120 days... (42 page)

Crissy is a reader who happens to love my books and we’ve become friends. Not only has she given me her grandfather’s story, she also beta read 120 days . . . for me. Thank you for your story and the feedback on my story.—M. Stratton

Richard Simpson

Written by: Crissy Sutcliffe

His Life

Richard Simpson was a kind and loving person. He always tried to be funny, even if his humor was lost on others. Along with my grandmother, he took me in when my mother was young. It was too hard for her to care for me. He worked hard, no matter what job he had. Most of his younger years were spent working as a trucker. As time went on, he became a commercial fisherman and loved that job. I think it was one of the things that made him happy in life.

His Illness

One day he started having chest pains. After a month of us hounding him to get it checked out, he went to the doctor. The diagnosis was something none of us expected. Stage IV lung cancer. He was given six months to live.

In the months that followed he tried to stay upbeat. He went through radiation like a champ! The chemotherapy was a different story. It took everything out of him. He was losing weight rapidly. It got to the point where it was very hard to watch. Three months and sixty pounds later, he ended up so sick that we had to take him to the emergency room.

All of his loved ones, family members and friends, gathered by his side to spend the final twenty hours of his life with him. He passed on June 26, 2012.

I met Rebecca when she came up to my table at a signing and said “Dorks over forks!” I must admit, I think I squealed. The motto in my street team is Dorks Over Forks, she had been told by an author friend, who is in there, Chelle C. Craze, to come up to me and say that. She took a bloody fork (swag from one of my romantic thriller series) and we’ve been friends since.—M. Stratton

Lydia

Written by: Rebecca Marie

There are some people you just know on first glance are angels walking the Earth. They’re the ones who give freely of everything they have and everything they are. They’re the ones who always put others first and never have a negative thing to say . . . I was lucky enough to spend my first 18 years of life with such an individual.

A true walking angel, my Grandma, Lydia, was the greatest woman on the planet, I’m certain. I never wanted for anything, if she could help it. I was always her first priority, the one she put on a pedestal (which I know I did not deserve to be). Aside from just being my primary caregiver, she was my closest ally. In a world filled with darkness, she was light. She was a true positive energy, always focusing on the good, and teaching me that I shouldn’t dwell on negatives and should always make the best of every situation. There are not enough words in the English language to describe how amazing this woman was.

Even when devastation hit, she made sure I didn’t know until it wasn’t able to be hidden any longer. She suffered from the lethal bastard, pancreatic cancer, in silence. Once again putting everyone else’s lives first, she didn’t want to be a burden. Knowing there was no cure and she would soon be returning to be a heavenly angel, she elected to live her final days here on Earth focusing on the positives, ensuring she had set up for my continued success, and letting her light quietly fade away. She was the greatest thing to have ever blessed my life, and without her I wouldn’t be the person, nor the mother, I am today. She taught me so much, and she was the greatest role model there could be. Cancer may have robbed us of time, but it can never take away all the memories . . .

I met Tabitha shortly after I published my first novel. She is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever know and I’m very lucky to call her my friend, and now I know where she gets her strength from.—M. Stratton

Edward Willbanks

Written by: Tabitha Willbanks

My Daddy was a very special man. He worked 60 hours a week to provide for our family, until he was ready to drop, and then he’d call my mom and say “I’m taking vacation pack up the girls and be ready to go when I get home.” That’s just how he was. It drove my mom nuts, but she didn’t complain too much.

When I was six, he was officially diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease. He was in the Navy, in Vietnam, and chemicals used over there to kill the dense vegetation were being found to cause cancer in soldiers all over the US at the time. It was a life changing blow. But it didn’t hold him back. One very distinct memory I have is Dad had promised my sister and I we would go to the county fair the day one of his chemo treatments was scheduled. Mom warned us not to get our hopes up, because Dad always felt awful after his treatments. But he was bound and determined to keep his word, and took us to the fair. He felt terrible, and was throwing up, but he muscled through. That’s just the type of man he was. When he was first diagnosed, the doctors really didn’t give him a good chance of survival. But he fought, and fought hard for ten long years. I will forever be grateful for those ten years. I really got to know my Daddy, and the amazing man he was. He eventually passed on December 20, 1999 with my sister and I right by his side.

