What Comes Next?

 

"Don't you believe that Hitler is in Hell" my son-in-law asks. 

We're in an after dinner conversation, after he's been tasked to babysit me while Sarah and Maddie take Che to a Kidzbop concert. 

Henry's taken me to a quaint, and lovely, local Pizza place where our conversation began, covering an array of topics.  

Now we're back in his and Maddie's home, sipping fine bourbon, taking about what happens after you die. 

The bourbon is strong, yet smooth, loosening our tongues, but not rushing our words. 

We've already touched on Heaven and, after I said that I think pretty much everyone gets in, he pivots to Hitler in Hell. 

I shrug my shoulders.  

"Who knows?" I smile, dropping one cube of ice in my bourbon. 

Henry stays neat.  

"I used to think those things," I continue, "passionately! But I don't think about such things anymore.  How would I know if Hitler's in Hell? I've never been."

Henry toast me with his glass, as if to say, "Touché." 

I don't think about most of the things I was taught growing up. 

Not when it comes to dying anyway.

Henry's enjoying this conversation as he's thinking such things these days.

We go back and forth for over an hour, slowly sipping the bourbon, invigorated by the dialogue.

What's next?

I don't know. 

I do know that regardless of if I'm dead and that's it, or something happens, either way, I can't be disappointed. 

So that's a pretty good place to start. 

I do think about my grandparents, Ira and Edith Carver, who taught me to believe all those years ago. 

And I do.  

In spite of how much religion, politics and the media (doesn't matter which kind) keep trying to kill it, I still believe in love.

"God is love," my grandparents taught me, so yeah, I hold on to this, even today.  

In terms of what's next, I don't know. 

Love has gotten me this far, and as messy as it sometimes was, it's all still Heavenly. 

So, I'm counting on love, for whatever comes next. 

So far, so good. 

The door burst open and Che, Sarah and Maddie excitedly rush in, talking about the concert.  

Henry and I do one last toast, draining our glasses.

Who cares about what's next?!

For now, there is only now.  

                       🌻🌷🌸🌹

My Celebration of Life delightfully continues to linger but, after I'm gone, I ask you to make sure Sarah and Che are doing okay for me.  

Please consider being part of their future at https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

Thank you. 

My Tiny After Party Lingers

 



Sarah gets dressed up and is so stunningly beautiful, she literally takes my breath away.  She smiles at me, eyes glistening and radiating. 

Che also dresses, sporting new "trendy" clothes, but wants to make certain the place serves French fries, which makes me laugh because I can remember when I was like that. 

We're excited to try a new spot, "The Laundry Diner", which opened to rave reviews, the latest of a seeming endless selection of new restaurants.  

It's a beautiful place, as we join the crowd waiting to be seated.

Sarah stands beside me dripping beauty.  Che's holding my hand, happily dancing, approving the French Fries the Laundry Dinner serves. 

I am delighting in these moments until, suddenly, I am not.

My head grows light, sweat pours from my body, and I have to sit.

Che pulls me outside and I plop on a stair, holding my head, trying to will myself back together. 

Che runs back inside to report to Mom. 

I manage to willpower myself back inside.  

A man gives up his seat for me and almost as soon as I sit, a second wave hits. 

Sarah sees I can't do it, grabs my arm, Che's hand, directs us back to the car and then back home, zipping through McDonald's on the way home because they're starving.

Freezing, I crawl under multiple blankets on an hot summer day and sleep.

The next day, my left hip erupts in discomfort every time I stand or walk. I can do both, but it hurts like Hell! I painfully stumble. 

But it's the first week of school and Che's delightfully excited beyond belief. 

We walk her to school each morning, and I somehow make it each time.  

Sarah and I wonder if this is merely the latest "symptom" of all of my cancers, which is the logical and expected thing. 

I fight to get back to where I was, which takes lots of effort, but yields few results. 

Sarah breaks the melancholy by taking me on a date to see "Superman", the first movie we've seen in forever. 

We throughly enjoy breaking our routine, diverting us from grave concerns, helping us greatly to celebrate still being here doing this. 

I slowly improve. 

Sarah has to work and I'm good enough to watch Che after school, even taking her to McDonald's for a Happy Meal. 

Returning home, I struggle to walk from the car to the house, unable to  keep up with Che, who's excitedly trying to open the front door without the key. 

