My Weblog

The Family Portrait

This is the family portrait we gathered to take on Thanksgiving 2000.

Nancy was very ill and wanted a record of the family together before she...

Well, you know.

This photo was taken toward the beginning of her 4 year battle.

The only good thing her death did for me was bring me closer to my family.

Not that I was entirely estranged...

But for a few members of the family my being gay was a bit of an issue.

Which just made things a tad weird thru the years. And kept me away.

Before we left for the photography studio my niece Crissy pulled me aside,

"Uncle Chuck, I really owe you an apology."

Curiosity crossed my face as I asked, "An apology? For what?"

She continued, "I wasted all these years thinking you were weird."

Oh that.

I gulped and tried to make light to deflect the awkward moment, "I am weird!"

Crissy stopped me, "No. You're so cool. I hate that I didn't see that before."

I pulled her to me in a tight and tender embrace - one of genuine warmth.

While well-hugged she concluded, "I just hope you can accept my apology."

I was tip-lipped owing to tearing-up but I managed a quiet, "Of course."

That moment may be a small moment for her but it was pivotal for me.

And from that day forward our relationship deepened & it's been wonderful.

Hmm, beyond.

***

Crissy is the young blond on the left just behind the boy, Nancy's son Alec.

Missing Them Both Today

I came across this photo today. Dad, Sandi (stepmother) and Nancy (lil sis).

Thanksgiving 2000. We gathered in Phoenix for a family portrait.

Nancy was very ill and we didn't know how much longer we'd have her.

Because once she passed our family portrait would forever change.

We got lucky and had her another 3 years.

Today marks the 8th anniversary of Nancy's passing.

Today also marks the 22nd day since my dad's passing.

Missing them both today. So much this Valentine's Day.

They Let My Dad In

On Tuesday, the night after my father passed, the heavens were painted with a gloriously vivid sunset. So much so it stopped me in my tracks. These types of scenes can really take ones breath away.

I took a photo of it and posted it on Facebook with the following caption:

This is the sunset right now. If I were religious I'd say that they let my dad in - with great fanfare. As it should be.

After giving the photo a little more of a ponder I decided that it might actually have been the moment that my father was reunited with my little sister.

You see, next month marks the 8th year of her passing from breast cancer and the skies the other night were lit up in the Susan G. Komen for the Cure colors - shades of breast cancer awareness pink.

I know my father was eager to see her again. And maybe, just maybe, the power of their embrace and the warmth it generated sparked the heavens to blaze.

No, not maybe. Certainly.

The Last Christmas Tree

Right around Thanksgiving 2003 my little sister Nancy became bed-ridden. Not by choice mind you - just one day she never got out of bed again. She had the will but her poor little body hadn't the strength anymore.

The weekend before Christmas '03 was my turn to go to Phoenix to keep her company. When I walked into her house I found it strange that it was completely devoid of anything Christmas-y. Nancy ran a successful daycare center out of her home and every year she turned her place into an awesome winter wonderland.

I asked, "How come you don't have your decorations up?"

Nancy replied, "He doesn't want to hassle with it."

He meaning her husband. They were in divorce discussions when she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. Nancy was given 6 months to live but managed to fight for an extra 4 years. He was miserable and ready to move on with his life. And he could sense the finish line. But this isn't about him...

I am not much for Christmas but I took one look at her face and could see that she needed that tree set up so I said, "Fuck that. I'm getting that tree and its going right there." I pointed to the corner of her room so that she could enjoy it all day long.

I had no idea the undertaking I had assigned myself. You see, she didn't have uniform decorations for the tree. Every ornament was different and purchased with intent. And each had a story, "We got that one when we went to..." Or, "Grandma got Alec that one when he was born." And so on.

Alec is her son and he and I spent the rest of the day setting up that tree. Proudly. And with flair. Nancy was so happy as memories flowed from her like a fountain of precious liquid gold.

At one point Nancy said, "Don't worry about the angel for the top of the tree - it's too high. I don't want you to fall."

She had high ceilings and the tree was enormous but I was determined to get that angel atop that tree. After all, this was to be the last Christmas tree she would ever see. Yea, I almost broke my neck a few times but eventually I was successful.

She slept for a couple hours. When Nancy awoke she looked at the tree and with a shimmer in her eye she said softly, "Ah, my angel."

