Stand Up To Cancer

Just like on The Flintstones, when we married men get together, we often complain and groan about the mother-in-law, if for nothing else, than it's a classic and never-ending source of comedy. As mother-in-laws go, I did well. Mine loves sports, can dig into a rack of baby back ribs like nobody's business, and plays a mean game of racquetball. The only thing that scares me about Sandy Shuster is her strange fascination with procedural crime shows and murder mystery novels, which leaves me to suspect she is somehow secretly plotting my death. CSI obsession aside, my mother-in-law, is very kind and unassuming most of the time-- unless you forget to make her "cuppa tea" or dare interrupt her during an Eagles game, then she turns into Sam Jackson in Pulp Fiction and strikes down upon thee with "great vengeance and furious anger."

Most relationships with in-laws, no matter how great, probably wouldn't exist if not for marriage, and therefore, love and respect build over time (if at all). I realized I loved my mother-in-law, when she was diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer. I should have felt love sooner-- but you don't know how much you love something or someone until you're faced with the prospect of losing it.

Read the rest of John Koch's blog at the Huffington Post.