120 days... (40 page)

I first met Kris when he came to work for Creative Cabinets in June 2002. He had been living in California prior to that, and needing a change in life, threw a dart at a map vowing to go live wherever it landed. The dart landed on Tucson, Arizona.

Kris and I became good friends very quickly, getting together with my brother and many others for Poker and Fantasy Football. Over time our friendship grew into more like Family and I considered him My Brother, as did my brother Mark and Kris’s Best Friend Jeff Toothaker.

Kris left Creative Cabinets in December 2004 and went to work for one of our competitors, Millwork by Design. He was living in a house that I had previously rented, he moved in there shortly after I purchased my first home in February 2004.

In early 2005, Kris was diagnosed with brain cancer, after seeing a doctor about his having seizures, similar to epileptic seizures. He had surgery to remove the tumor, the surgery was a success, but over the years the tumor kept coming back, and Kris had two more surgeries to remove a brain tumor.

Kris had come to work with me at Sierra Woodworks on November 26
^th
, 2010. It was very nice to have my dear friend at work again and see him every day, talk about life, family, football and just shoot the breeze.

In June 2011, the cancer came back once again. This time, and his fourth Surgery, they were not able to remove all the cancer, it had spread to the back of his brain and neck, surgery was not an option. Rather than go through Chemotherapy and another round of Steroids, Kris declined treatment of any kind in the interest of having some quality of life in the time he had left. Kris experienced a loss of feeling in his limbs and motor function over the next year as the cancer grew and began to put pressure on his spinal cord.

A year later, near the end of his life, in those last weeks, I visited Kris several times a week. I would bring him whatever he wanted to eat, sometimes it was a chicken pot pie (He loved those things) and other times it was a chef salad from Arby’s.

On July 10
^th
2012, I went to see Kris at his home that evening; it was chef salad from Arby’s night. He had lost most of the function in his arms and I sat with him and helped him eat. Many times he tried to feed himself and had difficulty, I began to feed him myself and I could tell he was grateful, but hated it. After helping him to the restroom and back to his bed, we talked about the upcoming football season and what our favorite teams were going to be like. Kris became very tired, took his medication, and I left him to sleep, giving him a hug and telling him “I love you Brother”! He said “I Love you too! Now get out of here and let me sleep.”

The next day, July 11
^th
, 2012, I got a call from his ex-wife Emily, who was always there helping him. She said Kris was arguing with her about what day it was. He didn’t believe her that it was Wednesday. He told her that he would only believe it if Stratton got on the phone and told him it was true. She held up the phone to him, I asked how he was doing, and he asked what day it was. I told him that it was Wednesday July 11
^th
, 2012. He said “Whatever,” as he almost always did, whether it applied or not, it was his favorite saying.

That was the last Time I spoke to Kris, he didn’t wake up the next day, and he had slipped into a coma overnight. Many of us gathered around his bed that Night of July 12
^th
, 2012. We sat with him for several hours, talking to him, not knowing if he could hear us, and told stories about our times spent with Kris.

I kissed Kris goodbye on the forehead, and headed home. Shortly after arriving home that night, Emily called to say Kris had passed away.

I will never forget him, he had a huge impact on my life, and I believe he is still with me, there are times when I can sense his presence. Kris took me to my first AA meeting, and always was concerned how I was doing, even when he was dying. May he rest in peace, my brother forever!

Kris is survived by his Ex-Wife Emily, His Step Daughter Spring, and his Daughter Jules.

I ‘met’ Derrick when he auditioned to narrate my audiobook of Bender. As soon as I heard his voice I knew he’d be perfect. And then he performed my character Nutter exactly as I wanted and there was no one else for the role. Thank you Mr. McClain for telling your son to persue his dreams.—M. Stratton

Thomas McClain

Written by: Derrick McClain

My father was Thomas McClain. Is. Was. I’m still not sure what to say.

He died two months before he could claim his pension. Four months after my graduation from college. Two months after my birthday, which was when I noticed he didn’t look well, and begged him to see a doctor. He died one week after they removed the softball sized tumor from his colon. One week after they found out it had already metastasized to his liver, enlarging it three times and replacing almost the entire thing with cancer. One week after I had to pin a doctor down in the hall and make him go explain to my dad that yes, this was cancer, and yes, it is terminal. Because while I realized what was happening, Dad didn’t, and no doctor had told him.

He died three days before his first chemotherapy session. The session that was going to tell us how likely the chemotherapy was going to be to help. The session that was going to lead to a prognosis.

He died alone. In his favorite chair, watching TV. Alone.

He was my father. He wasn’t a saint, or a hero, but he was my father.

He was a musician and an engineer. A drunk and a womanizer. An artist and a depressed soul. Above all else, he was a loving father.

