My Thanksgiving caregivers

 “I get up with you Da.”

“No, it’s 4 in the morning and you got up with me yesterday.  You have to sleep. It’s a big day,” I explain, brushing hair out of her face, searching for her blanket in the dark. 

Grabbing my hand she slides out of bed and we stumble into the Living Room, light candles, snuggle on the sofa, and watch television.  

“Be right back,” I shoot, quickly returning to the bathroom where I’d spent the better part of the last hour. 

Back on the sofa, Che patiently waits. 

She’s become quite the caregiver.

“Can you make it Dad?” she asks, holding my hand, leading me to her room because she knows I’m struggling with queasiness. 

“I get it for you Dad,” she smiles, rushing from the sofa to grab my juice as I fight to get up. 

“I love you Dad,” she says, leaving her friends in the backyard to find me standing in the front yard talking to Sarah about impossible arrangements.  

We both stop and stare. I wonder what possesses our little girl to leave the friends she desperately begged to have over and find me to remind me I’m loved.  

“Maddie comes home today,” she says when I resume cuddling on the sofa.  “I am so excited.”

And I am too this Thanksgiving!

I have lots to be thankful for, not the least being my early morning caregiver. 

There’s lots more though.  

It’s hard knowing where to start. 

And I don’t want to waste time counting my blessings when I’m celebrating the one I’m holding. 

I hope that’s your Thanksgiving too.

Why waste time counting things when you can hold love in your hands?

“Want marshmallows Dad?” Che asks. 

She has a bag of the green shamrocks, pink hearts, orange clovers and yellow moons someone gave her for her birthday.  

“For breakfast?”

“Yeah,” she nods.  

“Sure,” I shrug.  

“Let’s get them together,” she smiles, pulling me off the sofa. 

Che’s Locket

Che twirls a locket with our pictures in it around her neck. 

She’d asked for one after seeing it on “A for Adley”which is sort of reality TV for kids. 

Once when we couldn’t take her to school because I had to be at the Mayo Clinic, Sarah used the locket so she feels close to us whenever she needs.  

“This way,” Sarah explained, “whenever you need Mom and Dad, we’re already hugging your neck when you open it up.”

She’s worn it to school ever since. 

This is her, wearing the locket, masked-up-for-school, sitting beside me on the sofa watching a movie called “Leap.”

Che is a dancer, takes ballet at Gretchen Green Dance Studios and loves to cut a rug, or a sofa in her case, as our daughter flies through the air showing off her moves.  

Sarah’s getting ready for the day still so Che and I hang out watching the movie. 

The locket is broken, either because she opens and closes it a thousand times a day or it flies off her neck when she dances, slamming on the floor. 

Which is often. 

My pictures already fallen and been replaced once. 

Like Sarah herself, her picture has remained a constant, unyielding source of beauty, comfort and assurance.  

My replacement photo is too big so all Che sees are my eyes, nose, and smile peering out like a clown trying to squeeze his face into a jar.  

“You look silly,” she explains when she sees me looking at it just now writing this.  

“I do,” and we cuddle more.  

I snap the picture and she resumes watching the movie. 

Staring out the window, I see colors dance in the sky just above the tress, as choirs of light sing in jubilation to the rising of the sun as the darkness retreats. 

My life is most surreal, watching it take place, sitting on a bench, wanting to keep up and play but unable and, increasingly, unsure of myself. 

Che shifts her head, laying it on my shoulder and sighs loudly. 

I’m not alone on the bench. 

“Morning,” Sarah sings floating into the kitchen defeating the choirs of dancing colors and the majestic rising sun for my attention.  

The past few weeks were especially tough as we wrestle with the darkness cancer brings to families and we needed a break. 

Just in time, God threw us a lifeline and we had the nicest weekend.  It was just the 3 of us enjoying life and each other.  And Laurel stopped by for a couple of seconds too!

To top it off, some special friends gifted Thanksgiving dinner next week so Sarah wouldn’t have to worry about it! 

We have lots to be thankful for and I’m especially excited this year. 

But now it’s back to school, work and the Mayo Clinic for more Chemo. 

Che kisses her locket. 

I kiss Che. 

Standing over the sofa, Sarah kisses both of us as light floods the living room of our home. 

 Honestly Dad didn't join the Marines out of some great sense of patriotism but to get the Hell out of his parents house.

The Marines happened to be the branch of military that would accommodate 17 year old's with such a problem.

In the blink of an eye, Dad was marching with Dog Company and off to Korea where he was captured twice, escaping both times until he was shot but found by another group of GI's, taken to a Hospital, processed and shipped back home.

While he was there he was assigned, after volunteering for it, as the only white guy in a group tasked with gathering the wounded and dead after a battle.

It helped him later land a job at Fountain's Funeral Home back in Port Wentworth Georgia where he again lived with the folks he was desperate to get away from.

Throughout the rest of his life he had a Love/Hate relationship with the military.

He was proud of the Marines but loathed war. 

He'd watch war movies wiping tears from his eyes during the killing yet cheer when the good guys won.

A Marine tattoo adorned his right arm though he never showed it off or called attention to it.

He shied away from gatherings with his fellow Veterans but when I drug him kicking and screaming to the dedication of the Savannah Korean War monument he hugged his fellow Vets and they cried together touching the engraved names of their friends who didn't make it back.

