12-24-2008, 01:42 AM
In February 2007, my friend and colleague, George, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer -- something none of us knew anything about at the time. In April 2007, they tried the "whipple" procedure on George -- the first line of defense against pancreatic cancer. It didn't work. On my birthday, I went into the hospital to see him. My first thought --and odd thought left unexpressed-- was "You are never going to see my place in Hawaii." (He knew of my obsession) But George did believe he was going to beat pancreatic cancer and for almost 18 months, he did. He lived long enough to make it his daughter's graduation. He died shortly after that, in July 2008. George was a very smart, hyper-masculine guy who liked off-roading and the Padres (all that love for the Padres was in vain). He was also an excellent attorney. Being very secure his masculinity, he loved me like a brother, nurtured my talents and ran interference when people tried to play rough.
His wife maintained an agonizing blog throughout the entire ordeal.
Last night, his Wife and kids were on the Pride of America on their first ever trip to Hawaii, and Hawaiian cruise. They are having a great time. My guests offered to "blink" the lights as they passed Kaloli Point.
I wrote an entry on her blog last Sunday. It's a little long, but the message is this: Live, brothers and sisters, live. In the spirit of the season, I thought I would share it with my Punaweb friends:
<<Glen here. It’s 39 degrees this morning in Oceanside. We appear to be experiencing the “sub” part of the subtropical weather we enjoy in Southern California. I am sitting by the fire with my two Dalmatians, Ben and Mindy, arrayed at my feet with care. They have one eye on the doggie door, because they know that Sandy Paws soon will be coming through it, bringing them toys and treats on his sleigh, which is actually a miniature fire engine pulled by unusually strong flying Chihuahuas with diamond encrusted collars and harnesses. Of course, Ben and Mindy probably don’t appreciate every nuance of the story about Sandy Paws. But their wide eyes and cocked ears tell me they get the underlying message (treats and toys en route) and their sense of wonder is completely intact. To Mindy, a shoe is not just a shoe (or even a missile with a message) – it is an object to be seized and paraded in gleeful triumph throughout the house and yard. To Ben, a tennis ball is a magical sphere that beckons you to forget all else and follow it single-mindedly wherever it may go. And they both believe that when I walk through the door at the end of the day, my return from wherever it is I go in the morning is nothing less than a miracle to be celebrated by leaping, dashing, frolicking and barks of joy.
And they would be right.
Walking in the door is something to celebrate. And lately, I have been very fond of sunrises. Sunrises are especially appreciated after the longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice, which is celebrated at this time of year in so many different ways, including Christmas.
At times, it has seemed like one long night since we lost George. But I know he would want us to enjoy the sunrise as well as the beautiful celebrations we have at this time of year. I believe that we can carry part of his spirit with us by honoring some of the virtues that we celebrate at this time of year: kindness, generosity, peace, equanimity. But perhaps we honor him the most simply by remembering him–not as a symbol of perfection, but as he was: a real guy who had a positive effect on our lives. We haven't forgotten you, George.
Lately, for reasons I can’t explain, nature brings George to mind, especially birds. I used to ignore them but they now seem to insist on my attention, like the owl that perched on the top of my chimney the other night, hooting loudly and insistently. Each call was amplified through the flue and was heard with the volume of a bassoon down a marble hall. Who?
Well, Sandy Paws has to hop in his Chihuahua-powered chariot and go find a child’s flip-flop to wrap for Mindy now. When she glimpses the soft succulent rubbery shoe through the wrapping next Thursday morning, no doubt she will rip the wrapping to shreds, grab the shoe and gallop to the top of the stairs where the world can witness her conquest.
May you all find wonder again in the simple things, companionship in one another, and may you enjoy every rising of the sun.>>
His wife maintained an agonizing blog throughout the entire ordeal.
Last night, his Wife and kids were on the Pride of America on their first ever trip to Hawaii, and Hawaiian cruise. They are having a great time. My guests offered to "blink" the lights as they passed Kaloli Point.
I wrote an entry on her blog last Sunday. It's a little long, but the message is this: Live, brothers and sisters, live. In the spirit of the season, I thought I would share it with my Punaweb friends:
<<Glen here. It’s 39 degrees this morning in Oceanside. We appear to be experiencing the “sub” part of the subtropical weather we enjoy in Southern California. I am sitting by the fire with my two Dalmatians, Ben and Mindy, arrayed at my feet with care. They have one eye on the doggie door, because they know that Sandy Paws soon will be coming through it, bringing them toys and treats on his sleigh, which is actually a miniature fire engine pulled by unusually strong flying Chihuahuas with diamond encrusted collars and harnesses. Of course, Ben and Mindy probably don’t appreciate every nuance of the story about Sandy Paws. But their wide eyes and cocked ears tell me they get the underlying message (treats and toys en route) and their sense of wonder is completely intact. To Mindy, a shoe is not just a shoe (or even a missile with a message) – it is an object to be seized and paraded in gleeful triumph throughout the house and yard. To Ben, a tennis ball is a magical sphere that beckons you to forget all else and follow it single-mindedly wherever it may go. And they both believe that when I walk through the door at the end of the day, my return from wherever it is I go in the morning is nothing less than a miracle to be celebrated by leaping, dashing, frolicking and barks of joy.
And they would be right.
Walking in the door is something to celebrate. And lately, I have been very fond of sunrises. Sunrises are especially appreciated after the longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice, which is celebrated at this time of year in so many different ways, including Christmas.
At times, it has seemed like one long night since we lost George. But I know he would want us to enjoy the sunrise as well as the beautiful celebrations we have at this time of year. I believe that we can carry part of his spirit with us by honoring some of the virtues that we celebrate at this time of year: kindness, generosity, peace, equanimity. But perhaps we honor him the most simply by remembering him–not as a symbol of perfection, but as he was: a real guy who had a positive effect on our lives. We haven't forgotten you, George.
Lately, for reasons I can’t explain, nature brings George to mind, especially birds. I used to ignore them but they now seem to insist on my attention, like the owl that perched on the top of my chimney the other night, hooting loudly and insistently. Each call was amplified through the flue and was heard with the volume of a bassoon down a marble hall. Who?
Well, Sandy Paws has to hop in his Chihuahua-powered chariot and go find a child’s flip-flop to wrap for Mindy now. When she glimpses the soft succulent rubbery shoe through the wrapping next Thursday morning, no doubt she will rip the wrapping to shreds, grab the shoe and gallop to the top of the stairs where the world can witness her conquest.
May you all find wonder again in the simple things, companionship in one another, and may you enjoy every rising of the sun.>>