Flag Day, Remembering My Grandmother
(photo created with ChatGPT)
Somewhere in my childhood home, still owned by my family, is the very first essay I had ever written. I was in 7th grade I believe. I put a lot of work and research into it, and justifiably got a great grade on it. My topic was Flag Day. The paper was filled with all kinds of facts, from all the different flags representing our country and the different changes that it went through. Though there are only 8 flags shown in the photo above, there were actually 27 throughout these 250 years. It was not until the 1800’s that there were between 20-30 stars, finally approaching the 20th century (that would be the 1900’s), did we have flags in the 40-count.
Some odd facts, the 48-star flag flew for 47 years (1912-1959) made it one of the longest-serving flags. The 49-star flag lasted only one year when Alaska became a state. And our current 50-star flag became official on July 4, 1960, after Hawaii joined the Union. In two years, barring any other states joining the US, “old glory will become the longest serving flag.
There were plenty of other facts about our flag in that report, about how to display it, and how to care for it, especially when it was “worn,” and how to respectfully dispose of it. I would describe myself as a flag “purist” as a result of that report, so one particular beef I have with today’s “patriotism” are the violations of the United States Code. What are some of the codes?
- raise the flag quickly, lower it slowly
- the flag is supposed to be flown from sunrise to sundown, unless properly lit
- the flag does not touch anything below it (ground, water, etc.)
- do not hang in the wrong direction, if hanging, the stars go in the upper left
- the flag hangs in the rain only if an “all weather” material
But there are two things that people do that irritate me to no end to the display of our flag. The first, flying it from a vehicle. Sure, according to the US code, the flag is supposed to flow free, but if on a vehicle, it should be flown from the right front end of the car.
But as the photo above shows, the flag is shown mounted on the rear of the truck. This disgusts me every time I see it, and I see this truck a lot. The flag is attached to the back of the truck, sucking exhaust, and being coated with soot. This is probably the 2nd most disrespectful way to treat the flag. Not to mention it is tattered from the violent wind gusts from the speed of the truck.
The most disrrespectful and intentional thing to do with the flag, is wear it as clothing. Sure, everyone thinks they are showing their patriotism by wearing the stars and stripes, but it is actually written to not wear the flag as apparel; clothing, hats, swimsuits. Wear the colors red, white, and blue, sure. But to wear the flag, stars and stripes as swim shorts, soaking up ball sweat and swamp ass as if a patriotic maxipad is just wrong.
Also, one final peeve of mine, the flag serves and represents only one thing. It is not to be used for other causes, such as “thin blue line” or professional sports teams using their team colors. If you need a flag of your own, make one. Hands off the stars and stripes. Make your own flag.
I used to be super involved with celebrating Flag Day until 1998, a day that changed my life forever, the day my grandmother passed away from cancer.
My grandmother was one of the most influencial people in my life, not just from a rearing standpoint (my mother worked 2nd shift as a single mom – so my grandmother handled everything during the week), but she was also my first actively involved cancer survivor I had known in great detail. I lost two of my other grandparents to cancer, lung and gall bladder. My maternal grandmother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Between mastectomy and chemo, she had beaten it, becoming the first person I had known to beat cancer.
Of course, her story with breast cancer, would be pivotal with decisions I would face with my own battle with cancer, Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. But it was she who inspired me to take on Hodgkin’s with the same courage and stoicism that she did.
However, in May of 1998, she was diagnosed with her second cancer, this time ovarian. Having had my own battle with cancer, I was a lot more sensative to the things that would be said about her case. But I had not doubt, she would take it on and beat it just like she did with the breast cancer.
She had surgery to remove the cancer, and the surgeon told all of us, “he got it all.” That is in quotes for a reason. He continued on that he wanted to have my grandmother undergo preventative chemo, which I did not see as unreasonable. But then he stated the amount he wanted her to do. I could tell something was wrong.
I told my mother, that she needed to talk to her two brothers, something was wrong. If the doctor got all the cancer, and while preventative chemo is not unreasonable to get periforal cells left behind, the amount of chemo the doctor was talking about, was a full treatmant plan. Something was wrong. Of course, my pleas fell on deaf ears.
On Saturday, June 13th, I stopped by my grandmother for a short visit. She was to start chemo that Monday. When I came into the house, she was sitting on her couch, staring off, lost. Off to the left, I could see her treatment books, untouched, not opened even once. My grandmother just sat there, and I noticed she had actually had her hair cut, “high and tight” as if to prepare to lose the hair, something that did not happen for her with her breast cancer. She was deep in thought, real deep.
“Is everything okay Grandma?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she responded, “I just want to get this over with.” I couldn’t blame her, I know how bad chemo is to go through. She continued to just sit there and stare. After a short while longer, I told her I would call her to see how she made out, and went home. That was the last time I would see her alive.
The next day, as I prepared to go to church, as I had activities to run with the church’s youth group, I got a phone call, “your grandmother was taken to the hospital. She has fluid in her lungs.” I said that I would be right there, trusting my fellow parents to handle things, but was told, “she said you were to stay at the church, she knows you have youth group. She will see you later.”
Around 2:30pm, the afternoon of June 14th, the phone rang in the church office. One of my advisors had answered it, and as I looked over toward her, I could see it was an upsetting phone call for her. But then she held the phone to me. My heart sank. As I grabbed the phone, my advisor did all she could to offer “I’m so sorry Paul.”
My grandmother had passed.
I have a strange and baffling defense mechanism that kicked in right away. I went right back to work with the kids. My advisors would tell me they could take care of everything, and I knew they could, but I insisted on staying.
My worst fears came true. My grandmother was worse than what the doctor told us, and I knew it. No one would listen to me. Did my grandmother intentionally instruct the doctor to lie to us? Being a Catholic hospital (my grandmother was not Catholic), did they convince her to go through chemo for the sake of the sanctity of life? Did they tell her that chemo would buy her time to see her other son who would fly in two months later? There were plenty of other signs that my grandmother did know, this would be it for her.
Her taking charge of her fate has done nothing to ease the grief that I still cling to twenty-eight years later. She was my moral compass. I talked to her about everything. Her opinion mattered to me. And if I did something she did not agree with, she did not hold back her opposition, and if I went against her counsel, she stood by me regardless. To this day, I miss her so. How I wish she could see and spend time with her two great-granddaughters. They would simply love her.
I am currently dealing with a medical crisis with my mother, my grandmother’s second child. Unlike the passive approach with my grandmother, expecting my mother and uncles to do more, my mother has me advocating for her now. I lost my father to lung cancer (3rd of six relatives with cancer, all dead). And I am doing all I can to help my mother with this health challenge.
I don’t take the time to reflect on Flag Day like I used to. And because of my grandmother’s passing, I can never forget when it happened. And the only thing at this point in my life, is what comes the week after Flag Day, what I consider one of the most important days of my life, Father’s Day. This is the day that gets me through today, even all these years later. My daughters mean the world to me, and now, as adults are aware of the health struggles I deal with, and are as much a part of my survival as the doctors who care for me.
Paul's Heart 