I looked at the tree and smiled broadly then she continued with a tear in her voice, "I was talking about you."

Happy Birthday Lil Sis

Today marks what would have been my little sister's 46th birthday. Sadly, we lost her to breast cancer nearly 8 years ago but I am quite confident that she would have rocked her 40's. I imagine she would have gotten that divorce she (and he) wanted. That she would have raised her son successfully through his awkward teen years. That she would have continued to watch her day care business thrive. That she would have been unbelievably proud sending her only kid off to college. And on I could go...

Shortly before Nancy passed she, with the help of my nephew Ryan, made a CD of some of the songs that helped her through her 4 1/2 year ordeal that she wanted distributed at her funeral. I brought mine home and I never listened to it. Instead I put it in a cabinet where it has stayed since that cruel February day in 2004.

Yesterday I pulled the CD out and gave it a spin. There are 15 songs on it - inspirational, all. One thing I noticed is that many of the songs conjure images of mountains: forging, conquering, sitting atop. I'm not sure she did this on purpose or if songs of struggle and inspiration just gravitate toward the mighty mountain. I found this fascinating.

As I listened to the CD I was not as upset about it as I thought I'd be - that is until I got to track 11. Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush's, Don't Give Up: "I was taught to fight, taught to win. I never thought I could fail." Nancy didn't - not for a long time. She snubbed a dire 6 month diagnosis and gave her son 4 additional years. This was her Everest.

Nancy's family and friends, on the strength of our strong backs, helped guide our frail girl up her mountain and ease her onto that ultimate and peaceful rest. I have no doubt she likes the view.

Happy birthday lil sis, I continue to miss you.

Andre Agassi Enters the Tennis Hall of Fame

Andre Agassi was inducted into the Tennis Hall of Fame today.

He was my favorite player in the day. Well, he and Stefan Edberg.

My dear sister gave birth to my nephew the day Andre won Wimbledon in '92.

It's the only tennis match she ever watched...

Only because the TV was stuck on that channel in her hospital room.

I believe she almost named her baby Andre but opted for Alec instead.

We shared a laugh about it many times - hell, I'm smiling now.

Odd the things that make me think of her. I sure do miss her tons.

Photo: Getty Images

The Kitchen

As my little sister Nancy began actively dying the family descended upon her home. Most of us were there for the final two weeks of her life. It's a big family so there were two gathering places - either in Nancy's room at her bedside or in the living room/kitchen area - for a breather.

Nancy had already been bedridden for about three months and one day toward the end she had an idea, "Can you wheel me into the kitchen? I'd like to see everyone in a different setting."

I replied, "Of course, sweetie." (I had taken to calling her sweetie. She liked that a lot.)

It was a bit of a struggle to get her into the wheelchair but we managed and then we began the trip from her bedroom down a short hall and to the right into the kitchen.

Everyone turned to look at her and she was suddenly the center of attention. Nancy looked up at me and through sentimental tears she said, "It's been months since I've seen my kitchen."

The very thought shook me. It was literally 15 feet from her room.

As she looked around the room her body started to tremble and then she began yelling, "Take me back. Take me back."

I had no idea what had happened but I granted her wish and quickly took her back to bed.

Nancy sobbed uncontrollably. Finally she calmed down enough to explain, "Everything is gone. He took everything of mine out of the kitchen. It's all gone."

She was right. In a bizarre act of meanness her husband had been spending days boxing up her belongs. All the magnets on the fridge, the knick-knacks that pocked the counters and the family photos that were scattered about the living room. All of it - he boxed and stored away (maybe even threw away).

She continued through her sobbing, "It's like I'm already gone. Like I never excisted. He couldn't even wait until I'm dead."

I had been punching her drip line to get her to zone out and eventually she was under the influence of her merciful drugs. While I watched her sleep I couldn't help but ache for her sorrow. I also hoped that when it's my time to go that I will not know such unbelievable cruelty - only love and compassion.

That was the last time Nancy ever saw her kitchen. She passed a few days later knowing that all but in the bedroom she'd already been boxed up and evicted from her home.

And he took care of the bedroom the next day.

***

About the photo: Nancy died on Valentine's Day 2004. We bought her a bunch of $1 heart necklaces. The one strand is all I took from her home.

Dec 6th License Plate

Last week a guy moved in across the street with this license plate.

