POOF! And I don't care today

And then yesterday, after months of struggle, when everyday seemed as if I'd taken a bath in Gorilla Glue and wearily, stumbled mindlessly forward, a shaft of light rips through the clouds.

POOF!

The fog clears. 
Energy erupts. 
Focus returns. 

I have fun. 

Free at last! Free at last!

Well, how long will it last?

Days on end, I hope. 

Physically my body's a miracle, according to the professionals as I'm told I defy odds with each passing day. 

Though my PSA numbers for my Prostate are off the charts and the odds say it's new cancer but there's all these test I have to take first to make certain. 

Plus the trip to the plastic surgeon to cut off the new skin cancer. 

I'm carrying it well I'm told. 

Looking good even!

"He's the healthiest looking person with that much cancer I've ever seen," Laurel writes.  

Anyway, I don't care. 

I felt good all day yesterday. 

And today?

So far ... so good.

Tropically Depressed

"How's the drive to Mayo every month now? Going on two years isn't it? You sick of this drive?"

My brother David asks, driving his brand new white pickup truck, stepping in at the last second to take me as the days of me going much anywhere alone are gone. 

I'm staring at the Sydney Lanier Bridge across the broad savanna between I-95 and Brunswick, specifically at the Marsh.  

I love the Marshes. 

"The smell of the Marsh is the aroma of sex in the Tropics," Marshall Chapman said, and throughout my life, I've lived in awe of their beauty. 

"No," I finally answer, "it gets me out.  I love being out. It's beautiful. I don't mind the drive."

David stares silently ahead listening. 

"I love being out. Going places again. Seeing how fast everything is changing."

"Have you been touched by depression?" he asks, jerking the conversation in another direction while continuing to stare, and drive, straight ahead. 

The slap of tires rhythmically hitting the road fills the silence for a spell.    . 

"That's a word Sarah and I toss around lately," I finally answer. 

Shades of green fly passed the window, under a clear blue sky with white cotton Candy mountains floating overhead. 

"How does anyone who's depressed know they're depressed?" I smirk. 

David shares a time when he struggled and gives a great pep talk. When he's done I feel our team will beat anyones. 

"Sarah and I have wondered aloud about that word the last few days," I say as traffic thickens at the JAX Airport Exit. 

We both worry about the other. 

Sarah wonders if I'm getting depressed as I stare off into space, don't answer direct questions or lose what we're talking about as we're talking!

I wonder if the weight of everything she carries is finally wearing her down, which makes her work even harder while maintaining a "normal" home environment for the girls while caring for herself!

"Do you think you are?" she asks as we talk after dinner. 

"No, do you think you are?" I reply. 

We agree we're not. 

At least not yet anyway. 

But we could be. 

Honestly Sarah's too busy to be depressed, although she could reach a tipping point and spontaneously combust. 

And no matter what's going on in my world, I'm doing my very best to find fun wherever I can, laugh as much as possible, play with Che, Tweet craziness, help Sarah if possible and tell her just how beautiful she is. 

And that's okay. 

I have tons to do myself while I'm vertical, mobile and seem to be speaking intelligible today. 

Most every afternoon we've been getting spectacular Thunderstorms. As lightning flashes and thunder cracks, Sarah, Che and I snuggle on the sofas and Lainey, our Dalmatian, is scared to death and desperately wants Sarah to hold her. 

The truth is we have constructed our own private sanctuary where we block out cancer, anything that takes too much energy which unfortunately include lots of people because we choose to focus our limited energies on what's most important, which is us. 

Eventually Lainey ends up on the sofa too, where we hunker down in each other's arms, hugging, laughing and enjoying it as tropical storms rage all around us. 

Making Movie Magic

I receive a lot of prayers from family, friends and well wishers.  

At least, folks tell me they're praying but I have no idea if they're just saying that to be nice or if there's more to it. 

Is meaning to pray the same as praying?

God only knows!

Anyway, many folks tell me they're praying for a miracle and I'm proud to say one happened yesterday. 

Sarah's day began before she woke up as clients canceled appointments so as soon as possible, she's forced to rearrange an already over scheduled work day. 

Somehow, as my Wonder of a Woman does several hundred things at once, she shoots me a text of a movie Che might like. 

The last couple of weeks have been tough ones for me. Everything I do seems to have been coated in glue.  I'm perpetually exhausted and out of focus, adding to Sarah's burdens.

Then, out of nowhere, I have just enough energy and a Daddy/Daughter date magically happens!

