Amazing Grace

            As most people who know me already are aware, my son, Alex, passed away on May 24, 2013, after a long struggle with job-related brain cancer (an oligoastrocytoma). Today, as I was doing a bit of cleaning in my office, I came across a manila envelope filled with cards sent to me in 2005 from friends and well-wishers along with information about brain tumors, a bio of Alex’s neurosurgeon at UC Davis, and the following two items that were written by Alex before his first surgery (and there were three) on March 4, 2005. I believe these two pieces speak to his courage, his sense of humor, and his need to put others first. Although it is now 2017, from time to time I make amazing new discoveries that touch my heart. I wanted to share.

First is a little letter he wrote though I’m not certain it was delivered to anyone:

I just wanted to take a moment to say how much I appreciate all your support. You know, when you find out the voice in your head is actually a little more than a voice it tends to change your perspective on things quite a bit. When you find out that the voice is actually some guy named Chet who is subleasing space in your cranium, it tends to piss you off.

After cooling off though you start to realize how lucky you are in so many ways. I always felt like I had a good grasp on reality and didn’t take things for granted anyway. Nonetheless, I started to realize that for all of Chet’s inherent fucked-up-ness, he has given me both a lesson and a gift. So I have re-evaluated some of my favorite things.

MY NEW FAVORITE THINGS

            Comet – Still #1, sorry

NEW FAVORITE FOOTBALL PLAYER – Imani Tumor

NEW FAVORITE MOVIE LINE – Arnold Schwarzenegger in Kindergarten Cop – “It’s not a tumor.”

NEW FAVORITE WORD, that you bet your ass, I am going to try and use in a game of Scrabble, tumultuous. In a sentence: There is going to be a very tumultuous event when Big Al gets to sit down face to face with Chet.

THINGS I USED TO LOVE – “NOW NOT SO MUCH”          

            Metallica song – Crash Course in Brain Surgery

            Tumor jokes – A guy walks into a neurologist’s office and after a few tests the neurologist comes out and says to the guy, “Geez you gotta big tumor. Geez you got a big tumor.” You know, because of the echo.

Note: Comet was Alex’s dog, a Pit Bull, Ridgeback mix, and Chet was what he named his tumor.

Second is a note. When Alex had his first surgery he prepared a basket of “goodies” for those of us waiting for the surgery (almost seven hours) to be over. I saved the note he wrote and enclosed in it:

Thanks so much. I couldn’t ask for a better support team. Here is a little

something to help bide the time and hopefully keep the kids entertained

because I know they are entertaining you. P. S. You all showing up really

pisses Chet off, but Big Al thinks it rocks! I’ll see you all momentarily “sans”

this freeloading shit bag in my head.

Below is an excerpt that relates to the basket and Alex’s note. It is taken from Tumor Me, The Story Of My Firefighter, the memoir I wrote:

In a few days, Alex and I went back to North Highlands and stayed at Alex’s house to be nearer the UC Davis Medical Center. He had a number of appointments: for blood work, for another MRI, and for that ever-so-important pre-op meeting where we signed papers that essentially stated that if Alex died during surgery, I would make decisions on his behalf. The pre-op was conducted by a physician’s assistant who did an excellent job of gathering pertinent medical history information, of explaining procedures that would occur prior to the surgery in layman’s terms so that we could understand, in assuring Alex that he had the best surgeon in the state, and in keeping me calm so that I didn’t jump out of my skin because if I could have done so I might have run away, as far as I could go to get away from this nightmare.

After our meeting, we went shopping.

“Shopping?” one might ask.

Yes, we went shopping. We went to Pier One Imports, a grocery store, and a toy store. Why? We went because Alex insisted. He wanted to prepare a huge basket filled with puzzles, coloring books, drawing paper, crayons, playing cards, dominos, granola bars, gum, pens, pencils, pretzels, licorice, and God only knows what else. Heaven forbid that anyone might be bored during the surgery.

“It’s going to be a long surgery,” he said. “I want to make sure people have stuff to do and some food to eat.”

This was Alex. He was facing a major craniotomy; rather than focusing on himself, however, he was taking care of everyone else. I was not going to say no to anything Alex wanted at this point, so I helped him prepare the basket that literally overflowed with its bounty and dutifully carried it into the waiting room after he had been sent up for the surgery.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, however.

            

            So there! If anyone has read this far into this blog, thank you. The pain of losing someone you love so deeply never goes away . . . ever. Sharing helps.

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