Fuck you canceršš½
Originally written on Tuesday 10/25/2016.
Itās tough to pinpoint how it feels. My feelings change so frequently. I donāt even know why I try to figure it out. But at this moment, during this sentence, Iām feeling really sad. Itās terrible that she was tortured the way she was at different times. Very few people in this world deserve to go through what she had to go through. Certainly not sweet Margie.
Luckily, I havenāt found myself feeling too sad for prolonged periods each day. I keep reminding myself to be grateful no matter how fucked up this shit is. To my surprise, I woke up feeling somewhat content. Sheās in less pain nowā¦ less discomfort. But the confusion she has about where she is and whatās happening is painful to watch. Itās starting to occur each time she wakes up, in between her naps that are growing in length.
Sheās so beautiful when she naps and so beautiful when she wakes up. She doesnāt wake up for longā¦ a few seconds here, a couple of minutes there. I donāt know how she does it, but she always cracks one of her incredible smiles. Itās the most beautiful smile Iāve ever seen.
Margie has always been pretty simple. She loves her family, her sleep, her T.J. Maxx, her Mike and Ikes, her chocolate desserts, and a good prank call. And the āniceā thingsā¦ her Audi, that awkward, expensive side table in the living room that I canāt seem to figure out how to put to use. She cracks me up with the furnitureā¦ always rearranging. And then rearranging some more. Iām so glad I caught her on video rearranging that one time at 2 am. We laugh every time we watch it. Most people would find it creepy, but she loved it when we kids watched over her from the Dropcam. I bought it for her shortly after her diagnosis so she could watch the dogs during her 6-hour treatments. She thought it was the coolest gift ever.
We are all that matters to her. Her untrained but cute seven-year-old dog, her best friend, us son in-laws, her daughter in law, her current and future grandkids, her sons, her daughters, and her husband. It sure sounds like a lot of usā¦ but it doesnāt feel like it. We need to remember how many other people love her like we do even though theyāre not here every day. I know she loves them too. Sheās just so sweet that she wants as few people as possible to have to see her in this state, here at this place.
I donāt know how she does it, but she somehow finds the strength to tell us she canāt believe that weāre all here all the time. She wants us to go home and is worried about us being tired. Sometimes she wants to come back with us. She just woke up, pointed at me, and asked if Iāll take her āhome.ā
Dammit. Why the hell is this happening?
Her cancer is so complex. Thatās how doctors have described it to us. āItās a complex case,ā they say. But why does such a sweet, beautiful, simple woman have such a complex case of cancer? Why did she have cancer numerous times? How was she only given six months to liveā¦ just about two years ago now?
Itās so unfair.
Her body is so frail, but her strength through it all, even to this day, is inspirational. Sheās amazing. If she went through all of that, we could make it through all of this, right?
This fucking sucks. But it is what it is.
Thanks for everything, Margie. For putting up such a tough fightā¦ and for loving us so much. I accept that itās your time. I know youāre ready. As promised, Iāll take care of your baby.
Iām going to miss you. Weāre all going to miss you. I love you Margie.
Margie passed away in the early hours of Friday, November 4, 2016. Which in true Margie fashion means, she surpassed medical expertsā expectations yet again, but only by a few hours this time.
August 2017ā¦š
We could never have imagined what happened next. My wifeās father, Margieās Husband, Arnee, was diagnosed with Myelodysplastic Syndromes (MDS), just months after she passed. Boom. Weāre going through it all againā¦ the shock that comes with the news of a very poor prognosis, which is explained best by Matt Bencke in āThe Day I Found Out My Life Was Hanging By a Thread.ā All of the planningā¦ whatās the treatment plan? Who is going to go each time? Who should we tell first? What about work? Who is taking out the dogs? Why is this happening? What the fuck?! Weāll get through it. Will we? Weāll be supportive and try. Itās what we do.
Once again, life is put on hold. Constant care taking with little time for ourselves. Mentally exhausted, nightly conversations about dreams of a simpler life. Perhaps early retirement with a small family on the beach in the middle of nowhere. Ahh, sounds nice.
But this situation wasnāt the same as with Margie. He didnāt stand a chance. Although determined to beat it, we had to rush him to Hopkins with pneumonia-like symptoms on the eight-month anniversary of Margieās passing. We were saying goodbye two weeks later.
And just like that, my wife lost both of her parentsā¦ in under a year. The baby of the family, the first of her friends to not just lose a single parent, but both.
Fuck you canceršš½.
Matt Bencke wrote, āIf I get a soapbox, hereās my short shtick: We are all so fragile. Each day is precious. And the most important parts of our lives are the relationships we invest in.ā
FWIW, I hope I can give people like Matt peace of mind when I say that the people left behind will be OK, including his daughters. It fucking sucks that it has to be this way, but thatās lifeā¦ bad shit happens to good people. We would do anything to rewrite recent history, but thatās not how life goes. When tragedy strikes, just remember that it could always be worseā¦ Thatās the only non-bullshit line I can tell myself that I actually believe. And when I do, the weight of the current situation doesnāt feel quite as heavy.