Birthday Memories

This past Saturday (April 17) was Art's birthday. He would have been 70. I had been anticipating it for  a week or more, wondering how I'd feel, and remembering his last birthday, which, of course, really was his last birthday. He had finished his round of chemo a couple of weeks before and seemed to be looking forward to his birthday as a "sign" that he was finally better—that the struggle had been worth it. He was especially looking forward to having a glass of red wine with dinner, something he hadn't done while going through treatment.

Thinking back on it now, I realize how out of character it was for Art to be so excited about his birthday. He was never one who wanted anyone to make a "fuss" about it. In fact, when he was working, much to the frustration of his co-workers, he usually tried to be out of town on his birthday, to avoid the traditional office celebration. After he retired and we moved to Florida, birthdays became a bit more fun for him when he discovered his golfing buddy George shared the same birthday. They were also the same age, had the same education and had had similar careers in the chemical industry. George's wife Cheryl and I started taking George and Art out for dinner on their special day and it was something all four of us always looked forward to. The guys took turns choosing the restaurant, and last year was George's turn to choose.

I could tell Art wasn't feeling very well that day, but he was determined to go. Now, when I look at the picture the waiter took of the four of us that night, I can see that Art's smile wasn't quite as full and cheerful as usual. I can't help but wonder if that evening was more difficult for him than I realized at the time. Still, in my heart, I know that it was exactly the way Art wanted to spend his birthday—no fuss, just a quiet evening in a great restaurant with dear friends and, of course, a good glass of red wine—even though it turned out to be his last.

So, it seems I've crossed another hurdle, and, thanks to a wonderful group of friends who knew what day it was and made sure I didn't have to spend it alone, the hurdle wasn't nearly as high as I had anticipated.

Cancer Sucks!

There is no avoiding the fact that the next three months are going to be difficult for me. There are too many not so happy memories of what was going on in my life during this time period last year. When Art finished his round of chemo last March, he was feeling relatively healthy and we were hopeful, if not for a cure, at least for a long remission. In less than a month, it became clear that there would be no remission. It was pretty much all down hill from there. There were a few happy moments, but we were primarily consumed by the desperate search for some way to eradicate the lymphoma before it killed him. Although we put up quite a fight, cancer won the battle.

While I continue to try to come to terms with how and why Art died, three of my friends are now involved in their own desperate struggles to keep cancer from claiming their husband's lives. It breaks my heart to hear their stories of the unrelenting pain, the treatment side effects—hair loss, mouth sores, difficulty sleeping despite extreme fatigue—and of the hope that maybe the next treatment will be the one that finally works. I wish I didn't know what they are going through, and I wish there were something I could do or say to help them. At best, I can only encourage them to keep themselves informed, explore all the options, and (this is the hard one) get as much rest as possible, to keep their minds clear and their bodies strong for the fight. Cancer sucks, but it doesn't have to always win the battle.