Cancer Sure Knocked The Wind Out Of My Sails

On my break at work last night I received some very sad news: a dear friend of mine [let's call her Anne], one of the greatest people I have ever known, has pancreatic cancer and has probably less than two months to live.  I have wrote in the past that death is just a part of life, and I still believe that, but man, this one bites.  This also comes on the heels of a childhood friend's dad dying and two friends who have lost dogs they've had for many, many years. 

The friend who informed me of Anne's cancer told me she's too weak to let everyone know, so she asked him to tell various friends, including me.  I'm glad he did.

He said I should write her a letter, and I felt like I should.  This is, in part, what I wrote:

My Dearest [Anne] (and you are very dear to me indeed),

You can imagine the shock I must have felt when [our mutual friend] told me you had pancreatic cancer and would not be pursuing treatment for it.  It was as if someone told me the sun would stop shining soon or air would no longer be available to breathe.  That may sound a bit hyperbolic, but it is how I feel. 

I don’t know how much time you have left, but I can’t imagine it is relatively much, so I wanted to get this letter off to you as soon as I could to just remind you how much you have meant to me.  I know you know I love and adore you, but I hope you know that meeting and knowing you has been one of the great privileges of my life.  I know our friendship may not be as close or as long as some of your other relationships, but since I met you, my life has been richer for it as I know it must be for anyone who knows and loves you.

You are truly one of the kindest and most generous souls I have met during my sojourn on this planet.  If I may say so, you are pure light.  You’re the kind of person who, when you walk in a room, fills that room with light and joy and effervescence and makes anyone else in the room feel more buoyant and happy.  You’re the kind of person people just want to be around because you have such an optimism of spirit.  You are good, and in a world that often has a lot of unpleasantness, you are truly a breath of fresh air.

I remember when I first met you...  I immediately adored you...

I remember you and [Rick (Anne's husband)] inviting us into your home and it was such a wonderful time.  I remember...you and Mark sharing with us your memorabilia from your days on Broadway.  But mostly, I just remember feeling the love, laughter, and friendship in that room.

I remember your coming to see Little Shop of Horrors, I think it was.  It was such a joy to see you again.  And I’ve enjoyed the brief contacts we’ve had via email since then.

Knowing you, I imagine you are at peace with where you are in life and the circumstances in which you now find yourself.  I imagine the hardest part will be having to leave those you love behind for a season.  I know if I’m feeling the way I’m feeling right now, this is probably especially hard for [Rick and Cecily (Anne's daughter)].

Mortality sure does have a way of kicking you in the teeth sometimes.  As you may know, I lost my mom about ten months ago.  Although it gets easier, the pain of losing her never leaves.  I miss her every single day of my life.  It was hard to watch dementia alter her just as I’m sure it is difficult to see what cancer is doing to you, my vivacious friend.  But I suppose these things are a part of the life we lead here on earth.  All of us must face the travails of mortality and aging eventually, and there are many wonderful lessons to be learned from it, even if those lessons are sometimes accompanied by pain.  Watching my mother’s last days was very illuminating for me.  Caring for her made me a better and less selfish person.  Facing death with her was an extremely spiritual experience.

The day Mom died I was sitting in her room listening to some of the most beautiful harp music I had ever heard being performed by a harpist the hospice provided.  As I let this gorgeous and ethereal music envelop me, I looked around the room in Mom’s assisted living facility and saw all the photos she had hanging on the walls, and as I looked at the snapshots from my mom’s life, I was made aware of just what a full and wonderful life she had led, and I was crying tears of joy because I was so glad it had been such a good, fulfilling life.  I was grateful that she (and my late father) had raised us children well and instilled us with the values that have shaped our lives ever since.  I realized that although she was leaving us, the legacy she left behind will influence generations to come.

The angel Clarence says to George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, “Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?”  The loss of my mother has left such a hole in my life, although I know she is still around because I feel her spirit often, but it’s not the same as seeing her face or touching her hand or hearing her voice.

