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Dying Young: the truth about cats and dogs

Craigy

Like D, I'm finding it difficult to come to terms with Craig’s illness. His condition breaks my heart. Unlike Mom, Craig’s in pain; he’s uncomfortable; he’s flattened by fatigue and unable to live life, however short it may be. This about turn in Craig’s health has caused a whiplash that will take time to heal. Just six months ago, we were running OSU’s cross-country trail, and talking about how hard it would be to move on with our lives after losing Mom. He’d cry with us, laugh with us, and share his dreams for the future. It seems so unfair. Mom had a loving family, a career, and lifetime of memories behind her. Though she still had plenty of life to live, it was easier to draw on those experiences for comfort and healing. Craig’s life is still ahead of him, with plenty of dreams left unfulfilled. He wants to master the harmonica; to research law; to travel the world (he’s off to a good start); and share his life as a husband and a father. Accepting Mom’s fate wasn’t easy, but I could understand it. Accepting Craig’s, well, I understand it intellectually, but I’m not there yet emotionally. Like Diane said, I’m still holding out for a second chance, for a sea change that will wash all this away.

While we were in Stillwater, we watched old videos from the days just after Mom’s surgery, as well as video of Craig’s 30^th birthday. We had orchestrated a trip through memory lane, followed by a mock séance for C to rid himself all the negative energy that overpowered his 29^{th year}. The family instructed him to pop several (real) balloons of negative energy with darts. The balloons were marked by a paper representation of the specific ailment/life trauma of which he was ridding himself (e.g. Bell’s Palsy). Dad would welcome each burst with an ohm, and Diane would come in with her new-age sage. His séance ended with a fire walk consisting of construction paper. Craig loved it, and played along, giggling throughout it all. And that’s Craig. Those who know him well probably have their own stories. He’s the guy who takes pictures of everything; saves trinkets from God knows where; laughs randomly; and dedicates enormous energy doing creative things, just to make people smile. That guy is somewhere buried deep. Laughing hurts. Finding the energy to take a shower, brush his teeth, or put on clothes is difficult. On occasion, we’ll see glimpses of him, but those occasions are rare. Cancer’s self-seeking temper has taken his body and his vibrancy. Mom was my rock; Craigy’s my best friend. To lose him, well ... -- J

Back in Denver

I arrived in Denver today, after spending a week and a half in Stillwater.  Emily brought me from the airport to Craig's, in time to take him back towards the airport for his doctor's appointment (more ipicked me up at the airportAnd just as I left Denver, I began the day with a trip to the hospital.

We had yet another eventful day at the hospital, beginning with a morning song to "mama."

From Zero to Chucky in 60 Seconds

The most beautiful night of my life

Tuesday night was the most beautiful night of my life, as hard as it was to know that Mom was dying and wouldn't be around anymore. Would miss the moment I give birth, get married, start my career and all the little things in between. No more hand squeezes, belly bumps, or conversations about how Egg Beaters ARE real eggs and how if you close your eyes, tofu CAN taste like chicken. But, the reality was there and we decided to be with her through it all.  That night, our last slumber party, was spent playing her favorite music, talking to her and reminiscing, holding her hand and making sure she had absolutley no pain.  I will never forget the way it felt to hug her and stroke her hand. I'd like to say I was ready when she took her last breath yesterday