120 days...

by Stratton, M.

  I first met Kris when he came to work for Creative Cabinets in June 2002. He had been living in California prior to that, and needing a change in life, threw a dart at a map vowing to go live wherever it landed. The dart landed on Tucson, Arizona.

  Kris and I became good friends very quickly, getting together with my brother and many others for Poker and Fantasy Football. Over time our friendship grew into more like Family and I considered him My Brother, as did my brother Mark and Kris’s Best Friend Jeff Toothaker.

  Kris left Creative Cabinets in December 2004 and went to work for one of our competitors, Millwork by Design. He was living in a house that I had previously rented, he moved in there shortly after I purchased my first home in February 2004.

  In early 2005, Kris was diagnosed with brain cancer, after seeing a doctor about his having seizures, similar to epileptic seizures. He had surgery to remove the tumor, the surgery was a success, but over the years the tumor kept coming back, and Kris had two more surgeries to remove a brain tumor.

  Kris had come to work with me at Sierra Woodworks on November 26th, 2010. It was very nice to have my dear friend at work again and see him every day, talk about life, family, football and just shoot the breeze.

  In June 2011, the cancer came back once again. This time, and his fourth Surgery, they were not able to remove all the cancer, it had spread to the back of his brain and neck, surgery was not an option. Rather than go through Chemotherapy and another round of Steroids, Kris declined treatment of any kind in the interest of having some quality of life in the time he had left. Kris experienced a loss of feeling in his limbs and motor function over the next year as the cancer grew and began to put pressure on his spinal cord.

  A year later, near the end of his life, in those last weeks, I visited Kris several times a week. I would bring him whatever he wanted to eat, sometimes it was a chicken pot pie (He loved those things) and other times it was a chef salad from Arby’s.

  On July 10th 2012, I went to see Kris at his home that evening; it was chef salad from Arby’s night. He had lost most of the function in his arms and I sat with him and helped him eat. Many times he tried to feed himself and had difficulty, I began to feed him myself and I could tell he was grateful, but hated it. After helping him to the restroom and back to his bed, we talked about the upcoming football season and what our favorite teams were going to be like. Kris became very tired, took his medication, and I left him to sleep, giving him a hug and telling him “I love you Brother”! He said “I Love you too! Now get out of here and let me sleep.”

  The next day, July 11th, 2012, I got a call from his ex-wife Emily, who was always there helping him. She said Kris was arguing with her about what day it was. He didn’t believe her that it was Wednesday. He told her that he would only believe it if Stratton got on the phone and told him it was true. She held up the phone to him, I asked how he was doing, and he asked what day it was. I told him that it was Wednesday July 11th, 2012. He said “Whatever,” as he almost always did, whether it applied or not, it was his favorite saying.

  That was the last Time I spoke to Kris, he didn’t wake up the next day, and he had slipped into a coma overnight. Many of us gathered around his bed that Night of July 12th, 2012. We sat with him for several hours, talking to him, not knowing if he could hear us, and told stories about our times spent with Kris.

  I kissed Kris goodbye on the forehead, and headed home. Shortly after arriving home that night, Emily called to say Kris had passed away.

  I will never forget him, he had a huge impact on my life, and I believe he is still with me, there are times when I can sense his presence. Kris took me to my first AA meeting, and always was concerned how I was doing, even when he was dying. May he rest in peace, my brother forever!

  Kris is survived by his Ex-Wife Emily, His Step Daughter Spring, and his Daughter Jules.

  I ‘met’ Derrick when he auditioned to narrate my audiobook of Bender. As soon as I heard his voice I knew he’d be perfect. And then he performed my character Nutter exactly as I wanted and there was no one else for the role. Thank you Mr. McClain for telling your son to persue his dreams.—M. Stratton

  Thomas McClain

  Written by: Derrick McClain

  My father was Thomas McClain. Is. Was. I’m still not sure what to say.

  He died two months before he could claim his pension. Four months after my graduation from college. Two months after my birthday, which was when I noticed he didn’t look well, and begged him to see a doctor. He died one week after they removed the softball sized tumor from his colon. One week after they found out it had already metastasized to his liver, enlarging it three times and replacing almost the entire thing with cancer. One week after I had to pin a doctor down in the hall and make him go explain to my dad that yes, this was cancer, and yes, it is terminal. Because while I realized what was happening, Dad didn’t, and no doctor had told him.