That's my last memory of him as a Veteran.

He was ready to go on to the next assignment soon afterwards.

Watching the pomp and circumstance of Veterans Day, I remember how his service changed him and I'm exceedingly thankful he took the turns he did.

I lean much more to the pacifist, peacemaker side of foreign policy decisions but also have the grit to dig in and fight back when justice is greedily provoked.

So Happy Veterans Day Dad, if that's such a thing. You never cared much for it but I find myself grateful for what you gave, and the others too, how the experience changed you and the lessons you left, not so much through words but through the ways you lived with it all afterwards.

Bless you and the rest of them too.

Being Brave

“How are you doing?” she asks, platinum hair falling over the eyes peering over sunglasses to look directly at me. 

“I mean, how are you really?”

Sitting in a folding chair under a tree in Hull Park, I’m watching Che run around with 24 other kids in preparation for the “Rock-n-Roll Marathon.

“I mean, how are you really?”

Sitting in a folding chair under a tree in Hull Park, I’m watching Che run around with 24 other kids in preparation for the “Rock-n-Roll Marathon.”

Looking over my sunglasses so our eyes meet, I reply.

“I mean I’m really alright.  You know, sitting out here! Watching our kids run around! Living the Dream.”

“Are you still going to Jacksonville?” she whispers, leaning forward, as though it’s a secret. 

“Oh yeah,” I fire.  “Every 28 days. The Chemo menstrual cycle.”

“Well,” she sighs in exclamation as she stands and pokes a finger in the middle of her sunglasses to cover her eyes, “you hide it so well.”

“What?” I ask, watching Che ask a girl older than her to be her partner for the next exercise.  Our little girl’s moving with ease among kids who haven’t become her friend yet and I’m proud!

“I mean” she explains, crossing her arms again before yelling at her son ,”DO NOT CHEAT AND CUT ACROSS THE FIELD!”

She’s a nice lady. 

Sarah and I know her from volunteering at the school. 

Last week when I brought Che alone to “Running Practice” for the first time and she hovered around me, attending to me should I need, just in case.  

That was nice.  

Sarah’s picking up food for a picnic we’re having after practice. 

Hull Park is a quaint, “Old Savanah” square in the midst of an established neighborhood full of the right kinds of folks. It’s a gem to enjoy and Che’s been asking for a picnic anyway.  

“I mean,” she starts again, peering over her sunglasses at me, “I just always thought you were just an old, cool retired dude.”

“I am an old, cool, retired dude,” I smile back.  

A long, manicured finger pushes her sunglasses up her nose, arms cross and she sighs as she stands, “Y’all are just so brave.”

I don’t know what to say. 

We both watch our kids run around the field.  

Hull Park’s a hotbed of pre-dusk activities. Joggers, walkers, couples holding hands, parents chasing kids, and children running everywhere.  A birthday party’s taking place at the picnic tables, a Mom tosses rings to her 3 kids on top of slide, smaller kids push the merry-go-round jumping on and off, three long haired guys play guitar on the amphitheater like steps and the whole wide world seems content. 

Practice ends and Che rushes up for a hug just as Sarah returns with our special picnic dinner prepared exclusively for us by this week’s celebrity guest Chef at “The Restaurant Wendy’s on 65th.”

Finding a picnic table, we feast!

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone,” my wonder of a woman asks sipping a hand cut fry in specially packaged ketchup.  

Che’s mouth is completely filled with a dinosaur shaped chicken nugget so she’s quiet for the moment.  

“I had the damndest conversation,” I grin.

“Tell me,” she smiles inquisitively. 

So I do, and we laugh, wondering how she knows about my cancer, why she thinks I’m hiding anything and how it makes us brave. 

Che wants to hit the playground before we leave so we quickly clean up and make our way towards things that used to be normal. 

Nothing’s normal in our world anymore. 

I suppose not much is normal in anyone’s. 

If you’re going to have a picnic in this life, well, you just have to be brave enough to make it. 

Skipping to Live

“Da, I had the best dream! It was me and you and Saylor and Aiden and we were running and laughing! It was the best dream!”

Her broad smile flashes through pillow skewed hair blanketing her face before she breaks into a yawn. 

It’s a few minutes before 6 a.m. and I’m smiling from the side of her bed in the glow of the multicolored dancing nightlights. 

“Can I skip school today?” she asks, head collapsing back into her pillow. “Mom said I can.”

Our daughter has been a pre-school student for almost 3 months and is already skipping. 

“She gets it honestly,” I laugh to myself remembering all the wonderful times I had regularly ditching academic expectations. 

“No,” I firmly tell her.  “School today! Here’s your uniform.  What would you like for breakfast?”

School has restored some semblance of, I’m not certain of the right word, respite, from the constant interruptions and demands of raising a child in this pandemic saddled world.  

Sarah needs the time to sit without everyone needing something at the same time when she’s already behind on her carefully planned day.  

I need it because, well, I’m tired.  

Don’t get me wrong, Sarah’s tired too.  We’re exhausted.  There’s never a break and time alone’s simply cannibalized by unrelenting demands or dark thoughts.   

Cass, the self isolated 14 year old, gets herself up and off to Savannah Arts Academy independently only making lots of noise and a mess.  

Che and I go through the motions of a regular school morning.  

Sarah floats in for coffee. 

“Can I skip school Mom?”

