Thanksgiving 2025
Lately Eli has been saying, “no buts” when we tell him we love him and it reminds me that declarations should come with no strings attached. The same could be said of practicing gratitude… to be thankful, with “no buts.”
This year marks five years of completing adjuvant endocrine therapy, following radiation, being induced during a pandemic, chemotherapy while pregnant, being diagnosed with breast cancer at 18 weeks. It’s a milestone to celebrate and at the same time recognizing survivorship is hard. Little did I know that being a survivor would test me in other ways.
I don’t think there is anything that wakes a person up more than having a sick parent. I naively thought that I’d have more time, not grasping that the age bracket I’m in now has me navigating both taking care of my kids and taking care of my parents. That naivete didn’t prepare me for the shock and reality of dividing my already-limited time and the logistical nightmare of coordinating schedules between kids, parents, and work, and believing I could show up for all of it.
In May of this year, the day after my parents returned from a trip overseas, my dad was hospitalized. This was significant because my dad has never been admitted to a hospital so we knew something serious was going on. After many labs and tests, it was determined that Dad had a blockage and subsequent infection so a stent was placed, and it was at the time of the endoscopy that a mass was discovered (thus causing the blockage). Adenocarcinoma.
Dad was scheduled for surgery in NYC and Mom and I accompanied him. Less than a half hour into the surgery, Mom and I were called into a private room to speak to the surgeon. In my heart I knew it couldn’t be good news when the surgeon was leaving the OR… and it wasn’t. The tumor had spread and surgery was stopped. Stage 4.
It wasn’t until that moment I realized what it must have felt like for Anthony when I was diagnosed, that feeling of utter helplessness and uncertainty. So I did what I normally do in times of crisis – I made my list of to-dos and started checking them off. Requesting records. Making appointments. Setting up the portal. Calling Mom. Taking notes.
Dad started chemo, and I was there. I brought him to his port placement, talked about how foreign mine felt at first and how relieved I was to get it out… until I realized he’s on a different trajectory than me. I gave him tips to combat the side effects. He actually let me drive him to and from infusions. I told him how important it was to disclose all meds and supplements to his oncologist and to keep chugging water.
Through it all, Dad is hopeful. He’s realistic too. We talk about the hard things because there’s no better time than the present. He tells me stories about coming to the U.S. and meeting Mom, and I find myself transcribing them after our conversations. He listens and gives advice, and I am reminded of his infinite wisdom.
If there is anyone who showcases true gratitude, it is Dad. He remarks how beautiful a day it is in the car on the way to chemo. He learns the names of everyone he encounters at the infusion center and addresses them by name. He always says thank you. He jokes with the nurses to get them to laugh, to lighten their load. He gets excited picking his post-chemo meal, just as I had. It’s humbling to witness that despite THE hardest thing, he continues to have the most grateful heart.
This Thanksgiving, may your hearts be ever present. May your connections be filled with joy and levity. May your conversations be the kind that you want to lock in your memory banks. May your bodies be nourished by comforting food. And may your time reflect simple and unfiltered gratitude.
I’m grateful for you, Dad – and for all you are still teaching me every day. No buts.
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