Well, Dec. 6th is a fairly significant date to me and my family.

It's the birth date of my little sister who is now dearly departed.

I dunno... It's just kinda weird. Don't you agree?

Happy Valentine's Day

As many of you know Valentine's Day took on a strange new meaning for me in 2004. This is the 7th anniversary of my little sisters death, from breast cancer. Usually I write a memory of her but on this day I have chosen to share some photos of a special day after she passed.

A few months after she died I went on vacation for three weeks in Europe. The raw process of letting her go was still so fresh and always on my mind. It's a strange and cruel thing having to dealing with death - too many emotions swirl at once and sorting them out is time-consuming and sometimes given to procrastination. I needed to get on with it...

While I was in Barcelona I heard about a monastery built in the 1400's nestled high in the mountains of Montserrat about an hour away with a centuries-old boys choir that sings everyday around noon. I felt a need to visit, I knew I was reaching but I thought their voices might comfort and soothe an achy heart.

The monastery was about halfway up the mountain and it was mightily impressive. The boys choir was indeed a special touch but the healing I had hoped for didn't quite happen. After I lit a candle for her I noticed that I could take a funicular to the mountaintop. I didn't hesitate and before I knew it I was standing high atop Spain and could see nothing but Catalonia's beauty surrounding me panoramically.

I was in a trance-like state and hiked quite a distance from the funicular station before I noticed that the skies had darkened and an electrical storm was rapidly approaching. I raced back to the station just in time to take shelter from the terrific downpour. Be assured, the lightning for this event was breath-taking and impressively theatrical.

After the storm passed the freshly bathed Montserrat mountaintop glistened majestically. The rains were cleansing - for the mountain and for the heart - and it was then that I found the healing I had sought. I stood facing the Catalonian landscape and made my peace with Nancy's passing. And I thanked her for the sign letting me know she was ok. And I thanked her again for letting me know that I would be ok too.

Because I didn't want it to be anything else.

It was a day like today about 10 years ago when I received a phone call from my little sister letting me know the results of some tests she had taken at her doctor's office earlier in the week. You see, she had fallen about a month prior hurting her coccyx and it didn't seem to be healing.

After we exchanged our hello's she said that she had some bad news. I worked in a crowded room with about 10 other people and decided to transfer the call to the conference room for privacy. I ran over, locked the door behind me and took a deep breath before picking up, "So, how did it go?"

She replied, "Not good. I have breast cancer. It's stage 4."

I had no idea what 'stage 4' meant and I didn't ask because she had choked up and needed to get off the phone to compose herself. I immediately phoned my mother who, if memory serves, had accompanied her on her doctors visit, "No, it's not good." I could hear her holding back tears as she confirmed the worst, "She is going to die."

My mother has never been one for showing emotion so I knew this was bad. Maybe even bigger than bad.

I returned to my desk shell-shocked; my co-worker noticed and asked me what was wrong. I informed her, "My sister just called to tell me that she was just diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. I don't even know what that means but by the sound of her voice I'm assuming that it's pretty bad. I just glad it's not stage 5."

My co-worker hugged me and whispered in my ear, "Honey, there is no stage 5. I'm so sorry."

I left the office feeling completely numb and found solace in wandering around the parking lot for about an hour just thinking. And crying. And hurting. And hating.

And wondering. How does a young woman of 31 get diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer?

Over the course of the next couple of weeks I would piece the puzzle together. About a year earlier my sister got her first sign - she felt a lump in her armpit. She saw a doctor who told her that it was just a clogged sweat gland or something. But it never went away and she never really dealt with it again.

I asked her, "Why didn't you get another opinion? Or a mammogram?"

She replied matter-of-factly, "I was way too young for my insurance to cover a mammogram so we didn't do one. Besides I wanted to believe him because I didn't want it to be anything else."

I insisted, "But you might've caught this at stage 3 or even stage 2."

She simply raised her eyebrows and said softly - no, remorsefully, "I know."

Her doctors advised her to 'get her affairs in order' and gave her six months to live. Well 'fuck that' she told stage 4 breast cancer as she took her own sweet time and gave us another four years. And she fought damn hard for those four years summoning a bravery I had never seen before. It was downright heroic.

And so unnecessary.

I write this as a plea to you women who are reading this: October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month - please ladies, go get your mammograms. Early detection saves lives.