While Sarah tracks down wandering clients, Che and I somehow make it to Victory Drive Cinema's, purchase two $3 tickets to see "Mummies", purchase a $3 Combo Meal and settle in for the show. 

Che only stays in her seat until the previews are over before climbing into my lap in the marvelous reclining seats. 

We almost make it through the entire movie!

Thankfully, back home, Che's content to play on her IPad beside me on the sofa as I collapse again into the glue. 

Miracles don't last forever and that somehow taints them for us.

I remind myself of this, stumbling outside to smoke some medicine. 

"Da," Che asks when I return, "how we gonna find out how the movie ends?"

"Hmmm, I don't know Che-Bay."

"Yeah," she softly mumbles, returning her attention to her IPad, "Mom will figure it out."

May as well play

After our surgeon, Dr. Senkowski, successfully cut and carved 99% of the cancer out, rearranging various internal organs and actually throwing a couple away, he broke up with us. 

It was abrupt. 

"There's nothing else I can do for you you," he grinned, "but when you need a port installed, I'm your guy."

Sarah and I were devastated. 

We've rebounded though with Dr. Jason Starr, our oncologist, who was very clear that his is a lifelong commitment!

My life. 

Dr. Starr and Sarah intensely stare at three pictures of the cancer growing inside, which is visible to the naked eye.

"The growth is in millimeters," he explains, minimizing the disturbing expansion. 

"But a millimeter in the University of Georgia National Championship came was huge," Sarah says. 

Dr. Starr's scrunches up before his eyes dance and he laughingly agrees, "A millimeter is huge in that context."

I beam proudly at my wife, glance at the computer screen but have no desire to "eyeball" it. 

In terms of treatment, Dr. Starr recommends continuing monthly injections and monitor the cancer's growth. 

"I've got one patient that has the exact same thing as you and I've been treating her for 20 years," Dr. Starr smiles. 

"Who cares!" I laugh. 

He looks bewildered as I continue, "She's your outliner. She's the exception and not the rule. Every Doctor's got one. Let's talk about me."

The world stops for a second. 

There is no sound. 

There is no time, the second seems as a thousand years. 

There is hope. 

With his head tilted down, large coweyes stare intensely through black framed glasses over cupped hands, resting on a mostly black beard. 

Sarah's waits, staring intensely at the Doctor staring at me. 

"We understand," I continued, "I'm in pretty rare air! Stage 4 Pancreatic cancer for 3 years now. Not many people can say that."

The pregnant silence returns and a second is as a million years again. 

Slowly, he leans forward in his chair, smiles solemnly and says, "Play with your little girl as much as you can." 

And I laugh out loud. 

Sarah joins in and as we all stand, I impulsively hug Jason who returns in kind. 

It is a holy moment. 

With  his arm still around my waist, he guides Sarah and I down the hall, stopping at the Nurses station while explaining his 7 year old who lives in fear of his Dad dying. 

"How do you two talk to Che about it?"

Sarah explains we're honest about everything and the conversation continues as through we're friends talking about their kids over morning coffee. 

Except to the Nurses, all frozen at their stations, staring while pretending to not stare, and hanging on our every word. 

We retrieved Che and Cassidy from the hotel we'd stayed at for the 2 days for testing. 

"What did the Doctor say?" the girls ask as Sarah drives us to Zaxby's. 

"It's playtime," we explain, as Sarah drives us home.

Mayo Road Trip

On the downside I can't do "Battle Royal's", where I lay on the ground and wrestle with Che. Every battle ended with us rolling in the yard, laughingly hugging face to face, and I inhale the hot breath of pure joyous laughter eyeball-to-eyeball. 

On the upside, Sarah purchased and put together a 3 feet deep pool in our backyard, and I can float and Che attacks me, we wrestle, laughing face to face spitting water and huge gulps of hot pure joy.  

"The Lord always provides a way," I was taught going up, and that may well be but, the sad fact is, I'm not physically capable of doing things I was doing a few short months ago. 

It grates on me. 

Like Seasoning Salt. 

Reaching for it, the extra tall bottle with the bright red cap, the Seasoning Salt isn't in it's place among Sarah's alphabetically ordered spices. 

Three days later, I find it by the Olive Oil in the cabinet above the stove. 

"How did it get there?" Sarah laughs exhaustively. 

"I have no idea," I muse, having no recollection whatsoever. 

"It's so frustrating," I sigh, feeling defeated. 

"Oh honey, it's nothing," Sarah scoffs, trying to make me feel better. "Everybody misplaces things like that."