As I’m explaining that it’s not an option, I hear Sarah spell that she’s “F-I-N-E” with it and I shut up. 

Che stops talking too, looking expectantly at me. 

Sarah’s eyes meet mine and we acknowledge knowing the same thing without using words.  

Our little girl just needs some time with Mom and Dad today. 

“Sure,” I concede, not disappointed at all. 

Sometimes, you just have to stop and give everything you have to what you love most and today Che just wants Mommy and Daddy!

So we’re skipping!

It’s working out okay for me.  

I’m high, laying on the sofa with Che watching “A Babysitter’s Guide to Monster Hunting,” drinking Yoo-hoo and eating the magic marshmallows in “Lucky Charms.”

It’s not a bad way to have stage 4, pancreatic cancer.  

Every night these days

I’m up every night dealing with the gross side effects of my fight to kill the cancer before it proceeds killing me. 

It’s not a big deal. 

Just the price for still being here, I suppose.

I’ve always been an early riser, morning kind of guy anyway. 

My day starts late at night just after falling into deep sleep, my stomach gurgles, queasiness hits hard and leaping out of bed, I rush to the bathroom. Directly after I shower, I quickly dress because I already have to go to again. 

I rush to the other bathroom, then into the living room where I sit as long as I can before returning to the bathroom.

That’s pretty much the rest of the night until about an hour after the sun rises. 

I try to be quiet so Sarah can sleep.  

She tells me I fail. 

I keep trying anyway. 

She so needs the rest.  

Some nights though, magic happens. 

“Da!” a tiny voice calls out in the darkness. 

Rushing to her room, desperately trying not to drag my feet across hard wood floors because the girls say I wake them up, I find our little girl. 

Most nights, I give her something to drink, kiss her forehead and she immediately drifts back to sleep. 

On other nights she says she’s scared so I do my best to calm her down and, when all else fails, let her watch TV if she promises to stay in bed.

If she sees I’m already dressed she follows me into the living room where she snuggles beside me.  We talk softly, play games, watch videos, TikTok and enjoy the dawn of a new day, even with my constant disruptions to run to the bathroom. 

Lately, Che’s perfected knowing exactly when my stomach first gurgles her eyes are to open. 

By the time I’m in the shower, she’s at the foot of our bed saying, “Mom! I slept all night! Time to get up.”

Sarah sleepily tries to get Che to crawl in bed but when I open the bathroom door, our daughter delightfully screams, “SURPRISE DAD!”

I can’t help but giggle.  

Shoving her ahead of me, we rush into the kitchen while Sarah fights to reclaim sleep.  

In the middle of often incredibly difficult and undignified living, there are surprising delights, kicking cracks in the darkness we live in so the light gets inside. 

And some nights, like this one, Sarah gets to sleep after I get up and Che slumbers through the night.  

I get scared sometimes. 

Who wouldn’t?

Then, in spite of how difficult and undignified I am, I sneak into the darkness to make certain Sarah’s sleeping.  

Then I creep into Che’s room.  

Sometimes you just have to make sure.  

Especially, when it’s what gets you through the night.

Every night these days. 

. 

Fighting to keep up

Sarah has an incredible knack for choosing family excursions that are pure “Americana” slices of life.  

A laser light show at an off road, country Drive-in Theater!

A Harvest Moon celebration on a working farm that includes a cannon that shoots rotten tomatoes!

An enchanted “Trick-or-Treat” with creatures inhabiting the marshes of Outland Island!

My wife constantly blows me away!

I’m going to keep sharing my undying devotion of UGA football with her until she loves it as much as I love her family exclusions.

As wonderful as these times are, the great simple joys that make living most delightful, full of laughter and wonder with those you love most, the fight to live never stops.

The “Trick or Treating” through the Marshes of Oatland Island leaves me lagging far behind Che dressed as Sally from “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” who’s pulling her Mom along towards the next enchanted creature.

Sarah constantly throws concerned glances over her shoulder to see how I’m doing.

It’s tough not being able to keep up.

It seems I was able to keep pace last year but now lose ground though I was sick most of last year so who knows if I’ve lost anything?

As much as I fight to keep up, and live in the moment with my family, I seem to fall further out of step.

Sarah’s concerned glances grow more frequently each day.

Che excitedly rushes towards the magical mysteries waiting to be discovered in the very next moment of living!

Sarah tries to celebrate the moment with her while looking worriedly at how far I’ve fallen behind.

I catch up just in time to see Che hugging a giant bunny goodby and dragging her Mom down the orange and black lights on the path, yelling “C’mon Da!”

I have to stop to catch my breath and a couple of tears of frustration.

I haven’t lost sight of life but there is this dreadful sense that, in spite of heroic effort on my part, I’m falling out of step with it.

“You okay?” Sarah asks, her head thrown back in my direction as Che excitedly pulls her further down the path.

I nod, try to smile, and watch them disappear around the bend.

When they do, I stop walking, bend over, place my hands on my knees, catch my breath and a few tears.

Another family passes me so I summon my energy and lumber forward.  

I catch up when it’s over though I’m proud to have snapped a lot of photos of Che and enchanted creatures in the Marsh. 

“What were you doing on your phone?” Sarah asks. “Who were you texting?”

“Nobody,” I answer. “You, I guess,” as I’d sent her the pictures that prove I was there.  

