The Best News of his day

 

"Look," Sarah grins, sitting beside me in the Mayo Clinic waiting room with a bell we've never heard rung, "most everyone's wearing flip-flops and tee shirts.  

I am in a funk and don't really hear my wife who's trying her best to pull me out of it. 

I don't want another damn Chemo shot!

They keep me alive by making me sick.  

I'm pretty sick of being sick. 

Sarah's exhausted caregiving without ceasing. 

Our life revolves around a shot every 28 days which is the only firm thing written in stone on Sarah's meticulously maintained calendar.  

Truth is we live life one unanticipated minute at a time.  

We make lots of plans that entertain us but are too busy dealing with the life we have before it disappears to actually carry out most of them though, God knows, Sarah tries.  

Minutes can disappear at any minute and we're keenly aware of it, desperately finding joy where we can, focusing on not waiting for a later that may not come. 

For months now I've poked fun at my monthly pain in the ass, literally, by dressing down for my Chemo shot while everyone else dresses up!

It's all about attitude, isn't that what they say?

Today I can't muster up attitude and Sarah's trying to drag me out of it. 

Eventually she does, as only she can, but it was several days later.  

Now I'm already wondering what to wear next time because I am not going to miss Sarah trying to be funny again!

It's hard pulling off finding or making fun during the best of circumstances and I'm determined to live for the joy surrounding me and celebrate it in real time.

There is no other time.  

"How about this?" I ask, wearing a t-shirt instructing us to choose, "Stage left" with an arrow pointing in one direction over an opposite line offering "Stage right."

She rolls the most beautiful eyes between crow's feet I've watched form and deepen because of me. 

Back at Mayo, no one notices my shirt because we're rushing around cramming 2 days worth of appointments into 1 culminating with the Doctor who tells us how I'm doing.  

"The good news is the cancer's stopped growing. The bad news is a side effect of your shot is you now have diabetes. This cannot be fixed by diet and exercise but we can give you a daily pill to take, which of course may cause other side effects.”

Sarah dissects our Oncologist with questions  like a scalpel slicing skin.

We further learn my white blood cells are exploding in number when they should be stabilizing. He talks about his suspicions and orders more test.

I get another shot. 

They take more blood. 

Driving home, Sarah eats a Dairy Queen concoction as I munch on boiled peanuts though we're having a hard time because we're laughing so hard.

"He sure was proud the cancer stopped growing wasn’t he?" Sarah giggles.  

"Yep," I laugh. "Did his job. Another's Doc's problem for the Diabetes. He'll get back to us on that other matter."

We grow quiet passing Darien. 

"I love our Doctor," she says.  

"Me too," I agree. 

"Did you see how he thanked us at the end.  He said his whole day had been telling people bad news and this is the first good news he's told anyone."

"If we're the highlight of his day, a lot of people had some really shitty ones."

Sarah holds my hand and we drive home in silence.  

My Judgment Day

"I don't know God. How do you think I did?"

God stares at me like I'm an idiot.

 

So does literally everybody I've even come close to knowing in life! Forget about 7 degrees of separation, every single person I've ever seen in life is staring at me too so I'm really on the spot to come up with an answer.

"I don't know," I mutter, staring at my bare feet hanging 10 off a puffy, white cloud in a deep, blue sky with nothing underneath. "I did alright, I guess."

The silence is deafening as I stand in front of the largest crowd I've ever seen, each staring at me along with God herself who apparently has all of the time in the Universe waiting on me to tell everyone how I believe I did.

"He did great!" someone yells from a couple of miles back in the crowd.

"Yes Jimmy," God says, and instantly Jimmy Morrell's standing beside me.  

Tall, skinny as a rail, crazy long brown hair that goes wherever it wants, Jimmy looks just like he did when we were in Groves High School. It's been near 20 years since he died so I'm a bit taken back that he's here!

"Go ahead," God smiles beatifically and the deep blue sky turns lighter and, I don't know, more airy if that makes any sense.

"Mike lives life hard and fast," he begins and my stomach is churning crazily as I recall the last time we saw each other over lunch at Johnny Harris' Restaurant decades earlier. 

