120 days... (41 page)

My profession is that I make eyeglasses and I’ll never forget the afternoon that he came to my office and proudly announced that he needed glasses to help him ‘see.’ Sissy was quick to gesture behind him that we should just do what he said. I ended up making him a pair of eyeglasses with plain lenses to satisfy his need to fit in with people who couldn’t see. He swore that when he wore them that he could read his Braille much better.

Everything went well until Sissy’s diagnosis. It had started with her feeling tired and that led to depression. The doctors gave her anti-depressants and tried to figure out what was causing her issues. Several months went by before it was finally discovered that she had ovarian cancer. Chemotherapy became a weekly thing and Bobby encouraged and supported his mom because he’d already been through it all himself. She fought as hard as she possibly could but it was so far advanced when it was found that it ran rampant despite the chemo. After only a few months, her local doctor discontinued treatment because he felt it wasn’t doing any good. She didn’t accept that and turned to Duke again since they’d helped save Bobby. They tripled the dosage and it began to take a toll on her. She was so sick and had no energy. Noises were amplified and food tasted really metallic. Nothing was normal and she didn’t like it one bit. One thing I did was call her every day and see her every chance I could get. Little gifts and cards were my way of cheering up her days and bring a smile to her face. I also encouraged her to come to visit us for the weekend so she could rest which also gave Phillip time to bond with Bobby. She prepared them for her possible death and it was so sad.

One activity that Sissy and I loved to do when we were together was to do scrapbooking. It was something she could focus on and also she felt as if she were leaving something behind for others. She scrapbooked right up until the month before she passed away and after her death, Phillip called me and asked me to come over. When I arrived, he showed me her scrapbook which had empty pages with post-it notes instructing me to finish them. She had everything planned right to the end.

She began to have issues with her health related to the chemotherapy and at one point had to be resuscitated. That scared her and she told me that she needed to take care of things in case something like that happened again. She asked me to do her eulogy at her funeral and I was stunned. I didn’t like that she was talking about final things but I also understood that it could be years before I would have to do it. I wrote her eulogy that day and I’m glad I did. Instead of writing it filled with grief, I wrote it filled with my love for her and my pride at her strength. I filed it away for the day when I’d have to deal with it which turned out to be less than three months later.

Bobby was 14 and doing really well when his mom passed away. He’d become really close with his dad and also with myself and my husband. He loved to come and stay with us just like his mom did and it also gave his dad a break. About four months after Sissy died, Bobby began to complain of pain in his arm. His dad took him to Duke and they found that he had a tumor in his arm that had broken out of his bone marrow. They treated him the same way they had in the past and luckily, the tumor went away. It was scary to think that his cancer could come back after so many years but it went away so quickly and five years passed making a milestone for a cancer patient. Unfortunately, Bobby’s cancer came back again when he was 19 but this time, he didn’t tell anyone right away.

I noticed Bobby’s appetite had fallen off and when I asked him about it, he’d explained it away by saying he needed to lose weight. Finally, he couldn’t hide his discomfort anymore and told his dad that he had pain in his stomach. By the time he got to Duke, the doctors found that the cancer was all over his abdomen, liver and lungs. The doctor, who gave him the diagnosis, essentially told him that there was nothing they could do for him. He was sent home with hospice and large dosages of morphine. Once again, I made it my mission to make every day he had left special for him. I saw him every day and when he asked me for a birthday party, I was more than happy to make it happen. Friends and family gathered to celebrate the bittersweet event that was his 20
^th
birthday which we ended up having a week before his actual birthday. He was on oxygen and very uncomfortable but had a smile on his face as we surrounded him with love and his favorite thing, presents. We tried to make his day as special as possible but knowing all the while that it wasn’t going to be long before he would die. He celebrated his actual birthday at home lying on his couch and of course, I went to see him. He was tired but still tried to entertain me with a video game challenge. I knew he was failing fast and it made time with him even more precious. The day before he died, I had the crazy idea that I didn’t need to go over there to see him. I reasoned that he was probably sick of seeing me but when I called, I was told to come over. It was insisted upon. When I got there, I realized that he was coming to the end of his journey. We sat together and prayed and he had such a sense of peace. It was overwhelming for me and I spent most of the night with tears running down my face. I didn’t want to leave because I knew that would be the end of my time with him so I dragged the evening out as long as possible. Finally, he insisted I needed to go home to take care of my pets and I knew that was my cue to leave. I kissed him and told him I loved him and he said that he loved me and for me to tell his uncle that he loved him too. When I got to the door and turned to leave, I simply said, “I’ll see you.” He smiled and said, “Yes, you will.”

He died at 5am the next morning. I treasure the memories I made with Sissy and Bobby and will for the rest of my life. They inspired me to follow my dream to become an author and I believe are in my corner watching over me.