When we get home, we’re exhausted while Che’s on a sugar high and it takes another hour to get her in bed.

Sarah and I collapse on the sofa. 

The television’s on though both of us surf our phones for a while.  She’s working on something.  I’m just surfing. 

I rub her feet. 

The dog takes her place between us in the sofa.  

They watch a show as I fall asleep. 

Waking, Sarah and I talk while preparing for bed and, sliding under the covers, I’m so grateful for having been gifted another day. 

I tried my best to capture it all and though I didn’t get it all, I got more than enough to be thankful as Hell and just as hopeful Heaven comes on earth again tomorrow.  

Mercifully, she had a nightmare!

Mercifully, Che had a nightmare.

"Can you do it?" Sarah mumbles through the darkness from her side of the bed, but I'm already heaving myself up to tend to our little girl.

"Da!," she says, hugging her baby and blanket, "some man tried to take me and you kept saying, "Give me my kid back! Give me my kid back!" but you weren't able to but Mom did so it's okay. It wasn't really a bad dream."

Shaking my head, I sigh.

I'm no longer the superhero in my little girl's world.

It's always Mom who saves the day!

It's true too because the wonder of a woman who married me makes the world safe and working for each of us.

The regular nighttime queasiness hits and I rush to the bathroom, contend with emptying syndrome, retching and nausea. Timing my shower between the first and second episode, I dress as quickly as possible to be available to Che in case she wakes and let Sarah sleep.

Before opening the bathroom door, I hear them talking in bed. Che's explaining her not-so-bad dream to Wonder Woman.

Che follows me to the living room, carrying her baby and dragging her blanket, and lays her head in my lap.

It's 3:47 in the morning.

Che has school when the morning comes but she refuses to leave. "If you're on the sofa then why can't I be on the sofa with you?"

For three hours we cuddle, interrupted by numerous bouts of emptying syndrome, nausea and retching. 

"DA!" she sighs in frustration but she waits for me each time and we resume our positions.

"Che," I say, tickling her, "c'mon, I need you to help me smoke!"

She follows me as through a Nurse and as I hit the pipe, she giggles before proclaiming, "Make more clouds Daddy!"

Inside we resume our cuddling and for the first time in 3 hours the nausea evaporates and I feel in command of my body for the first time today.

The sun comes up. Sarah gracefully floats into the kitchen for breakfast, immaculately dressed and focused on a day full of work from home. Che rushes off so her Mom helps with her hair.

I smoke more weed and count my blessings.

Most nights, I fight through the impacts of chemo alone and in the dark but tonight, in the soft blue light of our flat screen, our little girl kept me company.

Her Mommy saved her yet again from the evils of the world and, because she did, I got 4 hours of pure, unfiltered, constant and tangible love to hold, touch, smell, and repeatedly kiss.

It's tough not being the superhero but it's pretty obvious those days are over for me.

Sarah already had way more super powers than I ever did anyway!

I ain't gonna lie, this part of "managing" my cancer is hard!

Che leaps on the sofa, bright red lipstick on her perfectly, angelic face with blue eyes glistening full of life and excitement.

"Let's wait outside Daddy," she excitedly says, sliding into her oversized backpack and grabbing my hand.

On the way out, Wonder Woman flies by, kisses me on the lips while making her way to the coffee, and says, "I'll join y'all in a few minutes."

Sitting on a table, my skinny legs dangle in space under the canopy of blank, blue, canvas of unpainted sky, watching Che rush to her friends walking to school past our house.

End of the Bucket List

Sarah took me to NYC for a few days. Her parents live across the Hudson in Cliffside Park so it's great just being part of a neighborhood when we're there. 

Plus, lot was riding on the trip due to concern over my reconstructed internal system handling changes in gravity! 

No problem, thank God and hope remains for me to travel out of the country once more (and never come back this time).

One of the great perks of having Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer is people who love you do nice things on a whim to show it.

I'd mentioned when Gary and Sandy visited our house that if I ever get the chance, I'd like to visit Asbury Park, NJ so, once we land and arrive at their marvelous apartment, they tell me we're hitting the Beach the next day.

Prepared with a playlist of Steven Van Zant, Southside Johnny and Bruce Springsteen, I am beyond excited!

AND, I haven't been to the Beach all year, a sad testimony to my state of affairs, given it's only a 15 minute drive from home and we have a parking pass.

Sarah and I stroll the Boardwalk, tour the Convention Center, see The Stoned Pony, Madam Marie's and hit the Beach!

Che plays blissfully in the Ocean with Sarah's folks.

I'm unprepared for the beauty of Asbury Park's thousand restored Oceanfront Victorian Homes but see it for myself standing in the middle of E Street where the band took it's name from.

We find a Deli for lunch before making our way back into Gotham.

I'm exhausted though extremely grateful for the adventure, spending the next several days wondering why we never went there before? The Jersey shore has so much more than New York City could ever compete with!

We get immersed in Van Gough the next day on a real date, something Sarah's waiting to do for what seems like ever.

Sarah and I are never really alone.

There's always a kid around, each with an incredible knack of showing up whenever Sarah and I are alone together, so it's a big deal to be on a date!

We take our time strolling through neighborhoods near the docks, eat lunch on a Manhattan roof top garden off Times Square and hold hands on the subway.

"It is good to love many things," Vincent once said, "for therein lies strength, and whoever loves much, performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done with love is well done."

