Dickersons don’t sing; they belt. And usually in at least 3-part harmony. I remember sitting around the campfire at Mt. Rainier as a kid, wishing I knew just one complete phrase of Sweet By and By so that I could begin carving out an alto line to call my own. My mom and her three older siblings formed the foundation of the Dickerson family belt-fests: David, with his cheerful, crackling tenor, Becky, a gutsy alto, my mom, with her clear, crisp soprano, and Cyndy, always carefully harnessing, to various degrees, her powerhouse super-soprano. My cousins and I used to nudge each other in the church pew when Cyndy really let ‘er rip at the end of some choral piece at Christmastime. There was no prouder moment to be a Dickerson.
The whole Dickerson clan used to gather at least three times each year: once at Ohanapecosh, a magical campground at Mt. Rainier, once at a rented beach house in Lincoln City on the Oregon Coast, and for Christmas, rotating between the siblings’ homes. These get-togethers were easily the highlight of my childhood, and I’m pretty sure many of my cousins would say the same. The chemistry between the four siblings (our parents) was glorious. It was endlessly entertaining to watch them banter back and forth. Aunt Cyndy, with her quick wit and a tendency to yammer, was at the center of it all.
It is hard to say how much I adore my Aunt Cyndy. Really hard. I think I surpassed her in height when I was ten. She is a tiny bundle of wit, charm, warmth and fun. I have loved being around her since I was a little girl. When our family got our first desktop (circa 1993?), Cyndy, who has been an IT specialist since forever, came over and taught us how to boot up using the C prompt. Then she gave us a tutorial in Minesweeper and Solitaire. Her son, Erik, was the first baby I ever held, and she the first pregnant lady I ever knew.
Last Wednesday, I spent the afternoon with her up in Northern Idaho, where she lives with her husband, Dave. Just the day before, her doctor had advised her to quit her job at Washington State University; the cancer she has been battling for the last six years was finally catching up with her. She told me that, ten years before she was diagnosed, she and her doctor suspected that she might be showing early signs of colon cancer, but she was told by her insurance company that she was “too young” and “the wrong gender” for that type of cancer. In fact, colon cancer is the number one cancer killer of women. Breast cancer is second on the list, thanks in large part to advances in early detection methods. By the time Cyndy’s cancer was diagnosed, it was already in Stage IV.
Cyndy is not shy to talk about her condition. Whenever possible, she and her husband spread this message: if and when you have a problem, stand up and fight. No one else is going to do it for you.
As we talked, I marveled at my aunt. Although she recognizes with painful clarity that her insurance company is to blame for her situation, she doesn’t seem to harbor a trace of bitterness. Over the last six years, she has demonstrated that her good humor is not just skin-deep. Her update emails to sixty-some friends and family members have always been peppered with hope, smiles, and triple exclamation points. She knew her days were numbered, but she didn’t care to spend those days crying. The most amazing thing to me, though, is how she has seemed to redouble her interest and investment in the lives of others. She is often the first person to comment on my blog or facebook posts, and her words are always clever and thoughtful. I would totally understand if she wanted to spend her days checking off a long bucket list and making every moment count, but instead, she chooses to maintain and even strengthen her ties to all of us. It seems she has discovered a deeper way to live life to the fullest.
Our visit on Wednesday was abundantly cheerful, reminiscent of those trips to the coast and Mt. Rainier. Cyndy treated us to many signature eye-rolls, stories, and those laughs where she sort of rubs her nose. Her spirit is so vibrant, her courage so inspiring, her personality so unique (yet so clearly rooted in Dickerson culture), her laugh so infectious, and her heart so warm and caring, I know that she will always be an integral part of my sense of family, my sense of me.