I was cocky as Hell in those days and can't remember the details of our conversation, only that I was very happy we'd had met afterwards.

"There weren't many stones Mike didn't look under in his life, even those he should have left alone."

"Shit!" I mutter.

"What?" Jimmy asks.

"Never mind," God says. "Anything else Jimmy?"

"Yeah," Jimmy now mumbles, looking at his own bare feet, and wistfully adds, "I wish I'd turned over more rocks."

God smiles and hugs Jimmy, "What are you talking about?" she laughs. "You were great! The way you took care of your Mom! Gave your own life away for her."

I don't know what to do so, I join God and hug Jimmy too.

"Let's proceed," God announces and I see Jimmy waving at me from a couple of miles back in the crowd, standing beside Wayne Sears, and I'm wondering where's my Dad?

"It's rare someone does that," God informs me. "You should count yourself as blessed."

"What are you talking about?" I exclaim. "I've had the most blessed life ... so far!! You crazy telling me that! I know what a great life I had!"

God bursts out laughing and several million in the crowd join her. If you've ever been laughed at publically you know it's tough. Thankfully I've had lots of experience so it doesn't bother me too bad though it still stings.

"What about the bad things?" God asks, leaning back on her throne, grinning.

"Yeah, well, I don't know God," I stammer. "Shit happens!"

Laughter erupts again and God is doubled over and the noise is the most joyful sounds I've ever heard.

Wiping tears from her eyes, still grinning God stares again, continuing. "What about the bad things you did?"

"Yeah," I mutter and confess, "I think about that a lot. I used to never think about it but, lately, it's like everything I ever did that wasn't my best haunts me. It's not that I regret them but I know I could have done better. I should have done better! I don't think there's anything you can do to punish me more than I've already punished myself."

God burst out laughing again so, of course, the whole damn multitude joins in and I'm embarrassed.

"Well then," God grins again, dragging a sleeve from the whitest robe I've ever seen across her nose, " are you finished then?"

"Finished what?"

"Living."

"Hell no," I exclaim. "Sarah's probably wondering where I am. I gotta get home before Che wakes up."

"Okay then," God thunders, "you have a little more time. Don't screw it up. If you don't, then when you come back in a little while you can by-pass 'Judgment' and go to the much shorter, 'Preferred Enrollee' line" and claps her hand so loudly I close my eyes.

Opening them, I see the clock on the stove flashes 4:55 am in the darkness. A cold cup of coffee rests on the table beside me. Carole King sings she's "been to Canaan and won't rest until she goes back again" in my earbuds. Lainey sleeps under my bare, dangling feet at the dining room table. Sarah, Che and Cass are sleeping in their bedrooms.

I sit prayer like in the afterglow of, I don't know, a light and airy satisfaction that there's nothing to be angry or judgmental over. 

It's peaceful for a several long, slow, delightful minutes until Lainey farts, jerking me out of this reverie and I use the Lord's name in vain.

Carole stops singing and, in the silence, I hear Che call, "Da!"

An un-romanticized Father's Day

 

"My Dad loved this song, and after a very tumultuous upbringing, in fact we got along best after I moved out, we grew to sing together and love one another dearly!"

I sing "Will the Circle be unbroken?" leading the Bar Church Band and the whole congregation sings along smiling.

"My Dad and I never really saw eye to eye,"  he explains before launching into the next song, "but I love him anyway and this is for him.

The applause is louder than for "Will the Circle be unbroken?" and the song he's singing has nothing to do with Father's Day. 

"Well, my old man was just a mean SON-OF-A-BITCH!" 

The other singer announces and the congregation erupts, cheering, standing and clapping. I mean the Bar really goes nuts! People are laughing, hitting one another on the back and worship breaks into a deeper realm, where I've never been before.

That was a powerful learning moment!

Father's Day isn't everything it's cracked up to be for a lot of folks.

"MOM!" Che screams, piercing the darkness, and I spill coffee rushing from the kitchen where I've been up for a while.