When I finally shuffle up, I see her, looking at me, worried and scared. 

"Go on," I smile. 

"I just want to protect you Daddy", she says hugging me, forgetting about her fries.

Days later, I've mostly rebounded, though we've learned that each time I get sick, I never quite make it all the way back to where I was before, and phantom pains when I stand and walk remind me that it can happen again at any time.

"Hey Dad," Che calls, after Sarah's home and we're happy about it, "do you want to go swimming?"

Hell no I don't want to go swimming!

It's been raining. 

It's cool outside.  

If I go swimming now I'll be freezing under multiple blankets the rest of the night. 

"Da?" She calls again. 

"Well Hell!" I tell myself, "this could be my very last chance to ever swim with Che. I'm not going to miss it, regardless of how bad I feel."

So we swam and it was magic.  

And I froze all night under multiple blankets, and it was awful.

Such is life. 

Now, I am better. 

Not 100% because I'll never be that again. 

And not back to where I was before, but close enough to feel it. 

But most importantly, I'm still not dead yet, and our tiny little after party continues, until it doesn't. 

                            ******

My Celebration of Life is over while Sarah and Che have a whole new life together, coming soon and I want to make it special. 

Please consider being part of their future at https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

It's an exquisite dance

 

"Dad, you're dying this year, right?"

Che's snuggled beside me, staring into her phone and the question comes out of nowhere. 

Sarah's eyes lock with mine and we're both questioning without words. 

"Yeah, probably so," I finally say, as casually as I can.

"Well," she grins, "I already have my dress picked out for the party."

Sarah eyes explode into laughter with mine. 

"There's not going to be a party," I laugh. "We've already had it.  Well, we're still enjoying it now, but there's no party later."

"OK," she happily says, resuming her focus on whatever she's doing on her phone.  

It's quite the transition going on in our house, more a sense of expectation of things that are coming, but we talk about it in real time, though we're easily distracted from delving deeper. 

One of my current claims to fame is, I'm often publicly recognized as William H. Macy, specifically the way he looked as Frank Gallagher in SHAMELESS.

I freely admit that William H. Massey is one handsome fella, and I LOVE Frank Gallagher, and enjoy these mistaken identities whenever they happen, which is a lot!

Chelsea, Sam, Lily and McKenzie are visiting and we meet at Auspicious Bakery Bread and Butter for brunch. 

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Frank Gallagher?" our waitress asks, pouring me water. 

Chelsea erupts in laughter.  

Sarah suggests we watch SHAMELESS again because we enjoyed it so much! 

(Frank's farewell in the series finale is my all time favorite ending of all time!).

That evening, after I've fallen asleep, Che asks about Frank, so Sarah pulls up the series finale and show's it to her. 

Frank's lying in a hospital bed with oxygen on. 

"That looks like my Dad when he was in the hospital!" 

"TURN IT OFF!" she exclaims, "TURN IT OFF!"

Che's not there yet.  

She sees it coming but she's not ready yet.  

There's certainly a sense of getting ready though.  

Maddie sends Sarah pictures of places to live in Florida, and we have discussions of what could be and it's hard to not think about all of the possibilities. 

It's nice to dream but hard not to think about the realities of life after I am gone. 

Che will need the stability of her friends and Sarah has a job that provides her with the flexibility needed with an 8 year old at home when she becomes a single parent.

It is an exquisite dance, dying and living in dreams and reality.

"I guess that's it," Frank happily says, drinking a beer, floating towards Heaven, "Not much left to say, really, except, time's precious. Don't waste it. Have a good time. I sure as hell did."

                                  ________

My Celebration of Life is done while Sarah and Che have a whole new life together, coming soon and I want to make it special. 

Please consider being part of their future at https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

The Best Life Saver Ever

 

There are times I feel as I'm dying. 

Up multiple times after I go to sleep because of prostate issues,  I give up and stumble into the shower.  

Hopefully I haven't waken Sarah with my groaning, moaning, sweating and snorting, though once I fell back in bed so hard, she bounced, woke in mid-air, hit the bed which caused me to bounce and, well, that wasn't a good night.

I want to die when things like this happen but, I don't know, now it makes me laugh. 

My worse moments are standing in front of the mirror and looking at what I look like.  

Naked. 

It's depressing. 

My shoulders and arms look like a Concentration Camp survivor, as do my legs.   

