In memory of Leroy Sievers

Yesterday, I pulled up NPR’s web page, hunting for some story, and was stunned when I saw the news that Leroy Sievers died Friday night.

I didn’t know Leroy and wasn’t aware of his work as a journalist. I learned of him two years ago when NPR reported on his blog My Cancer. That was around the time my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer.

Leroy, 51, was fighting his cancer. My mother, 86, decided not to fight hers. With great equanimity, she announced that she had lived a full life and would let the disease take its course.

I followed Leroy for a bit and was encouraged by his progress. Soon, I had more than enough reality preparing my mother and myself for her death, and I stopped reading Leroy’s blog. Even after her death, now approaching the second anniversary, I did not resume reading, needing time and space for my own scars to heal.

Hence, my surprise and tears when I read of Leroy’s death at age 53. His fight gave him another two years, yet his time ended too soon for someone who had been so full of life. Just read Ted Kopel’s remembrance.

The last two weeks of Leroy’s blog are poignant. The family’s decisions to engage hospice and bring in a hospital bed were not easy, markers that the end was coming. Sooner than expected, it seems, and certainly sooner than hoped.

In the quiet of this evening, the crickets the only sound other than my typing, I am honoring Leroy’s struggle and courage and wishing his family comfort and strength. The immediate days after such a loss are a blur of preparation and sorrow, the sorrow creeping in when the activity subsides and the house becomes quiet.

My daughter is a fan of PostSecret. One of her favorite postings comes to mind, an admonition for the rest of us:

Psst, here’s a secret. Your last mortal thought will be, “Why did I take so many days – just like today – for granted?”

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High Sierra vacation

The last of July, my son Grant and I spent a carefree week hiking and exploring the high Sierra just west of Donner Lake.

We were part of a Sierra Club family outing, with nine other families from around the country and two capable leaders. Home base was the Sierra Club’s Clair Tappaan Lodge, which provided lots of wonderful food and a comfortable place to sleep.

Growing up in Reno, on the eastern edge of the mountains, I feel a strong connection to the Sierra: it’s inherent to my identity, and the grandeur brings me a palpable connection to the sacred. This trip was an opportunity for me to spend time with Grant and to introduce him to an important part of my life and a place just to have fun. The continual vistas of mountains, lakes, meadows, and stars recharged my batteries and reminded me of a few of life’s priorities.

Looking across Flora Lake, where this photo was taken, I penned these thoughts:

Clouds proceed across the blue backdrop.
Granite cascades to water’s edge,
competing with pine and brush.
The breeze – no wind – gusts across the lake,
rippling water and bushes along the shore.
Chilled, I move into the sunlight.
The breeze stills and the sunshine becomes hot,
sending me back into the shade.
Nature plays this game
and lets me join in for too short a time.
An afternoon out of an eternity.

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Independence Day reflections

FireworksHere’s my list of things worthy of gratitude on this holiday:

The obvious one is being a citizen of the United States, enjoying the benefits of the grand experiment this country pioneered in 1776. Notwithstanding that the world and country are deeply troubled, the values upon which the U.S. was founded remain a source of promise and optimism.

Freedom, equality, opportunity.

We haven’t achieved them yet, and no doubt never will, however each generation moves closer to the vision. Our progress is not the result of a natural force, like gravity. Rather, it is often the result of hard-fought and painful challenge to the sources of status-quo: the prevailing wisdom, the center of institutional power, even evil. As Charles Caleb Colton, 19th century author, noted: “We owe almost all our knowledge, not to those who have agreed, but to those who have differed.”

We should be grateful for all those who saw a different world, helping to create the one we enjoy today. And as important, let us be sufficiently humble to consider that those with whom we differ may be leading society to a better tomorrow.

Secondly, I am mindful of the gift of each day.

A year ago this 4th of July, I was attending my wife’s family reunion. We were catching up and enjoying each other’s company before a backdrop of warm summer days full of laughter, plentiful food, fireworks, fishing, and minor league baseball. This year, my father-in-law is undergoing treatment for tongue cancer. His barbecued hamburger will be delivered via feeding tube, with a dose of morphine rather than a beer.