Hair askew from her pillow, our little girl clutches "Baby" and tells me she's scared. Throwing her arms tightly around my neck, I almost collapse with her weight, actually crashing into the wall twice but somehow manage to get her to the sofa, give her juice and she immediately falls back asleep. 

Pausing, I wonder if we woke Sarah or Cassidy but the house remains quiet as I watch our sleeping gypsy, wild love child.

We've so romanticized Father's Day.

It's just a major income producer for Hallmark anyway isn't it?

"Hey Da," Che excitedly screams from Michelle and Derick's swimming pool, "swim with me."

"Aw baby," my heart breaks as I answer, "Daddy can't right now."

"I got it!" Sarah says, effortlessly dropping the bags she's carried, removing her coverup and jumping in the pool where I watch Mother and daughter have the times of their lives.

That's an unromanticized view of Fatherhood!

So I'd like to stay unromantic for a moment and simply stick with the facts on this Father's Day.

Sarah does most of the heavy lifting of Dad-stuff at our house and I receive way more credit than I'm ever due.

That's just the honest truth!

So I want to wish Sarah the BEST FATHER'S DAY EVER!

Thank you Babes!

I couldn't do any of this without you!

Neither could Che.

Or Cassidy, Laurel and Maddie.

Or me.

Seizing Moments

 

I've had an amazing week!

My whole world begins and ends with Sarah so, of course, it all starts with her. 

"I don't feel like going out," I explain after she suggest meeting Derick and Michelle for drinks and to listen to world famous Joe Jarka.

Working the magic that only she can I find myself walking out the door, heading to Molly McGuire's.

The most delightful evening unfolds as we laugh as only friends can. Che delights in requesting songs and Joe masterfully delivers as the crowd jump up and move their feet.

And Sarah and I dance. 

Che rushes to the floor needing to be part and throws her tiny arms around our legs, which is precisely how we should be dancing. 

A smiling Michelle follows us too and snaps a picture.

I get to dance again with my beautiful wife, even if only a minute!

I'd all but given up hope of it ever happening again yet here I am!

The next day, I feel good enough to give in and finally grant Che's wish of a "Daddy/Daughter" date. It's been months since she and I have been able to go much anywhere by ourselves but at the moment I'm capable so we seize it too!

At Walmart, Che pushes the cart and we laughingly shop. 

Mark Lebos breezes by, waves, and I'm possessed to speak, joke and completely overdo personal interaction with another human being because I really am out of practice.

At check-out, the line is long, Che and I are laughing, oblivious to others while Beverly keeps running my card the machine keeps rejecting.

"Micheal," I hear from a lady with her own full cart, "I read all of your stuff! I love it! I'm going to Africa! I'm so excited! What's the problem? Here, let me do that!" and she slides her card, still hot from her own purchases through the machine continuing to talk, "Have you been to Africa yet?"

And I am amazed that she added the word "yet" as though Sarah and I simply haven't gotten around to it but should be soon.

Locking her arm in mine, she walks Che and I out discussing Africa when I suddenly stop and thank her for "paying it forward."

"Well, you didn't want to have to come back. Gas is too expensive for that!" she laughs, waving goodbye and taking off for the other side of the world.

Afraid I'll forget to tell Sarah, I ask Che to remind me when Mark Lebos air surfs by, smiling, waving, exclaiming it's good to see me and I'm touched by the miracles of these moments.

Later, at home, as Che plays outside with a friend, Sarah and I sit on the sofa scrolling our phones when I see on Facebook that Robin Wakefield has painted "Fran's 1000 shades of green."

Sarah and I introduced Robin to our back yard on Tybee Island years ago after I'd named it after a long deceased college friend who taught me "green" decades earlier. When we moved off island a few years back we left Fran there but now Robin's brought her back again as a celebration of good times that once were! What a gift!

If this weren't all enough, our new granddaughter was born.

"Join us at the Gym?" Sarah later ask the next day as she and Cassidy prepare to work out.

"Okay," I surprise myself answering, "but I need to take some medicine first."

Sarah rolls her eyes.

There's some nice pictures from our time at the Islands YMCA Gym.

We had a really good time, laughed a lot, saw our friend Leah who waved at us while leading aerobics causing the 20 or so in the class to wave too!