Honestly, we're aware of the constant acceptance of slowly losing control over things I've always easily commanded. We worry what these omens mean for our future and they weigh heavily on us. 

I used to write it out of me, effortlessly crafting letters, articles, books, blogs and songs but the energy and focus required are things I now struggle to maintain. 

Thank God for Twitter. Interacting with people around the world in 280 characters is tremendously fun, well within my manageable focus and energy. 

All my life, regardless of the situation I find myself, I've tried to find the fun in it and things usually get better. 

Usually. 

We're under no illusions anything's going to improve this time. 

On Twitter I boast I'm, "defying death by coloring with Che" posting a pic of our works in progress. 

We understand what an outliner I'm becoming and what an accomplishment it is to be living, and doing okay, with stage 4 pancreatic cancer after 3 years!

Sarah and I rarely discuss these things, choosing instead to focusing completely on the day we've been gifted. 

On the one hand, all the news we get is usually bad. 

On the other hand, Sarah, Che and I have wonderful days playing UNO, Monopoly, Legos, making art, feeding turtles, cooking, lounging in a 3 ft back yard pool and, sometimes, we dance. 

That's how I look at it. 

Sarah let's me live as though these are the only things to think about though, I know she lives a whole other life, handling everything so I can focus exclusively on living.  It means she enables me to seek out the joys with the people and things I love most. 

I see how hard caregiving is for her. 

Today is a family trip to the Mayo Clinic for 2 days of tests and meetings. I'm sitting in the backseat with Che. Sarah's driving Cassidy's car because the air conditioner's broken in her's. Cass sits in the passenger seat. 

We're spending the night as this is likely our "summer trip" and Che's  beside herself with excitement. 

"TODAY IS MAYO DAY!" she said as soon as she woke up, asking me to help pack her backpack, hours before it's time to leave. 

The downside is this regiment is wearing us out. 

The upside is FAMILY ROAD TRIP!!

What's not to love?

Cloud Heart dancing with the Moon

 

I am having the shittiest day. 

Everything I do is slow motion. I struggle to remain focused. I'm short with Che. I constantly get in Sarah's way and can't seem to stop. I have lots of great thoughts flying by but struggle to grab hold of any, so I stare off, perplexed trying to make myself remember what I literally just thought.  

Somehow, I don't know how, I still go through the motions. I care for Che, follow Lainey as she drags me around for exercise, wash dishes and put them away (albeit often in the most interesting places). I read when I can, listen to tons of music, play on Twitter and pull weeds in the backyard. 

And thankfully, I'm gifted with Weed, which I smoke sitting under an umbrella while I pray, despair, question, count my blessings or, sometimes, blissfully fall into a 3 Mile stare for undetermined periods of time because "a minute is a million years".

Sarah's equally exhausted, conducting an orchestra that never stops, with instruments constantly breaking, temperamental musicians, adoring audiences to the point of suffocation and her own questions, thoughts and feelings. 

At the moment, I'm outside watching Che swim in the kiddie pool Sarah got and put together for us. Che's waiting on a friend to arrive, after spending a fair portion of the morning playing with another friend. 

Sarah's trying to take a few minutes for herself, though I'm certain she's working on something for someone, so I'm watching Che. 

Our daughter happily splashes imaginary games as I light the pipe, hoping for a second of infinity before her friend arrives.  

"DADDY! DA! DA!," Che suddenly screams. "A HEART CLOUD AND THE MOON!"

Staring through the flame, my eyes follow the point of Che's arm and look up. 

"IT'S FOR US DADDY! THE HEART CLOUD AND THE MOON! THEY ARE FOR US DADDY!"

Impulsively, I snap a photo between puffs while simultaneously going inside to tell Sarah. 

The cloud dissipates quickly.  

Che's friend arrives. 

Sarah's suddenly busy scheduling me another Doctor's appointment because of a suspicious looking bump. 

I resume my place under the umbrella, now wondering about signs from Heaven on an otherwise shitty day.  

Dad's Carnival of Angels

Mostly she loved my Dad, a seemingly impossible task, because my Father was something ... a giant of a heart with a teenager's soul, a great streak of bad luck surrounded with the best of friends and a sense of humor that could laugh at Hitler.

"You know why Hitler hated Golf?" 

I can hear him asking, eyes already moist from the explosion of laughter that follows the punch line.

"Because he always finished in the Bunker."

Mom put up with ... even encouraged ... him.

Once, at the Athens Holiday Inn while we're at the game, pulling for the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia, Dad and Robie Hester order a case of beer from room service.  They want to ensure there would be plenty when we return and neither wanted to walk to the store because they were watching the game on television. 