I met Jade when I put the call out for stories. Since then we’ve talked in length via message about my story and hers. It is sad, but we can say we are all connected because this disease that affects so many touches our lives. We can babble with each other and understand the pain and loss we are all going through. Somehow the tragedy brings us closer.—M. Stratton

Bruce Blucker

Written by: Jade Reel Fox

My grampy, Bruce Blucker, was the best grandpa a girl could ask for. He was a fitness buff, doing countless push-ups and sit ups. He loved to box, but never got in the ring. He just did it for fun and fitness. He line danced and played basketball. He loved to garage sale so that he could find the antique gem he could fix up to its former glory and sell. Even into his early 80’s he was active and would work around his acreage. He also gardened and was proud to share the fruits of his labor. I was very close to my grandpa. He was an important part of my growing up as he lived in the next town over. We had taco dates once a week when I lived in town and a few times a week when I visited. We had phone conversations 3–4 times a week. He taught me to love, to pray, to be responsible, and to live by doing what was right. In September of 2013 he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Even up to the very end, he handled his illness with grace and class. He never complained and never shared his bad days with his family. He died five months after his diagnosis. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss him.

I don’t have Cameron in my book, he’s Carey Haywood’s, and he inspired her book Better. If you liked 120 days . . . you should read her book. I was lucky enough to beta read this book. Because of my parents this book gutted me, but in a good way. Her words brought me to tears and helped me to deal with the fact at the point when I first read it, both of my parents had cancer. I love you lady, thank you for sharing Cameron with me and everyone who reads this book.—M. Stratton

Better:
http://amzn.to/1E0hQ7U
(Better is available on all platforms)

Cameron

Written by: Carey Heywood

Cancer and Harry Potter, the inspiration for Better.

You wouldn’t think cancer would be the first thing someone thinks about when thinking of Harry Potter, but for me, it always will be.

I had not read the book when the first movie came out. It was just before Christmas 2001. At the time, I lived in Phoenix, but I was back home in Alexandria for a visit.

My father was ill, having had a stroke earlier that year. Being home was hard, and seeing him like that was surreal. I had an escape though—my friend, Cameron. Cameron was one of those guys that it took me too long to figure out just how wonderful he was.

We met in seventh grade French class. My mother met his mother the night before, and she made a point of telling me that Cameron and I should be friends.

When I saw him, I disagreed. While he was always handsome, he had a quirky fashion sense that I did not get. It was middle school, and I was trying so hard to fit in. He didn’t seem to mind standing out though, and he was always wearing this ridiculous trench coat. We became friends.

To this day, I’m not certain that I have ever known someone as truly sweet and generous as Cameron was. I say was because Cameron died. That’s where the cancer comes in. I’ll get back to that.

At the end of and after high school, I was in an extremely toxic and abusive relationship. During one of our breakups, I went out on a couple of dates with Cameron. Looking back, I wish I had been ready for him, but I wasn’t. My head was not in the right place to deal with accepting my attraction to the guy with the mohawk when I was still all messed-up over a guy who was nothing but a thug. Cameron was too different.

I moved away, and when I came back for a visit, we went on another date. He took me to the little Chinese place next to where the Blockbuster was. Over dinner, he told me he had cancer.

He learned this during his freshman year of college. He kept having stomach pains and went twice to the student clinic, only to be sent away with painkillers.

The next time, his mom told him to go to the emergency room. They found a tumor.

I remember being shocked over dinner but not scared. Nobody I knew had died of cancer. He would be fine.

We kept in touch while I was in Arizona, talking on the phone maybe once every couple of months. Just as I suspected, the cancer went away. He beat it. He even went back to school and worked up the nerve to ask some girl out. I was jealous.

He never got a chance to go on that date. The cancer came back, and he moved back home to Virginia.

The next time I saw him was December 2001. He looked different but not bad. We went to see Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. He had already seen it, but he took me anyway.