So much activity was bound to catch up and, sure enough, my energy crashes and I spend the next day sleeping so I can be up all night focusing on "other issues."

We're used to it though as it's our new normal.

I'm certainly unaccustomed to so much happening in such a short period of time.

The thing about living with Cancer, for me anyway, is keeping my pocket full of dreams, a heart full of hope and a, often begrudging, openness to finding joy in whatever comes next.

There are times though, high holy days really, when the joy comes to you.

It's just a matter of seizing it when it does. 

-- 

Micheal Elliott

Googling My Health

 

One of the main problems using Google to manage your health care, especially when it's precarious already, is conflicting answers to critical questions.  

For example, if you Google "getting high before working out" the top results conclude physicians urge extreme caution. 

On the other hand, Google "getting high before sex" and the top responses conclude it significantly enhances sexual experiences. 

See what I mean?

Sarah asked me to join her and Cass to work out at the YMCA, which led to my inquiries of the World Wide Web because not-getting-high-first was not an option. 

To show her solidarity to my commitment to better health, and health care in America for that matter, we wear complimentary shirts because it's important to take stands in this life!

And right now anyway, we're taking this one!

Dog Nurse

 

Most every day, Lainey takes me for a drag. I hold the leash and she pulls me wherever she wants me to go. 

Sarah is proud of me because I'm exercising when I'm actually holding on for dear life! 

It's nice to get outside though and see the sights, mostly surrounding our dog's butt, but I love Lainey dragging me down the street, through the woods to the lagoons teeming with turtles.  

Deep blue skies, cotton Candy clouds, sub-Tropical foliage brightly punctuate the forest of Evergreens and I'm overwhelmed by the LIFE exploding everywhere around me. 

Over the past 2 years since I've been sick, I've learned how Lainey takes care of me, just like everyone else in our house. 

On the days I can barely put one step in front of the other, she drags me to the football practice field bleachers not very far away so I can rest. 

When I'm ready she drags me to the baseball diamond on the other side of the school where there are more bleachers.

After gaining my wind, she drags me to soccer fields where there are more bleachers. If I'm lost in thought, or extremely high, and keep walking Lainey jerks backwards knowing I'll never make it without resting first.  

Conversely, if I sit to long, she jerks me up and drags me to the next designated rest area.

The dog has obviously been eavesdropping when Sarah's talking online Nursing classes and gives me the utmost care when she's in charge. 

Unless there's a squirrel. 

All bets are off if a squirrel darts across our path as Lainey gives chase, mindlessly dragging me along bumping trees, through underbrush and ditches. 

She drug me under a car once but seemingly realized what she'd done and immediately stopped to jump up on my chest and lick my face. 

Afterwards she drug me home.  

Once there she switches all of her love, adoration, locality and allegiance to Sarah and Che which is fine because it takes me an hour to recover our walks. 

 But I love this dog. 

She loves me too. 

After Sarah and Che. 

Just higher than squirrels. 

Catching Holy as it happens

Laying in the dark, staring at the soft, red numbers reading 4:02, I wonder if I should "try" to fall asleep again but my stomach's gurgling and I should be up anyway before I wake Sarah. 

A tiny silhouette carrying a blanket and a baby doll enters the room. 

"Get in with us," her Mom mumbles but I jump up, whisking Che out of the room. 

Unintelligible instructions follow us out as Sarah falls back asleep. 

Our daughter settles on the sofa telling me of scary dreams she can't recall. 

She tells me to wake her up "when it's time", whatever that means.  

"I miss Ethan," she says, laying her head in my lap. "When's he coming back?"

"Soon," I answer, rubbing her hair, having no idea when she'll she her nephew again. 

"I lub you Da," she grins, turning her attention to YouTube. 

Sometime, if you're lucky, you recognize holiness as it's happening. You hide such moments in your heart just like Mary did after the Magi inexplicably arrive bearing gifts because, one day, you're going to need them again. 

So my heart is full of holiness right now. 

It's a good thing I never wear shoes because I don't have to take them off because "this is Holy ground" and I whisper out loud, "Thank you Lord."