Not all my memories are sunshine and rainbows. My parents divorced when I was only two years old, and so I’ve only ever known spending time with my dad on Summer vacation and school holidays. I remember learning at the age of four how to roll cigarettes for him. I’m pretty sure it was just tobacco. I remember going grocery shopping first thing every time I visited, as his fridge never had anything but beer and condiments. I remember his dining room full of garbage bags of crushed beer cans, collected to one day cash in at the recycling center, but seemingly never accomplished, at least until the bags spread out beyond the dining room into the kitchen and living room and halls. I remember trying to explain to him at the age of seven that whistling at women in the parking lot is
not,
in fact, a compliment. I remember that after he told me the “birds and the bees” he also explained that it was the best feeling in the world and I should do it as soon as I can. I remember being terrified to tell him that I was gay, not because I thought he wouldn’t accept me, but because I was crushed to ruin his dreams of taking me to a strip club on my 18
^th
birthday, and shatter what I knew were his plans to live vicariously through my “triumph” of young attractive women.

I also remember the incredible pride I felt when I went with him to his gigs at different coffee shops and bars, when he would sit on one of his old stools, playing his guitar and singing his love songs. I still am more moved by live acoustic performances than any other type of music. I remember when he gifted me a copy of Khalil Gibran’s
The Prophet
when I was ten years old. I remember at eleven, when he had blacked out during a movie we had watched together and been looking forward to all week, the next day confronting him about his drinking—I remember that that day he didn’t yell at me, but just looked down, ashamed, and said, “Yeah, you’re right.” I remember the pride I felt for him when he went to AA, and the continued pride when he celebrated his 17
^th
“birthday” shortly before he passed. I remember him taking me to theme parks, never pushing me to go on the roller coasters that scared me, letting me spend a limitless amount of money on the carnival games resulting in bags upon bags of stuffed animals that he then kept forever. I remember his undying, eternal love for me. The pride in his eyes every time he looked upon me, the joy he felt in every accomplishment I achieved, and the continued faith he had in me despite any and all missteps I made.

My father wasn’t perfect. But he taught me the most important lessons in life. No, maybe he couldn’t teach me how to fix a leaking sink or remove a hook from a fish’s mouth. But he taught me what it is to truly love someone unconditionally. He taught me how you can change your life at any age. He taught me how you can pursue your dreams while still working a “regular” job. He taught me how to believe in myself. He taught me how to bring smiles to other people’s faces, and he taught me how to find joy in life even when depression pulls at your heart.

I wasn’t there when dad died. No one was. I still have some guilt about it, not a crushing life impeding guilt, but just the right amount that I think I should have. We didn’t think the end was so close. Heck, right next to his chair, he had a brand new art easel set up, everything ready to start painting for the first time in forty years, but not a single brushstroke yet added. He had plans, plans to live what we thought was going to be his final year to the fullest, to record new songs, paint new paintings, conceive of new engineering feats. To do everything he had been putting off.

He wasn’t able to. So now, I am doing it for him. Not living his life, of course, but my own. Pursuing my dreams, despite any common wisdom to leave them for other days. I don’t know how much time I actually have left in this life. I know I’m not perfect myself. But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make the best of what I do have, and love every person left in my life while I can. Here’s to you Dad, and all our crazy ambitions.

As authors we need support groups and Elizabeth and I are in one together. She was one of the first to message me when I sent a call out looking for stories to add. My heart broke when I heard of a mother and son who had lost their fight with cancer at such a young age, and amazed at their strength, their fight to live.—M. Stratton

Elizabeth “Sissy” and Bobby

Written by: Elizabeth James

My sister-in-law was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at the age of 37 and passed away just a few months before her 38
^th
birthday. She was such a wonderful loving person who had devoted herself to the care of her son, Bobby who was also a cancer victim. Sissy was a fighter and when she found out she had cancer, she took it in stride and decided that she was going to fight it and to beat it. She was always positive and upbeat and even on her worst days, always managed a smile.

Sissy was the middle child of five and the only girl. She loved hanging with her brothers and they always were watching out for her. When she was 19, she met Phillip and they fell in love. A year later, they were blessed with Bobby and thought their life was perfect. Unfortunately, when Bobby was 10 months old, it was discovered during an examination that he had something wrong with him. The family was sent to Duke University Hospital and it was then that they diagnosed him with Tri-lateral Retinoblastoma which is a very rare terminal cancer that focuses on the eyes. His unfortunately had also moved into his brain. The life expectancy for Bobby was only another 8 months and the doctors advised Sissy and Phillip to take him home and just give him as much love as possible and also to try to have another child because their child was going to die. Sissy told the doctors that she wasn’t going to accept that and for them to try to save him by any means possible. Essentially, his care was signed over to the doctors so they could experiment with treatments to try and save him, which they did.

Bobby went into remission but as a result of his cancer attacking his eyes, he had to have them both removed. He was totally blind but not like any other blind person I’d ever known. He loved video games and was really good at them. His sense of hearing was uncanny and he used it to help himself go about life with very little assistance. He was taught by his mother to be very independent and not to feel he was handicapped by his lack of sight. Sissy mainstreamed him into public school and he blended in so well that one day he ended up being told he needed eyeglasses. The story was that the school nurse was doing vision screenings and so he went along with the class. When it was his turn to read the eye chart, he said that he couldn’t ‘see’ anything. The nurse had no idea he was blind since he’d walked in unassisted and she told him that he probably needed some glasses. He left the office and went to tell his mother. She was floored that the nurse had told him that but after talking to her; she realized that Bobby had been so much like the other kids that she hadn’t had a clue that he was blind.