My apologies to Tim McGraw, but I hate that song, “Live Like You Were Dying”.  I’m not dying per se in that I am definitely going to join the choir invisible prior to all my children leaving the nest.  My chances of developing tumorous cancer have skyrocketed, but since Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia (Lymphoma, but then Boston Cream Pie is really cake while cheesecake is a pie, so who are you to judge?) is what it is, my body is more like a slowly mutating X-Man character with no discernable superpowers rather than the ticking time bomb owned by people who think of themselves as “dying”.

            In the original series of MacGyver, his friend, Jack, once said, “We’re all dying, Mac; just some faster than others.”  Truly, the Bible states, “And as it is appointed for men to die once, but after this the judgment, ²⁸ so Christ was offered once to bear the sins of many. To those who eagerly wait for Him He will appear a second time, apart from sin, for salvation.” Hebrews 9:27-28 

Ralph Waldo Emerson admitted, “Death comes to us all…”  

Shakespeare wrote in Julius Caesar: 

“’Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.’”
(Act II, Scene II, Line 34)

            For those of us who are dying faster than others or are “watching and waiting” with the Sword of Damocles hanging overhead, we can understand Mr. McGraw’s sentiment in his song that people don’t generally live –a term with a debatable definition- until they think they don’t have much time left.  Eep, the cave-teen in the movie, The Croods, explained her father’s concept of hiding in a cave so their dinner wouldn’t ironically eat them, “That wasn’t living; that was just not dying.”  Of course, Mel Gibson put it best in Braveheart:  “Every man dies; not every man really lives.”

            I hope I have not wasted my life watching too many movies.

            Certainly, I agree with “Live Like You Were Dying” when it attempts to inspire us to make the most of whatever life we have, but when asked the famous philosophical question, “If your doctor gave you a year to live, what would you do?”, I pause.

Part of me would like to wear the MacNichol tartan and learn more of its history on the island of Skye, from whence some of my ancestors came. I would like to die overlooking the White Cliffs of Dover. I would like to visit Paris, Anne Frank’s annex, the underground city in Cappadocia, the pyramids, Jerusalem, Petra… I would like to publish a novel and have it rise to at least mediocre fame. I would like to learn how to forge swords. I would like to hunt for an actual hidden treasure.

            Most of those things will never happen because I don’t have nearly as much money as Tim McGraw.  Even if I had as little as a month left on this planet, I can tell you exactly what I would do:  the same thing I do every other day – go to work and earn as much money as I can for my family until the angels come to escort me to my permanent vacation. 

            My will and testament needs some tweaking, but I have one.  Unfortunately, I haven’t amassed enough money to make it much of an inheritance for my children.  Thanks to being an “essential worker”, I have employment and therefore life insurance that might just cover the cost of cremation and legal interment.  I don’t need to remember my car keys before I go.  I’m pretty much ready.  And the way things are going down here, Jesus can’t come soon enough for me one way or the other. 

            But unless Jesus returns prior to my death, I have four people who depend on me whom I would be leaving with not much more than junk to sell at their next yard sale.  My wife is more capable of being a breadwinner than I, but she has been homeschooling our children since before COVID because of bullying, evolution, way-too-liberal indoctrination, “common core”, etc.  I’m not sure my children would be able to pay attention in a class of 29 other children and only one teacher and maybe an aid. 

            And so I come to realize that cancer and death are not just things that happen to those with the diagnosis.  As a counselor, I try to be mindful of my family’s emotions, but sometimes when even the anticipation of a disaster that was never meant to happen looms, humans hide their feelings from everyone, including themselves.  And just like my car keys, we forget to tell ourselves where that hiding spot is.  I’ve never experienced the pain of a cancerous tumor, but I imagine it pales in comparison to the emotional devastation of receiving the diagnosis of cancer. 

            I would almost rather have tumorous cancer.  Almost.  At least then, I might know how long I have.  At least then, my doctor would have more options.  At least then maybe they would be able to amputate the part of my body that has the cancer.  At least then, my family would have some answers. 

            Blood can’t be amputated.  You can’t live without a pelvic bone.  Marrow transplants only work in certain situations, not including CLL.  Blood cancer is rare and therefore less studied and is so confusing, they misnamed the one I’ve got.   Even our faith tends to fail us when we think of Jesus and a lot of His followers, some of whom are walking the earth, healing and raising the dead but for some reason seem powerless over CLL.  All these things work to disintegrate not just living cells but relationships we have with others.

            Perhaps this will be the beginning of a series of blog entries for me as there are so many emotional twists and turns in the misadventure that is cancer.  Not to mention the fact that I have very little closure on any of them myself.

            First, I’ll tackle the fact that humans as compared to computers or AI are aware of and understand very little of their programming.  Most of them have forgotten they even have a Programmer.  Apparently, we have these failsafe defense mechanisms which inevitably succeed in sparing us the pain of emotions but fail us when we learn that painful emotions are useful and ignoring them could be lethal.  When a cancer diagnosis is announced to a family, members sometimes subconsciously brace for impact and become “strong” for the one with the cancer, when in actuality, their defense is corroding their true strength like so much acid. 

            As a cancer patient, I can only offer my own perspective.  I would certainly enjoy reading other perspectives in the comment section.  But I must say that I do not need my family to be strong.  I needed them to help me prepare for departure, which they have as much as they can without any idea when it will be.  I don’t need them to avoid talking about cancer.  I need them to understand what I’m going through, read blogs from others who have CLL, and adjust to my new changes – and help me adjust as well.  This is a tough one, but I believe they are doing their best.  I need them to share their feelings with me, not pretend they don’t exist.  If my family wants to cry, I will cry with them.  This is a beautiful thing, not something to be avoided. 

I exit my cave every day. I notice the wild animal that is Death. I tip my hat and wish it a good morning of collecting souls, and I proceed to my workplace and sell large chunks of my invaluable, irreplaceable Time to the highest bidder. I wish I could define “support” better for loved ones of people with cancer, but maybe everyone desires it differently. I want respect and understanding. I don’t need drill sergeants; I need cheerleaders. I need my family in the airplane called cancer to sit with me in the cockpit. Don’t just experience it with me by feeling the turbulence. Hold my hand and ride the storm by my side.

            To be continued…