Che grins at me with pure love light in her eyes. 

"Let's take a morning selfie," I say, and we do.

Then we snuggle and laugh as we "kick the darkness till it bleeds light."

Home Health and me

Che and Ethan rush to check on me. 

Our daughter is dressed as a doctor carrying a plastic bag full of bandaids. Che introduces herself as the Doctor and her nephew as her Nurse. 

"How do you feel?" he asked. 

Freezing under an electric blanket on Memorial Day is not what we had planned but, here I am, chilled, sweating and shivering.

"Tired," I smile because it's impossible to not acknowledge joy when it slaps you in the face, regardless of how you feel.

Ethan writes this down while Che unwraps bandaids. 

Our grandson crawls beside me and asks if I'm tired. 

"Yep."

He writes it down as Che sticks a bandaid on my arm.

"Are you cold?" he asks, counting the number of blankets Sarah's thrown on top of me. 

Ethan has mastered a firm grasp of the obvious and I can't be prouder.  

When the examinations over, I'm covered in bandaids but, miraculously, feel better somehow.

The doorbell rings.

Aiden lives two doors down and can't get enough of Che and Ethan. 

He's all but moved in though Sarah and I keep throwing him out. 

They rush off to play in the backyard. 

Sarah sings softly, cooking dinner in the kitchen while I shiver under the blanket. 

Life is good!

Even when you feel bad. 

Writing LITE

Maddie, fresh from graduating the University of Georgia, Cum Lauda, in 3 years time, told me to "lighten up" when I write.

"Fine," I tell her. "You go ahead and send me the next 3 subjects and I will write about them."

Unless Maddie is ordering something off the menu and can't make a decision so she sends Sarah and I a text asking our thoughts, I'm unaccustomed to "writing on demand," but she's so smart and all, so I had to "man up" and challenge someone far smarter than I ever was.

So before Mad tells me what to write about, I'm beating her to the punch.

She's driving her fiancée Henry through Atlanta so she's busy being accosted by people pretending to be homeless violently panhandling as I write. 

"Da, are boys stronger than girls?"

"No," I snap at Che, who's playing with Aiden, the boy 2 doors down,"who told you that?"

"The boys at school," she coos, sucking on a blue Paw Patrol ice cream.

"Boys are idiots Che," I sigh, hugging her tightly.

The doorbell rings.

Dropping me like an atomic bomb, she opens the door and leaves to play with the boy.

So, let's see, oh yeah, back to writing "Lite" for Maddie!

I don't know.

Writing.

It's hard to know what ends up being written once I get started. 

I get into a place. 

It's a big part of who I am.

I love words.

"In the beginning was the word," crazy ass Apostle John, the self-proclaimed greatest of them all, starts his story, exiled by the Church, Government and every friend he ever had 

But I love stories more!

And I think Jesus did too.

He didn't write 'em but he told a slew so, I love Jesus too!

Fiction's the best stories because you write the truth with made up names, places and events.

Everything's deadly "real" except the details.

But the love of my life is a " facts only" kind-a-girl where I'm a "never-let-the-truth-stand-in-the-way-of-a-go0d-story"guy.

I learned everything I know about fiction at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, but I digress. 

Anyway, here's my story and I'm sticking to it. And it's pure fact because I know what my wife likes and how she likes it. 

I have a Chemo shot next week and I'm already wondering what to wear.

The End. 

-- 

Micheal Elliott

Chasing Life!

She has the ability to eloquently respond to a question without ever answering it.

By the time you figure out that she never told you want you wanted to know the conversations already moved past.

Or her friends, Laurel rarely visits home alone, takes the dialogue somewhere else and it's hours later before you realize you haven't leaned anything about the child's life.

Or she's already left, Laurel very rarely stays anywhere for too long, especially home, before we have a chance to ask her anything. 

Once I finally figured out Laurel's diversionary approach to communication, I began interrupting her responses with immediate questions redirecting her back to the question asked and not what she's talking about.  

Laurel's dancing eyes catch mine for a second, she grins and keeps talking.

Everyone hangs on her every word.  

