A Jazzy And Stormy Night.

I was not motivated to write down my thoughts.

After all these years of sharing my inner most thoughts, I began to think that no one was out there listening. Which is fucking stupid because I didn't begin writing this blog for anyone but myself. Then I thought I was being too much of an asshole to think that way. And I was thinking and thinking and yeah, thinking waaaaay too much. Get. Outta. My. Head.

Then I got a call from a dear friend. And it wasn't a good one––someone was beginning the battle against cancer. Again. And it is a BFF. You know the kind of BFF–––Brothers/Sisters from another Mother. When they hurt, you hurt. When they need you, no questions asked and you get there by their side any way you can.

I was listening to Stormy tell me about her friend. Stormy wanted to know what it would be like going through chemo––for her BFF, Jazzy and for HER. You know, the other side of cancer. (I've heard that phrase before). She wanted to know what she could do because she felt she wasn't doing enough. She was there by her side through all the upfront Doctor meetings and through the first chemo. She was there taking care of Jazzy when she came home from the treatment. She was there when the tears and fears came to the surface. I told her, "you are doing more than enough." She didn't think so.

She asked what else she could do. All I could tell Stormy was what I knew. This is what I said: "You are doing exactly what Jazzy needs. When you have a cancer diagnosis and go through treatment, you'll find out who really loves you. You'll find out who your real friends are and some of them will completely surprise you. I told her to keep it real. Tell Jazzy the truth. If she looks like hell, tell her. When she looks great, tell her over and over. She'll know you really mean it because you already told her she looks like crap. You may both even laugh at that, I know I did. I laughed because that meant I was ALIVE. We are all going to die some day. When you have cancer, the reality of life and death stares at you in the mirror every day. It what you see inside and the love of others that gets you to fight one more day. Because in reality, that's all we have. Today. And today if you're listening to Jazzy cry, complain or tell you she can't take it anymore remind her she is alive while telling you this. Being there unconditionally for someone you love is the greatest medicine. For Jazzy and you." There was much more. But that will be between me and Stormy.

Oh, and one last thing. Jazzy, if you are reading this––I have never met or spoken to Jazzy, ever but I hope I will––I am here for you. Any time.

Especially on a Jazzy and Stormy night.

  

Dates To Remember.

No, this is not an online site to find your mate or dish about your best/worst date.

I have always been fascinated by numbers and what they represent. Being a cancer patient and now a cancer survivor, the sheer volume of numbers can be overwhelming. But the numbers that stick out the most are the calendar type. They have an intrusive way of sticking in your mind––at least mine––because milestones are HUGE.

Yesterday, February 19, was one of those days. All day I kept thinking "why does today feel so different?" I checked all my blog posts. Nothing but a bad Valentine's Day post I wrote last year. No biggie. But as I began to look through past posts, I rediscovered that my first post on this site was July 19, 2008. And that I had a journal before––hand-written, not digital. Yep, let's go back in time.

My Sister-In-Law, Claudia, would have been 60 this year. She passed away from cancer 16 days after my diagnosis (the first cancer, head-and-neck) in August of 2007. Claudia loved life and her family. I know my Wife misses her every day. I miss her, too. That didn't come from my journal but after telling my Wife, "I keep feeling this is a monumental day somehow" she reminded me of Claudia's birthday (I have always thought it was February 18). "Oh yes, that's right, " I said. But I knew there was more to this day, as callous as that may sound.

February 19, 2008 was my first scan after all the treatments. It was a scan to see if the cancer was GONE completely. A little over 12 weeks after my last chemo treatment––I had finished 7 weeks of radiation, 5 times a week two weeks prior––I was going back in the tube. And it scared the shit outta me. I was a shell of my former self––both physically and mentally. I had already been back to work for almost two months and was struggling to perform. Fuck, I was struggling just to live every day.

Now I remember.

Mo' Than Movember

My Son, Travis, is growing a moustache for Movember, National Prostate cancer Month.

Now you've read––or not––my post on Breast cancer Awareness Month. It was a rant that basically called for recognition for all cancers all the time. So while it might seem a bit hypocritical to support those with prostate cancer, tough shit. I've lost 2 family members to breast cancer so I get it, unfortunately. I'm a 2-time cancer survivor myself. And right now, my Dad's prostate cancer is back. Again. And his prostate is already gone thanks to that sneaky, rat-bastard, cancer.

Travis is raising money in honor of his Grandfather. Travis has really grown up in the last 2-3 years, finding himself and maturing in ways that make parents proud. And relieved we didn't screw it all up. His 'stash is helping bring a smile and a chuckle at his '70's porn star look––but also bringing awareness to an illness that hits way too close to home. Travis David––middle name after his Grandfather––is doing what he can do in a big showing. He's got it all over his face. You can check it out here.

I'm growing mine––in a multi-colored fashion––to support my Dad. Who told me right before we walked into the LA Auto Show that "the cancer's back". He also told me he didn't want it to ruin my day but he wanted me to know and hear it from him, or as he put it, "But I wanted to tell you." Funny thing is, I remember when he told me the first time he had cancer. I hadn't had my turn with it yet. My reaction this time was much more peaceful, as strange as that seems. I know that life is one day at a time and cancer doesn't play fair or have favorites. And we've beat it before. So I too, wear a reminder on my face that cancer is killer.

And more than just a month for awareness.