Dad

I posted this message below on Facebook last week. I was surprised by the heartfelt reactions so I'm posting it here, as written on July 20, 2012. Only thing else to say, is we never know when we'll see the people we love again, as life has a funny way of letting you know you're not in control of soooo many things.

Today in 1939, David Robert Johnston was given from God to Josephine and David Johnston––my Grandparents. My Father is an amazing person. I have learned from him to accept people for who they are. To embrace the differences in all of us. To express my love towards those who I care for the most. To share the things I have learned with others––if they are willing. To never stop learning myself. To embrace my faults. To be proud of my Hispanic heritage. To admit when I am wrong. To survive cancer. To allow my children to carve their own path and make mistakes along the way––but be there when they need it most. I learned to laugh from Dad. To love music. To look at things from a different perspective. To live life one day at a time. To treat everyone with respect. To fight for what I believe in as long as it doesn't come at the expense of others. To love sports and all the good that it teaches you. To appreciate the beauty and wonder of nature. My Dad will not read this, as he does not "Facebook". But it will live on in "digital history". So those who do read this will know that I am the man I am today because of his love, guidance, patience and perspective. Love you, Dad. So glad you're still here. Happy Birthday.

Losing My Voice

The emotions ran so deep, I couldn't talk about finding out my cancer free news.

OK, I'll admit. I cried like a baby. I cried every time I told someone––Teresa, my Dad, my co-workers who could see something happened to me. Ever since being diagnosed with cancer on August 7, 2007, I have had my emotions on the surface more than usual. (Alright, stop it. Just stop it those of you who know that I'm an "expressive" person already. Now you're even more so? Please). Why? Maybe all those years of building my "street face" had blocked out a lifetime of emotions. You can't let people who instinctively or who have learned to recognize fear know you're scared. Or let them see any emotion. That is a sign of weakness. A big neon sign that says, "ass-kickings here."

But tears of joy are a completely different animal. They feel different. They roll out of your eyes differently. They swell up, flood your vision and flow down your cheek, as if it's a soothing stream straight from your soul. I still feel my lids getting heavy, just writing about it. I still can't believe all the things I have had to endure. Every day. Every week. Every time my body got tweaked out of it's normal routine. It's been a hard 2 years+. It's been an emotional time. It's been bonus time, because I consider every day I wake up a GREAT DAY.

Being cancer free now doesn't mean I am free of worry. Or fear. Or all physical side effects and ailments that cancer has left for me forever. It does mean I'm farther away from the big battles. I'm healthier. Happier. I am more loving. More passionate. More emotional, so much so that I can't talk about how happy I am because I just can't verbally express my happiness. It's a good thing I have this blog, so I can share my voice but not my red, swollen eyes.

I hope you can hear my voice through my words.

A Vacation From cancer

I recently took my first vacation since my cancer journey––and the other health issues that resulted from chemo, radiation, tubes and all the meds they pumped into my body.

I've spent most of my vacation time the last two years in surgery, recovery, follow-up Doctor visits with all 7 of my Docs and in the hospital having tubes shoved down my throat and stuck in my arms. Yes, everyone should have as much fun as I did! But you have to have cancer first! (Please note the extreme sarcasm that's flowing from my fingers to the keys to the screen).

My family from LA came to visit for 6-7 days. They stayed with us, which was great and we got to spend a lot of time with the East Coast & West Coast extended family. We went to Annapolis and ate lunch on the water. (OK, we didn't eat on a boat, but if Jeff leaned back about 6 inches, he would've been in the Bay). We took the short tour of DC––some walking, some driving––and even saw the White House from the front and back. We went to the Delaware shore for 24 hrs. And we ate, and ate and ate and grilled and noshed and had a week long feeding frenzy. We talked about the good times. The not so good times. The good family memories. And of course, the family memories we wish we could forever forget but will forever be with us as long as we're alive.

After I dropped off my family at the airport in plenty of time to catch their plane––insert inside joke here––and I hugged them and fought back a tear, I got in my car and drove back home. On my way home, I thought about the new experiences we just had and will talk about the next time we get together. And I also came to realize a break through––I didn't think about cancer while they were here. Oh, I had a moment or two with my Dad––also a cancer survivor like myself––about my seemingly permanent side effects. But I actually had a few cancer-free days in my head. No worries about if or when it will come back. No thinking about me and my cancer––although I WAS keeping my eye and brain on Teresa's recovery from skin cancer surgery––and letting my mind drift. Yeah, it was a welcome break. A long moment of normal. A few days of just l-i-v-i-n-g. Wow, it felt great.

Can't wait until my next vacation.