Sarah does most everything well.

She accomplishes most everything she puts her mind to.

She out performs her peers.

She's a strong ass woman in lots of different ways.

And she very much loves me, among lots of other things.

And I very much love her.

And it's good to date this late in life!

Maybe you should consider it?

Regardless, the biggest thing I look forward to these days are dates with my wife.

So I spend lots of times imagining our dates as I recover from whatever-it-is-now, training for them every day I walk outsides, eat often to regain the 20 pounds I lost, think lustful thoughts and ponder my endurance.

It's a lot to live for and I sure as Hell ain't ready to miss these times out with my wife.

That's really the only thing left of my bucket list so I'm spending more time focused on it than much anything else.

She's busy holding our world together and I'm always busy healing, or not, but Sarah and I are two determined people and we've got more dates to enjoy together!

Bad Dreams

 

Che's woken with 2 nightmares so far.

"Dad!" she sleepily calls from underneath the turning colored lights on her ceiling.

Stumbling in the darkness, I clumsily grab her juice from the kitchen, rush to her room, kiss her forehead and tuck her back in.

"I had a bad dream Da-da," she explains turning under her blanket but grabbing my hand and squeezing.

Kissing her again, I shut her door and ponder in the pre-dawn day.

Peeking in our bedroom, Sarah sleeps and I don't want to bother her, she works so hard and does so much, so I close the door, head to the kitchen, turn on the coffee and hit the shower.

In a few hours, after walking Che to school, Sarah and I take off for the Mayo Clinic.

I don't know if this is why Che's having nightmares but can't help but wonder.

Our baby girl struggles when Daddy has to go to the Doctor.

Sarah had excitedly explained, "After school you can go to Vera's house and play until Mom and Dad get back."

"I don't want to go to Vera's house! Why can't she come to my house?"

Sarah hugs her, explains why and Che lost interest for a game of Roblox on the phone.

Sipping coffee now, I wonder if she's processing it all while she sleeps?

Neither Sarah nor I are excited about these next steps in our journey. Anxiety's grown daily. It's nothing we can name but both feel it gnawing at our joy.

"Da!" 

Awake now, sun steaked blond hair askew in every direction, sleepy Angel eyes the size of moons peer from under the bright colors of her nightlight, she says, "I don't want to go to school today."

Smiling, I hug her tight, feeling hot tears stream down my face, and tell her, "I know." 

Our day begins.

These sad times

Kenny talks loudly in the Produce section at Publix. "How you doing Mike?"

"Well, I'm dying Kenny?"

"WELL JESUS CHRIST MIKE!! THANKS FOR RUINING IT FOR THE REST OF US!"

The look on everyone’s face.  

The produce section is deathly quiet.  

Then Kenny tells me he’s coming off COVID and rushes away.

No one moves as he strolls away happily singing out loud.  

It's our 4 year old daughter, Che, who breaks the pregnant silence.

"Who's dat ol' Granddad, Dad?" she asks sitting behind the wheel of the green, race stripped kid's cart.

When I say, "Kenny, Kenny, Kenny" it's drowned out by a cacophony of fruits and vegetables wrapped in plastic hitting the bottom of baskets. 

Rushing home, I can't wait to tell Sarah!

She laughs.

I laugh again telling the story.

We laugh together!

God it feels good to laugh!

There's not enough to laugh in the world anymore, not just for those of us waging wars against Cancer, but everyone, everywhere, is struggling to find joy and meaning. 

We've entered into a time of global sadness.

Laughter remains the best medicine but, politicians and religious leaders are proving successful in making it illegal.

While we know it’s not true, though it seems so to us, Sarah are I were among the first entries into the global sadness we all now share.

Cancer always gets you bumped to the front of the line!

These last few years have been hard and we are tired.

As sad as our world sometimes is, Sarah and I fight like Hell to find something to laugh at together every day!

It's hard work anymore because the whole damn world is so sad.

God knows we fight, each in completely different yet perfectly complimentary ways, to keep living together together because, in spite of scientific evidence to the contrary, my wife and I have no plans to separate under any circumstances.

On the rarest of occasions we share tears. 

This only happens on the highest of Holy days, when neither of us have anything left and we hold on tight because there's literally nothing else to hold onto.

Mostly it's Che, the revolutionary giver of life to those who feel it slipping away, we focus on.

She makes laughter.

A chip off the old block, I suppose, because "Sarah", in ancient Hebrew, means to laugh, and our little girl makes us cackle every single day,

Truth of the matter is we're not focusing on the rest of the world right now.

We work hard to prevent the great cancerous sadness forever growing to infect how we live every single day.

We spend far too much time fighting for good health care in the world's richest country, COVID spikes, school cancelations, the daily erosion of civil rights, depression and the awful conclusion is to live is to fight, which is, of course, no way to live.

It's exhausting.

But when we find joy, and laughter comes, and a sad day becomes a magnificent one, even if only for a second, well, that's worth keeping up the fight.

If we laugh together, we live. 

Otherwise we fight just to fight, which is where the world is right now.

Sarah and I spend whatever time we have looking to feel so good, love so much, laugh so loud and rest with contentment and, maybe every once in a while, a tiny bit of peace. 

It’s not a bad way to live.

It's not a bad way to live in such a sad, sad, world.

Funny as Hell

 Running his fingers across my stomach he smiles.