I am reminded that life can turn on a dime, leaving those halcyon days as memories. While we cannot change the course of life, we can live it with presence, so that our memories are of days enjoyed to the fullest. Henry David Thoreau expressed this same idea when he wrote of his rationale for moving to Walden Pond: “I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck the marrow out of life, to put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Now, to the most important item on my list. I am most grateful that my father-in-law’s prognosis is good. We fully expect he will be eating that hamburger, with a cold beer from the bottle, by summer’s end.

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Hospitals

Children's Hospital in BostonA hospital is an amazing confluence of emotion, community, and technology.

Particularly with urgent and life-threatening conditions, the patient and family arrive with a paradoxical juxtaposition of fear and hope: fearing the worst, yet hoping for the best.

The medical team, collected and placid, applies the best of civilization’s medical know-how and technology with amazing effectiveness, striving to preserve the quality of life and often defying death to do so.

Initiated in a surgical or Intensive Care waiting room, strangers share their respective ordeals, comfort each other through the setbacks, and celebrate the progress.  Tied by the vulnerability of being human, so exposed within the hospital, they create community.

I can think of no other institution where humanity’s highest accomplishments and aspirations, the goodness of people, and spontaneous community play out in so many unsung stories every day.

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Father’s Day reflection

On Father’s Day last year, my daughter Andrea had been home from the hospital for one day. The prior week she had undergone two surgeries to remove a tumor from the right frontal lobe of her brain. This sudden and serious experience made Father’s Day much more meaningful for me than it had ever been, transcending the timeworn veneer of the Hallmark card and new tie.

I captured my feelings in a posting on a Yahoo! Groups web site, a web site that a friend had started to efficiently inform our family and friends of the latest news. Today, I reread my words and find them to be as true and important as a year ago. You may find them helpful in shaping your perspective about what’s important.

Sunday, June 17, 2007 – For Father’s Day, Andrea gave me wonderful gifts of joy and a few life lessons:

Gratitude – One of the paradoxes of living is that our normal day-to-day routines often dull our awareness of the miracle of life. The seemingly simple biological processes of our bodies, the communities of people we see every day, even a sunny day become ordinary. This past week, nothing was ordinary nor could be taken for granted. And so we became profoundly grateful for every positive step, each gift we received, everything “normal” that could have been otherwise. I hope we can maintain this awareness and sensitivity as the days and weeks pass.

Equanimity – Andrea’s acceptance and outlook in the face of this unbelievable challenge is such an inspiration. There were moments that her spirit faltered – when we first learned of the tumor, when we were told of the need for a second surgery – yet she quickly bounced back and went on to transcend her own circumstances and reach out to others in the hospital. Her strong will and positive attitude carried us.

The Power of Support – When told of Andrea’s tumor, our world immediately turned upside down. We felt so ill prepared and alone. As word spread and people responded, an incredible community of support materialized to sustain us. And more than I expected, this web site has been amazing: stealing a few minutes from the non-stop hospital routine to read a few posts, we have been reassured and comforted by the outpouring of well wishes, prayers, positive energy, and offers of assistance that you have sent our way.

No Absolutes – I have learned there are no absolutes in brain surgery. You ask questions wanting black and white answers of assurance, yet the doctors and nurses can’t provide them. Did you get it all? Will there be any impairment or change? What’s the long-term prognosis? The answers we get are gray, probabilistic. Andrea’s outlook is excellent and better than we dared hope for a week ago. Nonetheless, she will be followed closely for at least five to ten years.

This morning, reflecting upon the experience of the past week, I am making two resolutions as a parent: sincerely telling Andrea and Grant that I love and appreciate them every single day, and focusing on the “big rocks” and not sweating the small stuff so much.

This is the best Father’s Day ever. I am blessed with two wonderful kids.

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Anniversary reflections

Piano recitalOne year ago today, we learned – quite suddenly and shockingly – that our daughter Andrea had a brain tumor. What began as a parent’s worst nightmare became a miracle as we lived through the following blurred days and the subsequent months.

Andrea’s piano recital last night prompted these reflections.

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Photo: Between brain surgeries, Andrea gave a piano recital to the nurses and other children on 9-North. One of the hospital staff turned the pages for her.

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