I laugh.

She laughs but keeps talking about everything expect what you really want to know.

"Of all the kids, I'm the one actually doing it,"
she delightfully shares in the kitchen just before she leaves.

And she is.

"See the world now! Don't wait until later to do things. When High School's over, take a year or so, see things, figure out what you want to do and learn.

Go to College later if you want.

And I'll be dammed if this Wonder of an old-enough-to-be-killed-for-your-country but can't-drink-until-you're-21, young woman with the guts to want-it-all-now hasn't done it!

And she has a plan!

If it goes anywhere near as perfectly as her launch then in a couple of years she'll be living and working outside of the US and retiring before she's 30!

She's her Mom's daughter with a Gypsy heart, bright blue sparkling eyes that see further than most, thirsts to experience E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. and determination that always finds a way.

Whew Laurel!

I'm too excited to miss you, relishing in each detail of your new life's shared, newest friends, job, house and horses.

Oh yeah! 

And we're so damn proud!

Love and Frogs

 

"So I told him I don't eat frogs,"  Che concludes.

After a long pause, during which she drinks juice in the exact same fashion as her Mother, I ask, "Do you think it's over?"

"I think we will still play together," she sighs, "but it won't be the same."

Still making stories

I pull the cake out of the oven at 5:45, lay it to the side to cool, stare at lit candles in the darkness and wonder why Che's not up yet!

It's Sarah's birthday and we have plans to have the cake ready for breakfast! 

I've never, ever seen a 5 year old absolutely delighted it's her Mother's birthday but Che is bananas about it!

As the wonder of a woman I'm husband to secretly suggested, I'd taken Che to "The Dollar Tree", on a Daddy/Daughter date, gave her $20 telling her to buy whatever gifts she wants for her Mom.

Sarah really is simply brilliant.

Jus' saying.

The first things Che picks out are birthday napkins, plates and candles for the cake which she's so excited to make which is why it's crazy she's not up.

I'm always up!

Trust me, you don't want to know all the reasons why.

Every morning, Che hears me rumbling around and she gets up to be with me.

OH MY GOD you want to talk about love personified through intense cuddling by candlelight? Even though I wished she slept longer, I delight in the high Holy moments.

Appearing in the darkness, clutching her "blankey", blond hair askew in every direction from her pillow and holding "Baby", she softly says, "Da."

Everything else happening in my life is irrelevant at that precise moment as I pick her up, she tightly hugs me and we fall of the sofa together!

"For unto us a child is born ..."

Fully awake a nano-second later, we decorate the cake and Che places all 48 candles on it even though that's not Sarah's age.

Who cares when you're having fun?

Maybe Che will remember it years from now.

And she'll bring me back to life by telling the story.

Perhaps Sarah will tell her version of what happened on her birthday the years we baked birthday cake for breakfast.

And they'll laugh and love the memory and, this is where faith comes in, somehow, I don't know how, I'll be there too!

So long as there's the story to tell.

"In the beginning was the Word," the Bible says and words comprise the greatest story ever told, which is our story of course, and we live as long as our story's told.

Obviously stories have to be made before they can be told and to make stories you have to do stuff with someone else!

You have to make a memory to make a story!

There's no other way.

A story requires activity, the more outrageous the better!

Besides, that's how you know you're really living!

If you do something, remember it later and it makes a good story later, well, life goes on regardless of who's present.

If you keep memories to yourself and never share them then stories aren't born.

In ancient Hebrew, it's believed the moment you speak a word, you give it its own life and there's no taking it back no matter how hard you try.

Isn't that the truth!

Somehow, again I have no idea how, doing things together that make memories which become stories to share are tied together with living!

So with as many ailments as we may have in life,  and some of us have lots, I spend a lot of my energy doing things with Sarah, Che and the kids to do some things worth remembering.

Some may turn into stories and our Love Child might say one day, "Hey Mom! Remember when Dad and I made the birthday cake with all the candles and sprinkles?"

They'll catch each other's eye, as grins are shared turning them into smiles and then they laugh.

Don't get me wrong, I'm in no hurry to go anywhere but I determined that memories are really the only thing worth making in life but that doesn't mean a thing if they they're not turned into stories. 