“That looks good.” he says with devilish eyes.

Sarah nods from a distance. 

In another corner, an Asian woman with long blue hair sits quietly watching.  

Caught up in the moment, I smile with moist eyes.  

The world stops spinning for a second. 

“Yeah that’s a nice scar,” my oncologist says standing up. 

“It is isn’t it?” My wife beams, still getting over the breakup with our surgeon. 

The Intern silently claps but remains seated.  

Laughing, I hit "Send" and wait to see if Sarah responds.

I never know if my wife's going to respond or not because if she thinks whatever I share is stupid, or she doesn't understand, she won't dignify me with a response.

That just makes me try harder.

The phone buzzes and I jerk it off the table.

“Your side sure,” Sarah replies, "mine would start, 'how can you not love a bald guy who compliments your long flowing hair'?"

Erupting into deep laughter I rush to our room, where she's resting, to laugh with her.

"We're so funny," I giggle.

"I am," she answers, straight faced but with dancing blue green eyes.

We've just returned from the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, FL where I expected to see a giant jar of lit Mayonnaise revolving on top on a Hospital.

Equally as brilliant as her daughter, Sarah's Mom's already watched a Youtube Video on the Amazing Mayo Brothers of Sueur, Minnesota, Will and Charlie.

I am humbled by these men's accomplishments, legacies and current best practices.

Sarah and I are processing our first visit.

After an exhausting morning, making certain Che's routine of Public School Pre-K after a year of lock down, her Mom's determined her life's going to be "normal,” we made the 2 hours to Jacksonville  

Laurel, our 17 yr old full time College student who hasn't graduated from High School yet, got up early to up accomplish Che's "normalcy" by disrupting her own.

Anyway, the Mayo Clinic is great!

We're going back next week!

So much for Laurel's schedule getting back to normal soon.

In the scheme of things, nothing's changed. I still have Cancer that's growing and surgery's no longer an option. Thankfully, neither is Chemo. There are other things with side affects though we understand as the next step in, well, keeping things like they are.

I like things like they are. 

I listen to good music. Drink some Rum. Smoke lots of weed. Sit beside Che every second I can. Laugh at Laurel's latest scheme. Wonder how much food Cassidy's taking from our house to her father's house because she doesn't like the food choices there. Marvel at my wife's craziness, brilliances and, I admit it, the woman is funny as Hell!

"Let's write a blog together," I suggest.

"I can't write with you," my beautiful wife grins, "you make up too much shit.”

My wife’s funny as hell I tell ya. 

Funny as Hell, I tell you.  

The Big Showdown's Coming

WYELP! 

Here I am.

Fighting Cancer.

Well, Cancer's doing most the fighting.

I'm not exactly a pacifist but truthfully I haven't contributed very much.

Sure I do my part, taking numerous vitamins someone swears helps cure cancer, smoking copious amounts of weed and listening to really good music.

Like continuously listening to the Jam George Harrison and Eric Clapton break into in the outtake of "Hear Me Lord" on the 50th Anniversary edition of "All Things Must Pass" that really should have been on the final mix of the original album!

That's pretty much me fighting cancer.

Well, I take Lainey for a walk every day.

Happily high as a kite, I shuffle down the sidewalk, snapping my fingers, absolutely stunned at the original version of "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft" by "Klaatu" that our Dalmatian actually walks me until I suddenly wonder how I got home so fast?

The printer sprints out endless pages documenting surgeries, body imaging, scans, test results and medical notes.

Sarah dashes in and out, grabbing pages while participating in an online training required by her work, as she continues building the file for my referral to the Mayo Clinic.

Now my wife is waging one Hell of a Battle against my cancer!

"You know," she says, "our life does not need to revolve around cancer" but try as we may, it does seem to dominate everything.

Sarah's been looking forward to a 5K at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida for the past two years. It's in 2 weeks. My initial appointment at the Mayo Clinic is the week before. It's impossible for us to do both.

Life is so unfair!

Physically, everyone says I look great!

My most successful contributions in the battle with cancer have centered around recovery.

All I do is perpetually recover!

It's the mental war against a relentless, ever advancing foe, that takes it's toil. Cancer demands attention while Sarah and I squeeze life out of every single moment.

Something's going to snap.

But it won't be Sarah.

She doesn't take things, I'm uncertain of how to best explain, passively. 

Oh she seems passive receiving terrible news but don't be fooled, she's calculating, and within seconds she'll have a plan designed to deal with whatever's, again I search for words, "slowing her down."  

So you have to see things from my perspective.

There's a big showdown coming!

On one side is cancer.

I'm on the other side.

Sarah's between us.

I'm not going anywhere until I see how this ends!

My money's on my wife!

Well, and me, of course.

Swan Song

Every single one of my endings caught me by surprise.

I'm determined to never let that happen again.

Time is on my side.

Let's be honest. 

There's no such thing as a great ending. 

If endings were so great everybody would do 'em again. 

No one's ever ended anything more than once though many keep trying, still figuring out what exactly brought things to a halt in the first place.

Sometimes it's hard to move on.

I get that.

I get it more than I've ever gotten it in my life!

I’m certainly not in a hurry to move on but sense it happening anyhow.

But dammit! I see it coming and I'm not going to be surprised this time!

Sarah and I have just finished the loveliest lunch. 