My belly is my best feature, proud and strutting, primarily because everything inside's been radically rearranged, reconnected and refined, and it doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

Turning, I see that I still have no butt.

It'd be nice to have that back.  

I'm crazy tanned from floating in the pool with Sarah and Che most everyday. 

Yes, I tan the cancer.  

The problem though is how much like leather my skin resembles, like that of an old tanned man.

I sigh. 

Turning off the bathroom light, I tiptoe through our bed room, tossing my underwear into the laundry basket in the dark as I do, before shutting the bedroom door so Sarah can sleep.  

It's 1:30 in the morning and, in a several hours, I'll learn I missed the laundry basket. 

I hit brew on the coffee pot, smoke a bowl outside, light a candle, find a video of a bonfire on a beach and get dressed. 

Sticking my earbuds in, I find the right tunes, hit play and off I go off on social media.  

Our Dalmatian, Lainey snuggles beside me on the sofa. 

For the rest of the night, this is what I do, until Sarah or Che get up, and every single time they do, I'm immediately grateful we get one more day together. 

Lately Sarah's getting up first because of the foster puppies, Tom and Jerry, that we're caring for right now.  

Che gets up when her Mom gets up. 

We have fun for as long as we can, but I peter out as the day proceeds. 

After breakfast, Lainey drags me for a walk, which we call exercise in our house, and if I don't do it, I'm convinced I will die. 

So I walk because, well, I'm not ready yet.  

As hard as it is sometimes, life is still so much fun, especially when you're spending it with the people you love the most. 

I'm trying to be realistic about all of it. 

Death is the price you pay for life. 

The trick is, for me anyway, cancer certainly exacerbates my dying, but it's up to me how much it robs from my living.

Well, and Sarah and Che too, because I certainly wouldn't be here were it not for them.  

Thank God I got Sarah pregnant late in my life, because has that not ended up being the best life saver ever or what?!

                         ********

My Celebration of Life is done while Sarah and Che have a whole new life together, coming soon and I want to make it special. 

Please consider being part of their future at https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b

A Tiny Afterparty

 

I am so proud holding Che's hand, standing in line at the counter of the YMCA. 

Sarah's home, having a few minutes there alone, which never happens. 

Because the Y's right around the corner, and I'm feeling pretty good, I brought Che to the birthday party she's attending. 

We're fifth in line as the newly hired receptionist helps navigate people to where they want to go. 

We're just standing there.  

"I would like to register for the LIVE STRONG program," a woman announces, unleashing my curiosity, as I've twice graduated from the program designed to help cancer survivors maintain their physical and mental health.

The woman is finely dressed, not for the gym but perhaps for Church, or a luncheon in a private, exclusive club. 

The receptionist has no idea what's LIVE STRONG. 

"Maybe you can find it online," she hopefully offers.  

The woman retains perfect posture as she sighs and ponders.

I want to reach out, touch her arm, introduce myself and tell her about my experiences, which were great.

But I don't. 

There's simply not enough energy for me to muster up to do anything other than hold Che's hand waiting in line, give Sarah a few precious minutes and be proud of myself for doing so. 

It's been forever since I've been the responsible parent, and I'm relishing every second like it's the last chance I'm ever going to have.

"I'm sorry," the new receptionist tells her. 

The woman turns, mutters she'll do it another way, and walks right past me leaving.  

I could easily have touched her.

I could have reassured her, and given her a most enthusiastic and heartfelt recommendation for a program that literally helps extend life. 

But I have no more to give.  

I check us in, walk Che to the pool party suddenly exhausted, and in a hurry return home.

When I arrive, Sarah's on the sofa so I immediately join her, and we talk. 

The Celebration of Life is over now but the death hasn't occurred yet, and I am most grateful there is a tiny after party of almost exclusively, Sarah, Che and me.  

That's all we're capable of managing these days. 

Reaching out overwhelms me now and I can't help like I used to, which was second nature, but it's not who I am now. 

Yet I've never been more content, satisfied and happy as we enjoy ourselves as best we can until my death occurs.  

In the meantime, I'm most grateful that I had my Celebration of Life now rather than later. 

It's been Heavenly.  

Who wants to leave Heaven?

Not me.  

Not yet. 
                        ********
My Celebration is mostly done while Sarah and Che have a whole new life together, coming soon

You can be part of their future at https://gofund.me/ffda4f4b