Five years ago about this time, my father, Coolidge Sims, learned that he had cancer– a health difficulty far beyond the heart condition he had dealt with for years.  It took him by surprise, as it did all of us.

My 88 year old Dad was in the hospital for an overnight stay to investigate the source of pain and discomfort he was feeling when the tests came back with a malignant tumor diagnosis.

I had arrived at the hospital on the following morning and unexpectedly received the stunning word from Dr. Perez in the hallway.  I didn’t see Dad until I had called my sister Donna and my brother Mike to relay the doctor’s report.  Knowing Donna was en route to the hospital already, I went on into Dad’s room .

“Hey, Mark,” he quipped.  I could tell that he had no idea of the diagnosis. “I’m sort of tangled-up here. You showed up just in time.” I got him situated with the multiple tubes and wires attached to him, and then chatted with him as if everything was normal while he ate his breakfast. Dad always enjoyed a hearty breakfast. Many times I’d heard him say that a good breakfast was his favorite meal of the day. Cracker Barrel and Waffle House knew Coolidge Sims by name.

Moments later Donna sheepishly entered the room just as Dad was drinking a few sips of his morning coffee. He didn’t mind drinking it black, but always preferred it with just a tad of milk. Donna caught my eye before Dad saw her. Her eyes asked, “Does he know yet?”

“Well hello, Donna,” I blurted out still eye-to-eye with her while managing a gentle no, he does not know yet head shake as she made her way into the room. The three of us enjoyed the time we shared together that morning, although two of us had a sinking dread resting in the pit of our stomachs of the dire news that was about to arrive.

Doctor Perez soon reappeared, recounting the medical facts to Dad concisely and factually—promising good care, but making no unrealistic assurances.  The doctor only spoke of slowing it down, keeping him comfortable– not of curing the cancer.

I spent the entire time observing my father’s every expression during the doctor’s explanation. Occasionally I would glance at my sister whose attention was focused like a laser on Dr. Perez. I knew she couldn’t look at Dad for fear of breaking down. Dad had no questions to ask, and we did not want to ask the doctor anything in front of him. We had plenty of questions, but they would have to wait until later. Dr. Perez agreed to call Mike and explain things to him. Mike would know exactly what to ask since he was a physician. But for now it was about Donna and me managing Dad and his reaction to the bad news.

As soon as the door closed Dad looked squarely at Donna,

“Well, I never thought it would be cancer that would get me. I always thought it would be my heart.”

“Dad, I am dumbfounded.” Donna’s voice quickly melted into a whisper, “I don’t know what to say.” Her eyes moistened scanning in my direction. A lump tightened in my throat. Then Dad, with eyes bright and strong switched his gaze toward me,

“Mark, I couldn’t believe the Doc said it was cancer!  I didn’t know whether to spit, wind my watch, or go blind.“  For three seconds the world stopped in silence.  Did he really just say that?  Then spontaneously, the three of us fragmented into timid chuckles, before finally letting go into full-throttle laughter .  It was that funny phrase we had heard him say many times in many different settings– just never in a moment as serious as this.  Donna leaned across the bed and embraced him, blubbering something while she cried, and then I joined them in the sweet and sour  moment.

In the blink of an eye our father had lightened the most irreversibly bad report he had ever received—all to allay the unspeakable heavy burden that he felt my sister and I were having to bear.

Dad was a master at doing that.  He was proof that the scripture is true when it says,

“A cheerful heart does good like a medicine.”  Proverbs 17:22

Coolidge Sims was a pharmacist and knew something about dispensing medicine.

I smile every time I think of him.