Everything was fine until they got the bill, when both blamed the other for being too lazy to walk to the store. 

Awe Dad, you were something. 

There was a time when I was busy trying to change the world and you were busy enjoying life when we'd sometimes sneak off together and share a pitcher of beer at the Captain's Quarter. 

We talked about everything. 

And we had fun sitting in the dark, dank watering hole. 

That's how I see you now. 

You were in your 50s then, with a Babe Ruth body from playing golf every day, and constantly busy with a boatload of friends. 

We clicked beer mugs and toasted being together again. 

Today Che and Sarah will take me out to celebrate Father's Day and I wish to God you could be there Dad. 

Lord you would love them so. 

I'll get a beer today in a frosty mug and toast you like I do every year, and I know that you'll take a moment to step away from the carnival of Angels you drink with at Heaven's Dive Bar, to tip your mug back at me. 

I love you Dad. 

Happy Father's Day.

Feeding Turtles

Now that schools out, Che's taking to accompanying Lainey on her

Morning drag of me through the neighborhood, which we call "exercise.

Down the street, behind the Library and the school, there's a path through the woods. It's a spectacular trek, dotted with lagoons, ball fields, patches of thick woods, an outdoor assembly ground and a playground for kids.

The lagoons are stocked, beaming with fish and turtles, which Che loves to feed. 

Everything about Lainey dragging me for morning exercise, and what's involved, has changed because of Che. 

She has to dress right before we leave and it's usually some theme. She's a Fairy, a police officer or a spy. I never know. 

Then she packs, something I never found necessary. Lollipops, Gold Fish, gum with food for the Turtles thrown in a backpack with other miscellaneous things she may need. 

It weights 32 lbs and I know I'm going to carry it soon after the walk starts. 

I use this time to smoke a lot of medicine. 

A lot!

As Che yells she and Lainey are ready, I eventually join them after enjoying personal hygiene products. 

She hands me the lease and, Lainey immediately jerks me out the house so quickly Che has to run to keep up. 

We find a pace and stroll along tall Pine Trees, a football field, a large lagoon full of egrets, Lilly pads and frogs.  

And we talk. 

"Da, when Mom and you are gone, Jacob and I are going to live in our house," she says sweetly holding my hand. 

"What? When Mom and I are gone?"

"You know," she explains pulling me along, "when you're dead."

"Yeah?" I ask, completely intrigued. 

"You're old Da, so you will die first. Then Mom. So Jacob and I will get married, move in, and Lainey and HopHop will already be there and we will take over your bed. We will change Cassidy's room to be my office and for my art supplies." 

"You are your Mother's child," I smile. 

"Jacob will take care of the animals because I'll have to work," she continues. 

"You two have really thought this through."

"But," she sighs, "we will also have a place in New York and the Beach."

I howl in laughter. 

The picturesque lagoon teams with fish and turtles accustomed to being fed so they flock to Che holding a stick of celery, which they eat from her hand. 

She squeals in joy and actually pets one. 

"Mom has to come!" Che proclaims. 

After the turtles are full, we have snacks and I learn Che's belly button, an innie, is big enough to hide a "Smarty."

Dragging me back, we talk about things we're going to do and what Mom's got up her sleeve because Sarah forever comes up with the most wonderful excursions or things for us to enjoy together. 

Before we make it back she's already playing with a neighbor. 

Inside I unleash Lainey and collapse on the sofa.  

As soon as I can, I smoke some medicine. 

Sarah gracefully floats in, immaculately dressed, taking a break from the several billion things she manages, asking me how it went. 

"Well," I begin slowly, "she really wants you to come so we have a family time feeding the turtles."

"Of course," Sarah laughs, pouring a glass of Lemonade. 

"But then after we're gone, she and Jacob have it all figured out."

"What?" my wife asks. 

So I let her know what's coming. 

Family Pier Pressure

Want to go to the Beach?" Sarah asks, munching on a veggie burger.  

Sighing heavily, I shake my head, "Not today."

"Che you want to go to the Beach?" she yells, turning her attention elsewhere. 

"YEAH!" she screeches, racing to her bedroom to change. 

Sarah puts on a bikini and packs a cooler. 

They're excited and as I watch them apply suntan lotion, I feel deflated. 

I'm so tired.

All of the time.

But there's no way in Hell I'm not going with them regardless of how bad I feel. 

"Yeah," I finally say, "Dad's coming."

"YEAH!" Che explodes. 

"Put sunscreen on," Sarah says, lovingly rubbing my shoulder and shooing me off to get ready. 

