dr Z. "You show me exactly how many more months I'm going to live if I do chemo today instead of a week from now" was to be my opening and closing argument.  I imagined delivering that line and strolling out of the exam room, leaving Dr Z, scratching his head.

But I didn't have to. "Your counts look good, let's just wait until next week," he said as he squatted onto the wheelie-stool they always have in exam rooms. We talked for quite a while about the kids preparations, who was coming in for the event, etc. It was at that moment, at 9:50 a.m. on October 23rd, that I knew a perfect weekend was possible.

On Saturday morning, the congregation began to fill, first with the "regulars" and soon after with our family and friends. With two classes worth of the twins' friends invited, the place was more crowded than on a typical Bar/Bat Mitzvah day. My daughter was up first, leading the service for removing the Torah scroll from the Ark. I handed the Torah to my son, a symbolic passing of the torch, if you will.

They each read a potion of that week's reading, as did my older son, their uncle, their teacher, and our Rabbi. When you read from the Torah, there's always somebody standing next to you to correct any mistakes. With all due respect, I couldn't help but chuckle once I realized that the only person who needed a correction was the Rabbi. Granted, he hadn't studied his assigned reading for a year like my kids had, but still. Funny.

We had all 3 grandparents, my sister, Marcie's aunt, several cousins, and some of our close friends involved in the service as well. It was wonderful to share that part of the experience with each of them.

The kids each gave speeches about the Torah portion they had read. My daughter put a tear in nearly every eye when she applied the lesson from the story to our family's lives. Her point was that when something bad happens, you can't ignore it, but you can't dwell on it either. "My dad has cancer," she said, "and he doesn't always feel good. But we make the best of it, like if my dad needs to nap, one of us will go upstairs and lay with him. Or if he doesn't feel like paying outside, we'll have a family poker night instead."

So many people came up to me after the service and remarked that they had never seen kids tackle so much of the service, and never with as much confidence as our twins. I couldn't have agreed more.

That evening, we had a party for the kids' friends plus our out-of town guests and in-town family. There's a cool venue in a nearby conference center that has a 6-lane bowling alley, pool tables, a Wii, and a lounge area well suited for adults to gather for conversation. The night was great. The kids were all well behaved, having a great time. And I was able to catch up with many of our friends and family.

I was feeling remarkably well for a guy 3 years into his cancer treatment. My voice was back to normal, my color was good, and I could feel joy. So much joy.

It was, indeed, perfect.