Is Blood Thicker Than Water?

 

What children observe and hear influences the kind of person they develop into as an adult. Poorly chosen words, spoken in anger, distrust, and confusion, can alter the course of relationships and, eventually, lives. Seemingly mundane actions of the moment have a similar effect, as well. Much depends upon the nature of words and actions and their subjective interpretation. Certainly both can irreparably damage the future of any relationship.

My Uncles Nick and Chris illustrate this point perfectly. As brothers, the men were close in Greece at the peak of World War II. I do not know what words passed between them, or what deeds occurred, or most importantly what they learned from their parents. Whatever the circumstances, likely grave, they chose to not speak to each other for years.

As adult parents, they lived, surprisingly, in the same large apartment complex in a plush suburb north of downtown Athens. Despite this, their relationship had become so sour even their children did not know each other. Their children likely played in the same sand box when they were very young and were likely impervious to the nuances of fractured adult relationships. However, they slowly began to distrust one another, mirroring the fractured relationship of their fathers, simply because that was the lesson of the house.

Even today the children do not speak to one another. They are now parents themselves, yet presumably because the two brothers, my uncles, could not make their relationship work, their children continue the cycle of silence. It’s no surprise: behaviors are learned. I suppose a genome theorist in the room might suggest behaviors are not only learned, but genetic, perhaps a selfish gene passed down from generation to generation, to coin a term from Richard Dawkins. The selfish gene acts as a protector in the body, similar to an antioxidant and, as such, the electron chemically knows the path to protect an oxidized, damaged cell, so as to prevent decay, or what the skin care professionals call aging, and what oncologists term cancer.

As the years passed, I am told my uncles would see each other on the street, even by the elevator at the apartment complex, and barely wave. Uncle Nick, the younger of the two, died from cancer a few years ago. I understand he was a lonely person, disgruntled and Charles Bukowski poetic. I remember him drinking ouzo and laughing heartily. When he developed cancer, his condition was so severe he only allowed his sister Effie to visit. Aunt Effie told me on the phone the cancer was pervasive, causing Uncle Nick a severe amount of pain, as some forms of the diagnosis are known to exhibit; he was barely recognizable.

In the middle of the night, while his wife is sleeping, I am sure Uncle Chris remembers his brother Nick. He recalls the brother from their childhood in Greece. Perhaps he recalls when the Germans invaded and occupied their homeland and they were fearful and relied upon each other for support, starving and begging for food. I believe he remembers holding that brother of his and consoling him when the German language was unintelligible; the guns were a fair and immediate translator. He assuredly took pains to reassure his brother everything would be ok, because that’s what older brothers are supposed to do, even if they, too, are afraid.

I am certain, even now, when the light is bright, and friends visit and they inquire delicately about his brother’s death, Uncle Chris maintains the façade the years of silence created. I imagine it is easier for him that way. People seem to prefer a superficial view of someone else’s pain, and so that is what most people show. But in quiet, reflective moments, Uncle Chris is likely a conflicted man, for he realizes himself that while one cell may be saved, there are others that may turn cancerous endangering the body; for it is impossible to protect all cells from oxidation. Uncle Chris, despite the wealth he created, and his current status in the community as a successful, retired citizen, remains a broken, oxidized man, for that was his lonely brother in the hospital with whom he never reconciled.

Western physicians learned long ago from ancient “medicine” that stress and poor relationships are inconsistent for developing a healthy body and mind. It is apparent Uncle Nick drank quite a bit, especially in his later years. Whether he was a confirmed alcoholic is irrelevant now for he is deceased, and perhaps happier in the alleged afterlife. But he did drink heavily. Perhaps he drank alcohol to excess to gain a false sense of happiness or to self medicate his mind, making the real unreal, taking him back to the laughter and games from his childhood with his brother, despite the constant threat of the German army and the ever persistent hunger, having had to beg for food and on occasion lick spilled soup off the floor, to placate the massive hunger. Perhaps the lack of true contentment and happiness in his life contributed to his acquiring the cancer that took him from this world. The silence of loneliness, lack of the nutritive value of friends, can have a profound negative effect.

It is said if you eat blueberries, sleep deeply, and laugh heartily, and often, and have family to love, perhaps even raise a puppy, the ancient shaman, and your western doctor, claim with statistical and even actuarial significance, you will likely live a long time disease free.