April 9, 2018

 

This morning I found out that an old friend had passed away. He was 45 years old. He had a rare lung cancer that metastasized…everywhere. I met him in 1991, on a school art trip. He went to the other high school and was a senior; I was a freshman.  The guy had a magnetic personality. He was a guy that everyone wanted to be around. He was silly, creative, funny, and kind. I was completely drawn to him and his super curly head of hair. We were friends instantly and stayed friends for many years after.

 

The U2 album, Achtung Baby, was the album of the summer of 1991 for us. It seemed like it was always on – wherever we were and for whatever we were doing. It played in the car on the way to Horseshoe Falls, on the stereo if we were hanging out at our buddy’s house, and in my head every day. For years after, I associated that album with my time with him and our gang. Today, as I listen to it, I think of all of the fun we had and how fleeting time can be. How moments can be stolen and can stay in your heart and your head forever. Today, I think of how fortunate I am and at the same time utterly tortured with guilt.

 

Cancer is something that no one wants. No matter what kind. It changes your perspective and how you look at the world. It changes how you love and how you live. And it makes you really look at the fact that you only have this one life. But there are also varying degrees of cancer. Those that people battle and can beat, those that will eventually take your life, and those that are like a prolonged, severe cold and will pass with some quick meds. I’ve got the kind that’s like a really bad cold. It’s been a pain in the neck, but it’s not killing me and will never kill me. I even have an elevator pitch for it: I’ve just got cancer, I’m not dying. And it’s true – I’ve got cancer, and I will not die from it. At the same time, I feel like I can’t even really say or own the fact that I have cancer. I don’t have to go through months of chemotherapy or radiation. I am not debilitated. I am not going through various types of clinical trials just to give myself a few more good years or even months. I am just sick sometimes. I just had to have surgery and, so far, a week-long treatment. I don’t even feel like I have the right to say that I have cancer. I feel guilty that I have even uttered those words from my mouth – because people feel instantly sorry for you. And what do they have to be sorry about; I’m not going to die.

 

My friend died. And his family is completely shredded by the loss of someone so fantastic and so loved, and they will never get to laugh with him, hug him, or talk to him ever again. Their hearts are broken. Their lives will never be the same. So, while my life will never be the same again either, I am alive. I have this one life, and I should probably think very seriously about living it. I should think about what it means and what I can do with it. I should think about every single last human that I love very much and tell them every day how much I love them. I should not let things or people that do not serve me, or my family’s happiness control my life. And it’s not that I should, I will.

 

Although I didn’t talk to him much in the last decade, I watched his progression through social media and the words of all that loved him. In the last year of his life, he ran a marathon; he skied, he painted, he created, he loved, and accepted everything. He lived every single day as if it might be his last, until his last breath at 6:30 pm on Sunday, April 8th. That is an inspiration to me, and I will do the same until my last breath of life…whenever that day is because I just have cancer, and right now, I’m not dying.