Happy Tuesday to you! I hope you are somewhere warm…and if you are – please tell me how good the sun feels. The last time I checked this morning, it was -8 here in the Midwest. Big sigh. We are living in an ugly ice castle. The snow is just big mounds of ice at this point. We had been invited to Honolulu next month, and if not for this pandemic, I would have ticket in hand.
The above picture is of Alan and my son, Caleb (8/30/20). I have previously written about Alan and his kind soul. We were lucky enough to be adopted into his wonderful family. It started with our good friends the “Lambos” inviting us to a holiday dinner and Jackie’s family instantly taking in our wayward souls. Before the pandemic, we spent all the holidays at Jackie’s or Stacy’s (Jackie’s sister, who has also become a great friend) house. 2020 has been a bad year for all, but the Olson family was hit extra hard as Alan was diagnosed with brain cancer. He was given about six months to live. Cancer is cruel, though, and it wasn’t long before he was in the hospital with only hours to days to live, unable to get out of bed. Through what felt like divine intervention, the tumor moved – or something – and Alan was able to go home (walking) and have more time on this earth. He was quite affected by the tumor but in many ways, could still be his lovely self. Caleb and I were lucky enough to spend time with the family in their home (it was the first time since pandemic, I went into another home). It was during one of these visits, I was able to tell Alan, exactly what he meant to me. We were sitting out in the sun, with just his brother and Caleb. I was nervous to show my vulnerability, but I thank God I had the courage to say what I did. I told him how much I appreciated him – especially when I had been so ill. I let him know that when you go through something like that, not many people get it, or want to get just how scary and hard it is to nearly lose your life – to live for months without knowing what is wrong. Alan knew, long before his illness, he knew. He had his church praying for me, long after I assured him I was okay. He went from being my friends’ dad, to being someone who understood my plight more than anyone I knew. He did the same thing through my neck surgery and in these years since – always asking with such a kind and loving heart how I was doing. Alan’s response, as he was dying of cancer, when I brought this up – was to get emotional and say how worried he had been about me…. Our conversation was quite emotional, for both of us.
The following week, Alan was at our house, sitting in a chair – directing Brian and Lambo on a kitchen project. He was unable to do the work himself, but a half hour in, asking the guys, “What are you doing?” and told them what to do. Yes, a man on hospice, spent time to help us with a garbage disposal….
In my last blog post, I wrote about choosing to leave a job I knew would not be right for me. Alan was in what we knew would be his final days, and I am so glad I was home on Friday. I was able to make dinner for their family and send it over with Jackie. It made my heart feel good to do something, anything, during such a rough time for this family I love so much. I just needed them to know I was thinking of them.
On Sunday, Alan lost his battle with cancer. My heart breaks for the family.
Cancer is such a mother fucker. I say this as I’m wearing a sweatshirt in support of a friend battling breast cancer right now. She is a warrior and pray for the best for her. And let me tell you something, she is rocking the fuck out of her bald head.
At the same time, my friend Jim is fighting his second battle with cancer. Jim and I were coworkers and it took us a minute to become close. We have completely different work styles. He is a bulldog. I remember him tearing into a supplier and we could all hear what was going on – a coworker from another dept -emails me, saying, “It’s a bad day to be Carlos.” I still laugh thinking of this. Still this bulldog, ex-Navy guy, and I became very close. He refers to me as his “big sister.” He is older than me, so I’m not sure if it’s because of my height, or the fact that I act like an old lady with all my wisdom. Haha. We have had some wonderful conversations, full of vulnerability, trust, love, and empathy. He was the first one to have us over for holiday meals. In fact, it is only Jim and his wife Chris, along with the Olson’s who have invited us to spend holidays with their families (out here in the Midwest). Jim’s love and protective nature have also left an imprint on my heart. There are not many imprints on this heart of mine. I will fiercely love and protect anyone who has left this mark – always.
In 2016, Jim fought cancer. It was a brutal battle. First, it was surgery. We (some coworkers) sent him pink, “It’s a girl” balloons and teddy bear etc to his room. The hospital staff would walk into his room, all confused, and Jim would have to explain they were sent for his “sex change operation.” I can still see the tough ex-Navy guy doing this. He was a wonderful sense of humor and recently was lamenting about being pushed through the hospital with his release, balloons tied to the wheelchair, and pink teddy bear in hand – getting all sorts of strange looks. Jim needed several months of chemo and radiation after surgery. Even though it was lung cancer, radiation was done on his head to prevent spread to his brain. Unfortunately, they over-radiated his brain. This has caused a lot of issues and now the cancer has returned. He is having a procedure done on 2/12 and surgery on 2/15. He will also need radiation again. My heart breaks for his situation and all that his wife is going through. Because of everything, Jim has been unable to work since 1/2020. With his blessing, I was lucky enough to be able to start a go fund me page. There have been many tears of joy and gratitude with donations, that have come from some of my friends and family, who have never even met him. I am not sure what I have done in this life to know such loving people, but I am forever grateful.
I know this was a heavy post. We have all been touched by cancer in many ways. I pray there will soon be an end to this – through gentle cures. I pray there is an end to this GD pandemic, that makes it all so much worse.
Thank you for allowing me to write this post and enabling me to get out some of the emotion that I keep try to stuff further and further down.
I wish you a great day – full of good health – and the vulnerability needed to tell those you love them – that you do. We only have this one, precious life.
~Jenn
diaryofherjourney 