Yesterday someone asked me about my health, about my PSA and how I was doing.  My response, doing well, while conveying the latest decisions and status.  We migrated to other things, specifically how my son is doing, particularly in his college career.  I mentioned he will be Phi Beta Kappa, that he will also graduate this May cum laude, all things which, although I did very well in college, eluded me.  This all from the two-year school he is attending, the stepping stone to a top-tier, four-year school to which he’s already been accepted.  In conveying my son’s story I mentioned I am grateful, encouraged with the possibility I would be around for his graduation from a 4 year school, something that did not seem promising when first introduced to this disease.  The conversation then migrated to the question of whether I was doing anything to provide hope to others, others similarly affected.  I mentioned this blog, not revealing the site itself, I don’t feel safe with that with this person, while at the same time think, hope, novel idea and something, in many ways, foreign to me. 

Those who’ve followed my writings will know this blog intends to tell a story, to convey the perspective of one afflicted with a very life threatening disease and, for some reason, who fails to acknowledge the disease, to deny it the opportunity to take both the life he lives and his physical life.  It is, about how I somehow look beyond the disease in dying it its pleasure as is so common with many of those falling victim to its ravages.  Many seem to think my outlook is about hope, about the idea that somehow I will be cured and live to some ripe old age.  For me, while I’ve not ruled out a possible cure, it is more about living, looking for the things, which, by default, suggest a long life.

Often times I’ll see friends posting things on Facebook about how people with cancer wish for but one thing, that being a cure.  For me, I see it differently, much differently, because if all I’m concerned about is a cure, I’ll miss things, many things.  I will miss my son graduating cum laude, his moving on to a four-year school and his maturation into an outstanding young man.  I’ll miss taking him hunting and learning some of his inner feelings and thoughts.  I’ll miss the good times with my friends, those people for whom I would walk in front of a bus, without asking why they needed me to do so.  With a more recent development, I would miss teaching my newly discovered little sister how to weld, to share her thoughts, and those of mine.  Equally important, I would miss laughing, joking and all those things for which I’ve become known.

When I consider all that I would lose, and it is not really something I consider very often, should I, perhaps when I, succumb to this disease, I look well beyond the disease.  Reflecting, I once spoke with an individual who was similarly diagnosed and being infused with chemo, as was I, who had already turned his life over to the disease.  For him, it was about this epic fight, about the battle and the hope he would be victorious in his quest.  It seemed a bit obtuse for me because I never seemed to think in those terms, I never saw or felt a need for hope, a need to embark on an epic fight for my life.  For me, it was what came forth, that delivered unto me and which amounted to nothing more than an untimely diversion.  In my mind hope was for the destitute, for those who were lost, who were down and out, those who, well, needed help.

Interestingly, in a recent conversation with my newly found sister she mentioned the idea, perhaps the choice, of having a brother for a short period of time, or never at all.  In her mind she felt the former the better, something which really touched me and which gave me pause.  I reconsidered the idea of hope, of survivability and whether, by virtue of this disease, once again I would lose her.  I must concede the idea shook me, for more than a moment, for more than a moment I thought once again about hope, about what hope was and that which it served.  I remembered how, for those many years I had hoped to find her.  Once again I began to think, perhaps it is time to invoke hope, perhaps it is time to consider the value in that feeling, that sense of being.  I reflected and thought, thought about the idea of how neat it would be to just hang out with her, to learn more of who she is and of her life.  I thought about my son and the idea of seeing him advance in life, to become a man.  I reflected back on my roots, of the premise of my being and thought perhaps it isn’t really hope I seek, perhaps, as it has always been for me, looking forward is what life is about.  I thought, perhaps hope is more about today when it should really be about tomorrow and tomorrows to come.   It then came to me that hope, from many perspectives, may be a charade and living is less about hope and more about, well, living.

Happy reading, happy thoughts and happy trails.

As always, feel free to comment or you may email me at



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