She had warm buttered and salted bread while I had a doctored up frozen Nathan's Hot Dog with spicy mustard. She had Ginger Ale. I had a "Becks" in a frosty mug.

It took about 15 minutes as Sarah's waited on work calls and I'd just finished smoking weed.

Let me pause for a moment to say that if you have cancer and it's killing you, I recommend Marijuana, regardless of it's legality in your world/country/state/city/church/civic club/chat group or cliché.

I am testifying now with the LORD as my witness, the shit works!

Anyway, Che's at school, as is Cassidy and Laurel's at work as their Mom crams 3 days of work into a single morning, while shopping for school clothes, paying bills, planning a surprise trip and ordering books from the Library.

But in these moments it's just the two of us.

We eat and laugh.

Cancer, COVID, Children, Civics and Costa Rica comprise our conversation.

We don't care.

Her phone buzzes and she dashes to her work space.

I recently read when a Swan sings, it's most beautiful before they die. 

Their Swan Song.

In our culture, it's come to mean taking the last trip around, the final curtain call, the last bow.

I know it's where I am right now.

Life can't possibly get more beautiful than this.

Breaking Up with our Surgeon

"My time with you has come to an end..." he says, crossing his left leg over his right, "there is nothing left for me to do for you right now..."

We sit in silent shock as he is filling out the referral back to the oncologist.

I do not think either of us thought about this news in our journey.

All I can do is look at his hands.

Hands that held my husbands life in them---- three different times.

Hands that removed cancer, removed organs and rearranged my honeys inside so that he could still be here.

He skirted hospital protocol so I could visit with my honey after ten hours of surgery.

He said "I'll take care of that too..." when others claimed "inoperable."

He called us on the weekend to share the latest results.

He answered his cellphone every time we called.

He listened as we asked loads of questions.

He printed out things before I asked because he knew I would want to add them to my "Mike's care notebook."

He showed up when nurses said "surgeons don't come in here."

He made us feel special.

And he shared his own story with us, as he added chapters to ours.

"I feel like he just broke up with us!" I whisper to Mike.

Who knew breaking up with your surgeon would be so sad!?!

But thank you Chris for giving me more time with my honey here.

And I hope to never see you again.

Unless we stumble upon you dancing in the streets of Miami.

~!written by Sarah Elliott

Easy to pick out

"Okay! This time! I don't think you're capable of the next one. Never mind. You can't do it," I say dismissively waving my hand."

"I CAN TOO DADDY" Che defiantly shoots back.

"You cannot," I answer taking my eyes off our excited tanned, baby-turned-little-girl and gazing at the perfectly quaint water park my wife found us a last minute deal to execute an escape.

God we needed an escape!

Che stomps her feet in the water, marches straight to me, splashes water in my face, grabs my cheeks, stares directly into my eyes, breaths hot air at me and yells, "I CAN TOO!" 

"Fine," I say uncaringly. "If you want to try. No girls ever done it before though."

"DADDY!" she screams!

"Okay," I answer disinterested, "Swim under those three fountains without getting wet, then stick your face DIRECTLY into those six fountains, and if you survive that," I grab her dripping face staring directly into her eyes, "WALK UNDER THOSE TWO DRIPPING MUSHROOM'S AND NOT TAKE YOUR HEAD OUT," I release her chin, "and if you can still breath, float on your back WITHOUT TURNING OVER until you touch my feet!"

"Watch this old man!" she determinedly grins, belly flopping into the pool.

Turning up my ear pods so "The Boat Drunks" sing about my friend the "Hollow Man," I watch Che strategically maneuver her head under spraying fountains and take a moment.

I hope Sarah's resting. Cassidy joined us at the last minute so when one child isn't clamoring for her Mother's attention, the other one is, and if they're not, then I usually am.

Her lone goal on this trip is to float alone down the Lazy River but it's not looking good so far.

A little blond hair boy excitedly jumps in the pool directly in front of me. disrupting my bliss.

A tiny boat in one hand, a dinosaur in the other and a Wonder Woman action figure in his mouth, the kid's all smiles.

A giant splash erupts at my feet as Che pops out the water grinning, grabbing me in the face, looking directly into my eyes, and yelling while water drips down her face, "I DID IT DA!"

In a nanosecond, spying the little boy, she’s in his face, saying something I don't comprehend, grabs the boat, takes off for the safety of the dripping mushrooms as the boy, breaks into a grin before chasing after her.

"I don't leak very much,"  the Hollow Man continues.

"A strong woman marches in, takes what she wants and walks away," a woman says. 

A short, beached blond hair, pasty white skin woman, wearing an orange-and-white bikini is grinning at me. She's about my age. Wears glasses. Her two front teeth have a gap between them and her lips never quite cover them when she closes her mouth.

"I'm sorry," I say, understanding it's me she's talking to.

"Your granddaughter ..." she begins.

"MY DAUGHTER," I snap.

Her bottom lip covers what the top lip doesn't.

"You gotta be careful of girls like that," she goes on.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, I can pick em out," she explains. "They wear leopard skin print bikinis'."

"Really?" I answer simultaneously stifling a laugh.  

"Oh yeah! Easy to spot."

It takes everything inside of me to not fall face down in the pool laughing.

Che's playing with all of the toys beside the six splashing fountains as the boy searches for them and his grandmother's suddenly concerned my daughter's not giving them back.