They both showed incredible strength and faith and had genuinely beautiful hearts. I have no doubt that they are walking the streets of Heaven and Bobby is pointing out the beautiful sights to his mom. They live in my heart and always will.

I love Amalie, she is so funny and caring, I secretly stalk her on social media and am going to fangirl when I meet her, and she is that awesome. When I heard she had not one, but two names my heart broke for her. Her father and her best friend. The more I learn about Amalie the more I am amazed at the person she is.—M. Stratton

William Kenneth Johnson

Written by: Amalie Silver

William Kenneth Johnson was my father. Throughout my life, he’d always been a source of comfort. I won’t say he was my rock, mostly because that was Mom for me, but he was always there to help, to offer a bad joke, or show me the proper way to grill a steak.

He was a warm soul, a smile in the middle of chaos, and a good man.

When his cancer took a turn for the worse, my fiancé and I stepped up to the plate and bought his house, the same house I grew up in. My parents were able to retire and buy a home up north on a lake, and Dad lived comfortably for nine months living out his dream until he died a year after they moved.

Colon cancer took him at the young age of sixty-one.

Love you, Pops.

1947–2008.

Elizabeth Munns

Written by: Amalie Silver

Elizabeth Munns was my best friend. She had a rough time battling some personal demons, but she always kept a bright smile on her face. Her entire life was devoted to God and his good, but she never judged anyone. And she never judged me. Not when I smoked. Not when I drank. Not when I came out. And not when I told her I didn’t believe in religion.

She was beauty in every definition.

Her diagnosis came out of nowhere, and for a short time I didn’t believe her. I remember having to look up the word melanoma and its prognosis, because I wasn’t even sure what it was.

God took her home in 1998 at the age of twenty. She passed eight months after she was diagnosed.

Miss your smile, babe. I miss everything about you.

1977–1998.

RJ is another author friend. As with all of us, talking, or writing about our loved ones who have or are going through cancer is difficult, she wanted to do this until she is able to write her mother’s story. Thank you for sharing her with me.—M. Stratton

Dolores

Written by: RJ Van Cleave

My mom. Ah yes, where do I start? My mom, Dolores, was born in 1936 in Bayside, NY. She was the second of two children and grew up in a very eclectic neighborhood full of second generation immigrants. While Mom’s ancestors came from Hungary, she was exposed to Jewish, Polish, German, and Asian cultures and embraced them all. She was blessed to have many friends, but tragedy struck her family when she was 12. Her father died unexpectedly, hemorrhaging to death after surgery for TB, which he had contracted from a co-worker. My grandma held down three jobs to support her children, and my mom took on two jobs once she turned 15. Mom met Dad through her brother when she was 16 (he was 22, fresh out of the Navy). She graduated high school early and got married 15 days after she turned 18—for no other reason but love. Two years later, in 1956, my parents packed all of their belongings into their car. With only $500 to their name, they set off for San Diego, CA, where Dad’s ship had docked briefly. They had no job, and no place to live when they arrived, but by the grace of God, they quickly found both.

Mom’s greatest joys in life were her family, and then her career. She put work on hold to raise her kids, but went back to school and got her AA degree at the age of 55. She eventually found a niche in the construction trade and loved her job as an office manager. Fast forward to 2011- Mom had four grown children, nine grandchildren, and her first great-grandbaby on the way. She got sick, for the first time in
decades
, with pneumonia. Then pancreatitis hit—or so the doctors thought. Her pancreas was inflamed, but normal treatments did nothing to help. In and out of the hospital, rapid weight loss, and mental confusion quickly took over. Excruciating pain in her back and abdomen, plus fluid filling her chest cavity eventually kept her in the hospital—a place she hated because of her father’s death. Numerous doctors saw her (EXCEPT oncology) and had ‘pissing contests’ as to who had the correct diagnosis. The pulmonologist was convinced it was TB, due to her exposure to it 63 years prior! Twenty-one days after her second long-term admittance, she was transferred to the ICU because her blood pressure had plummeted. Inexplicably, lymphoma cells had also been found for the first time in the fluid drained from her chest, and the doctors told us there was nothing more they could do. We removed the epinephrine that had kept her alive and maxed out her morphine. Three hours later, on June 2, at 11:12 PM, she took her last breath. As a Biologist, I
had
to know what happened. We were all stunned when the autopsy report said it was non-Hodgkin B-cell lymphoma (specifically Primary Pancreatic Lymphoma—so rare that only 0.3% of people get it) and it had metastasized. It had taken over her pancreas, her spleen (which contradicts PPL according to my research), abdominal linings, her left kidney/adrenal gland (the back pain), and both lungs. They couldn’t tell us how long she had had it, but we suspect it was the cause of her pneumonia. At the age of 75, and after 57 years of marriage, my mom was gone . . . yet another victim of cancer.