It doesn't matter if it's a good story or a bad one, the more it's told, the fonder it becomes. Be it a late night invitation to Ashford Castle in Ireland where Sarah played a grand piano while drinking 100 year old Jameson to a crowd's applause or baking a birthday cake with Che, ours is a life full of great stories.

I would tell you some more but it's time to make some new ones first!

It's getting old again

 

Che's playing with a friend in the front yard, Sarah's seeing clients before picking up Cassidy from somewhere and I'm holding onto the sofa for support, watching the kids and listening to "Blue Lights" on Spotify.

The days have been difficult lately so it's nice to see Che being "normal."

Suddenly Che shouts something to her friend and storms inside.

"Da," she says breathing heavily, "Red Juice?"

I retrieve it from the fridge and the sweaty mess of all girl jumps on the sofa, pulls me down and lays her head against my belly.

I smile, soaking up everything about the moment.

Abruptly tossing her cup aside,  she crawls in my lap, looks me straight in the eyes and asks, ""Do we die when we get old?"

Stunned, I turn the music off and stare into the largest deep blue moon eyes before holding her to me and chocking back tears.

"Honey, everybody dies," I say as fatherly as I know how while not having to look at her.

"But are you old Daddy?" she asks sitting up again in my lap.

"Well, why are you asking Clare-Bear?"

The deep blue moons draw me in again as I see her tiny fingers grab my hair and twirls the long grey strings.

"Your hair," she says softly.

"WHAT?" I mock laugh. "I have great hair young lady!"

She continues staring at my long strings of hair twirling on her finger.

"It's grey," she says as soft as a Christmas night whisper.

Unexpectedly she drives her head into my chest, her arms around my stomach, Che hugs me tightly and quietly sobs.

"Mom will protect us from dying," she confidently says, snapping up to reveal the conviction of her beliefs.

"It's just part of life Che-Bay," I say as a matter of fact, "everybody dies."

"Well," Che sighs drawing the matter to a close, "I'm not for it."

Cuddling on the sofa, we surf YouTube.

"What time's Mom gonna be home?" she asks laying her head in my lap.

"Late," I answer.

"Awe," she sighs before noisily slurping the Red Juice.

"Can I have Mac-n-cheese Da?"

"You can have any damn thing you want Che," I grin, getting up and stumbling into the kitchen.

Game On Cancer!

Again I'm already preparing what to wear for my next Chemo shot and I'm upping my game!

Last month I wore a tee-shirt reading, "Pot's Bad! Burn it!" and do you know not a single patient in the Mayo Clinic waiting room even noticed!

Sometimes I wonder if they can even read!

Beside the great shirt, I wore my customary dress kaki shorts, flip-flops and my designer ankle bracket.

I designed it myself!

Sarah humors me by storing extra leather in case I run out and disturb the intriguing elements that make up my "Vibe."

My wife has a closet full of Angel wings.  

So here it is!

Game on fellow Chemo shot recipients!

Tanning Cancer

I'm sitting in the front yard catching some rays on a glorious deep, blue, sunny sky day. 

I prefer my cancer tanned.

I think it just looks better and Sarah Elliott and I always enjoy it when the people at the Mayo Clinic admirably say to us, "Nice tan."

Come to think of it, we haven't seen a lot of people with tans at Mayo.

Perhaps that's why I never see anyone wearing flip-flops in the Chemo shot waiting room except for us.

Anyway, I'm sitting there, high on life, when a car passes, slows, stops, backs up, parks and a friend I haven't seen in a year climbs out and sits beside me for a visit.

"You look good," he starts.

I roll my eyes.

"But man I gotta tell you something!"

"Oh yeah?"

"I don't know what it is about you and cancer but your hair is even thicker and longer than last time I saw you."

It's hard not to feel good when you hear things like this regardless of how you really feel.

"Awe, thanks Marty!"

He leaves and I continue basking in the holy glow of sunbeams baptizing me, humming an old song from when I was a kid.

Oh say can you see my eyes

if you can

well, then, my hairs too short