I laughingly make my way over and hurriedly retrieve the toys from Che, who shrugs her shoulder and keeps playing without them.

I rush to get back to Sarah on the other side of the pool.

Tossing the toys to the grandmother, she smiles as I laughingly make my way to my wife, quickly plop beside her and tell her way just happened.

My girl in the leopard print bikini and I hug and laugh like crazy for all the world to see. 

“What’s so funny?” Cass asks, lounging in her own chair, also wearing a leopard print bikini.  

A dying man wonders what’s on Netflix?

"Do you feel like you're dying?" she asks after we've collapsed on the sofa, just after dark, and Che's gone to sleep.

Laurel's at work and Cassidy's at her Dad's so it's just us.

She's leaned her head on my shoulder, a rare thing because Sarah spends the first hour of nightly "Couch Time" either working or managing thousands of things I blissfully am completely unaware.

The second hour we normally watch something on Netflix, talk about the day during our nightly routines, collapse in bed where I immediately fall asleep while my wife reads for another hour.

Unless Laurel's home.

All bets are off if Laurel's home!

If she's home early, she dominates the couch, speaks in tongues without ceasing, prevents Sarah from taking care of business and me concentrating. If she's home late, she'll crawl in bed with us to relay whatever it is that's important at the moment, which is, of course, everything!

But tonight it's just us and my wife's head's resting on my shoulder.

We're so tired.

Everything takes monumental effort.

I know she wants to dive into her work, help Maddie plan the move into her new apartment, answer Cassidy's latest crisis or planning trips for us sometime in the future which she enjoys doing most.

This time of night, sitting beside Sarah, mindlessly watching Netflix, coming down from the "high" that got me through another day, is when I'm most relaxed and resting.

We're both so jealous for this time that we rarely disrupt our beloved routine so it's pretty seismic if my girl's head is on my shoulder.

I love the smell of her hair, how it falls over my shoulder too with her head this way and words to a song float through my head, Blondie's "warm and soft, in the flesh.”  Sarah hasn’t cut her hair in forever, carrying the burdens of its weight and never quite drying around because she loves me. She knows I love her hair. 

"I dunno," I say feeling so completely one with her at the moment that there's no thinking, just honest answers. 

"I don't feel like I'm dying. I don't want to ever feel that way. But everything's different."

"How?" she asks.

When Sarah's voice is soft, Angels cry because they know defeat when they hear it.

I am so in love.

"I don't know," I finally say.

Honest answers hang in the air.

"I'm gonna treat you like you're well because I don't know what else to do," are her words.

And all the emotion comes out of me with tears so mighty Mack Kitchens would kite sail around the world sending back the best damn little videos.

The answers are gone and only honesty remains.

The simplest, messiest, wet, sloppy, not-quite-on-the-mouth-but-not-quite-off-either, best fucking kiss of my life happens next.

The Kingdom of God comes on earth as it is in Heaven!

We both exhale deeply.

Sarah slides over picking up the remote.

I cover with the blanket.

Lainey lays between us.

Who cares what's on Netflix?

Terminal Dating

And POOF!!

Our little girl is gone!

Confidently strolling down the long hallway of Marshpoint Elementary School, blazing blue moon eyes full of wonder, Che only looks back when the instructor orders, flashing the quickest of waves, purposely storming forward into her future.

It's her Mom Che wants at the last moment before entering, holding her tight, pleading, the slightest tinge of fear in her eyes. 

Soft, thundering encouraging words ensue from the wonder of a woman huddling over the last vestiges of our baby to become a little girl.

When Sarah lets Che's hand go, our girl walks in the school like she's owns it.

I'm a proud witness of a daughter's deep unspoken bond with her Mother, something I'm so grateful they'll always share, especially when I'm not around.

I'll be honest though, it's hard.

A crazy gumbo of emotions engulf me though it's surreal, I watch from the Valley of the Shadow of Death as almost an Angel, perhaps Ghostlike, and I hold it together.

It seems akin to an out-of-body experience!

I'm certainly here, watching Sarah huddle protectively as Clare casts off the last of the eggshells holding her back to who she's been until now.

I feel my wife's enthusiasm walking home from the school, pumping her fist heavenward, thanking God the pandemic's under control enough to get kids back in school!

My own overarching desire to be free from obligations to simply date Sarah swells and I even tell her, though we're rushing home to have time. 

Once home the time's eaten  by Sarah's work, my Doctor's appointments, Laurel and Cass's schools and short term planning because long term's simply not realistic at this time.

She and I are in a hurry to date again.

There were too many children involved when we were courting. 

Now we want to date without kids.

Life's both normal and terminal at the same time.

I'm not smart enough to understand how this is possible but Sarah and I are pulling it off!

Well, it's mostly Sarah who insists on "normal" and, thank God she does, because I seem to continue my terminal slide but she keeps it fun!

That's not to say Wonder Woman isn't occasionally Bat shit crazy, because she is, but there's never any question about her heart.

Whereas I'm almost always Bat shit crazy leaving nothing to wonder about and my heart's been forged stronger than ever before because love is all around.

I feel it in my fingers.

I feel it in my toes.

You know what that means!

IF, and that's a big "IF" because we got a lot of kids, so if we actually pull off a date, I hope I can feel the menu in my fingers.

And Sarah's toes on mine. 

This surreal feeling grows but love is all around me.

So these feelings grow.