When it comes time to make your transition into whatever lies beyond this mortal life, you will leave “an awful hole.”  The world will be poorer for losing you, but so rich for what you have left behind.  The influence you’ve had on friends and family is more far-reaching than you can ever imagine.  You will be leaving behind a legacy of love, joy, and inspiration.  I know you are not gone yet, but I want you to know how very sad I will be when you are.  My life is so much richer for having known and loved you.  I will always love you, my friend. 

Whatever remains of your mortal journey, my dear [Anne], I hope that it will be as pain-free and as comfortable for both you and your loved ones as is humanly possible.  I pray that your days with [Rick and Cecily] will be filled with more happiness than sadness and more love than fear.

[Our mutual friend] told me you are weak, so I don’t expect to hear back from you.  I hope my letter doesn’t seem too maudlin or macabre.  I am a realist, and death is not a frightening aspect of life for me; it just is a part of life.  I only wanted you to know the amazingly positive effect you’ve had on my life (and I’m sure the lives of everyone you have ever touched) and how much I love and miss you and will miss you.  Please give my love to [Rick and Cecily] as well.

Love,

Your friend,

[Cody].

Losing someone you love is never easy, but this one really sucks. 

A Parting Gift From Mom (And Dad)

Sometimes when I'm watching a game show I feel that if I won some money, even a small amount, it would change my life.  I'm one of those people who would go on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" and be happy just walking away with $16,000 or $32,000 rather than attempting to go for the whole million.

I am right.  Money can change one's life (or at least make certain things easier).  In no way am I saying you'll be happier with more money.  I don't believe for a second that money can buy happiness.  However, it can make things less stressful if you're smart about it.

My dad and mom made some good investments during their lifetimes.  This turned out to be quite a blessing when Mom had to move to assisted living.  With all of Mom and Dad's investments, including the sale of their house, we probably had enough to take care of Mom for 6 or 7 years, so that was a comfort.

Mom would have hated to know that the money she and Dad had saved would be paying for her to stay in a place she initially hated.  We were glad we had that money, though.

Obviously Mom's death made the use of that money null and void as far as her care was concerned (although we used a portion of it for her funeral and burial, any unpaid medical costs, and her remaining taxes, none of which was nearly as much as I would have anticipated).  We have been actually been quite blessed by what remained to be split among her four children.  All told, each of us has ended up with about $86,000.  And that is life-changing money.

Mom (and Dad) would be delighted to know that the money they intended to pass on to us would be used for the betterment of our lives.  And it will be, I hope.

I, for one, have been able to pay off my student loan (which I've been paying for the last seven years) and put a down payment on a brand new car (I've never had a brand new car until now).  Jonah and I hope to take a trip somewhere and maybe make some improvements to our home, things we've dreamed of doing but never had enough money to really do.  Instead of feeling like I'm living paycheck to paycheck, I finally feel like I can save some money away for our future.

My sister, who has been drowning in debt since she got married, may finally have a chance to get on top of things if she and my brother-in-law are smart about it.  And maybe she, too, can take a vacation, which she's not really had a chance to do too often.

My brother and his his wife can help pay for their son's wedding and their other son's mission and maybe make some good investments.

My other sister and brother-in-law, who have been through bankruptcy themselves (mostly due to my brother-in-law's first wife's medical bills) now have enough to make home improvements and support their family.

It truly is a blessing, and Mom and Dad would be so happy.  My parents were two of the most generous people I've known.  They would be overjoyed that all they worked for is helping their kids and grandkids.  And it's a gift that will keep giving (for a while at least).  Mom and Dad have oil and gas rights inherited from my grandfather and grandmother (who smartly invested as well), and we'll hopefully get about $2000.00 a year each from that as well until the wells eventually run dry.

I miss Mom and Dad every day, but they left us a great legacy of good values and a nice financial one to boot.  It is such a blessing for this struggling artist.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.