So we go to the Beach. 

"We had to get out," Sarah says with her toes in the sand. 

"Yep," I say, lost in the love of a wonder of a woman. 

"Da, get in the water with me," so I grab a chair and sit beside Che, submerged in a Tidal Pool pretending she's a Mermaid. 

Fairy Health Care

 

Dad, if you drink enough water you can live to be a hundred," she says, dressed as Fairy, walking our dog Lainey. 

"I drink water," I reply, lagging behind them. 

Lainey jerks the leash and she and Che take off in a dead run, fairy wings flapping behind her. 

Pausing under a tree, I catch my breath under a brilliant blue sky. 

In the distance I see that they've turned and returning in the same dead run. 

Stopping directly in front of me, showing no signs of expending any energy at all, not out of breath or flush, and looks exactly like a beautiful Fairy missing her two front teeth. 

"I want you to live to be one hundred," she says seriously, looking me straight in the eye. 

"Well, me too," I laugh. "I'm giving it my best shot."

Turning she grabs my hand and we resume our walk. 

"You drink lots of water Dad. It makes you healthy. That's why I am so healthy."

"Got it," I smile as Lainey drags us to the woods. 

The most civil of disobediences

 

Most every morning Lainey drags me for a walk, down the street, behind the Library and the school, there's a path through the woods. 

It's quite the spectacular track, dotted with lagoons, ball fields, thick patches of woods, an outdoor assembly area and a playground for kids. 

Over time, I've become friendly with others regularly walking the same path at the same time. 

We greet each other, chat, joke and bring a bit of spark to the day. 

When I miss walks, they notice and they fret, wonder, even pray for me. When I return, they celebrate.

So one of them, Gordon, decided to get everyone together for Bloody Mary's, and a bowl, to celebrate us all. 

And that we did!

I think life's a gift to be enjoyed and not a prison sentence to be endured. Find joy every day is the goal of living. Break out of whatever, or whoever, holds you back from laughing. Even if a few rules are broken.

So today, here's to my friend Gordon, who orchestrated the most civil of disobediences resulting in a community of laughter. 

And here's to all of us trying to have as much fun making joy every single day.

YA VOLL HERR KOMMANDANT

This is not the former drummer for REM but the other one from a long time ago. 

He is leaning over from his berth in the sleeper on a train traveling from the Czech Republic into Poland. 

A few moments after I snap this picture, the train pulls to a halt in the middle of a snowy, black night as the border patrol boards the train to inspect passports. 

Bill Berry and I are the only passengers. 

We've rearranged our cabin by using a screwdriver to take out one of the 3 births so we have more room. The extra bed's in the corridor of the train. 

This is, of course, the first thing the Polish border patrol sees as they bang on the door to demand our passports. 

When we left Prague, we purchased copious amounts of Pilsner Urquell and the empties are rolling around on our cabin floor. 

The train's comprised of six cars and one conductor dressed in a black double breasted coat with gold buttons and matching cap. Two of the buttons are missing from his coat. 

When he brought our dinner, he found the extra berth laying in the hallway and burst into uncontrollable laughter but the only words we understood were "crazy Americans."

Our conductor's nowhere to be seen when the border patrol stops the train. 

Everything is suddenly very still and quiet. We can hear ourselves breath. 

BAM-BAM-BAM!!

Guards pound the door after pushing the discarded bed out of their way, imposingly stand with flashlights and demand our passports. 

This is when it gets weird. 

Wearing only his "tighty-whities" Bill leaps from the top berth, snaps to attention, raises his arm in a Nazi salute and quotes Sgt. Schulz from "Hogan's Hero's" shouting, "YA VOL HERR KOMMANDANT!"

In the bottom berth, I cover my head with my blanket, sticking one hand out so they can take my passport. 

Ignoring me, they inspect Bill's passport for a long time while I stay under the blanket with my head covered. Someone snatches my passport and returns it to my hand a few minutes later. 

Without saying a word, the guard snaps Bill's passport shut and hands it to him indicating we may proceed.  They exit quickly kicking the empties rolling on the floor. 

Pulling the covers down, I see Bill's standing there grinning at me. 

"I should have said 'Seig Heil'," then starts yelling it out loud lest the guards might still be within earshot.  

The old train lunches forward and we slowly start moving. 

"I gotta find the toilet," he says, heading down the corridor in his underwear. 

I fall asleep, clutching my passport, as the train rolled down the track towards Auschwitz.  

Things got really weird after that but that has nothing to do with this picture.