  He died three days before his first chemotherapy session. The session that was going to tell us how likely the chemotherapy was going to be to help. The session that was going to lead to a prognosis.

  He died alone. In his favorite chair, watching TV. Alone.

  He was my father. He wasn’t a saint, or a hero, but he was my father.

  He was a musician and an engineer. A drunk and a womanizer. An artist and a depressed soul. Above all else, he was a loving father.

  Not all my memories are sunshine and rainbows. My parents divorced when I was only two years old, and so I’ve only ever known spending time with my dad on Summer vacation and school holidays. I remember learning at the age of four how to roll cigarettes for him. I’m pretty sure it was just tobacco. I remember going grocery shopping first thing every time I visited, as his fridge never had anything but beer and condiments. I remember his dining room full of garbage bags of crushed beer cans, collected to one day cash in at the recycling center, but seemingly never accomplished, at least until the bags spread out beyond the dining room into the kitchen and living room and halls. I remember trying to explain to him at the age of seven that whistling at women in the parking lot is not, in fact, a compliment. I remember that after he told me the “birds and the bees” he also explained that it was the best feeling in the world and I should do it as soon as I can. I remember being terrified to tell him that I was gay, not because I thought he wouldn’t accept me, but because I was crushed to ruin his dreams of taking me to a strip club on my 18th birthday, and shatter what I knew were his plans to live vicariously through my “triumph” of young attractive women.

  I also remember the incredible pride I felt when I went with him to his gigs at different coffee shops and bars, when he would sit on one of his old stools, playing his guitar and singing his love songs. I still am more moved by live acoustic performances than any other type of music. I remember when he gifted me a copy of Khalil Gibran’s The Prophet when I was ten years old. I remember at eleven, when he had blacked out during a movie we had watched together and been looking forward to all week, the next day confronting him about his drinking—I remember that that day he didn’t yell at me, but just looked down, ashamed, and said, “Yeah, you’re right.” I remember the pride I felt for him when he went to AA, and the continued pride when he celebrated his 17th “birthday” shortly before he passed. I remember him taking me to theme parks, never pushing me to go on the roller coasters that scared me, letting me spend a limitless amount of money on the carnival games resulting in bags upon bags of stuffed animals that he then kept forever. I remember his undying, eternal love for me. The pride in his eyes every time he looked upon me, the joy he felt in every accomplishment I achieved, and the continued faith he had in me despite any and all missteps I made.

  My father wasn’t perfect. But he taught me the most important lessons in life. No, maybe he couldn’t teach me how to fix a leaking sink or remove a hook from a fish’s mouth. But he taught me what it is to truly love someone unconditionally. He taught me how you can change your life at any age. He
taught me how you can pursue your dreams while still working a “regular” job. He taught me how to believe in myself. He taught me how to bring smiles to other people’s faces, and he taught me how to find joy in life even when depression pulls at your heart.

  I wasn’t there when dad died. No one was. I still have some guilt about it, not a crushing life impeding guilt, but just the right amount that I think I should have. We didn’t think the end was so close. Heck, right next to his chair, he had a brand new art easel set up, everything ready to start painting for the first time in forty years, but not a single brushstroke yet added. He had plans, plans to live what we thought was going to be his final year to the fullest, to record new songs, paint new paintings, conceive of new engineering feats. To do everything he had been putting off.

  He wasn’t able to. So now, I am doing it for him. Not living his life, of course, but my own. Pursuing my dreams, despite any common wisdom to leave them for other days. I don’t know how much time I actually have left in this life. I know I’m not perfect myself. But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make the best of what I do have, and love every person left in my life while I can. Here’s to you Dad, and all our crazy ambitions.

  As authors we need support groups and Elizabeth and I are in one together. She was one of the first to message me when I sent a call out looking for stories to add. My heart broke when I heard of a mother and son who had lost their fight with cancer at such a young age, and amazed at their strength, their fight to live.—M. Stratton

  Elizabeth “Sissy” and Bobby

  Written by: Elizabeth James

  My sister-in-law was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at the age of 37 and passed away just a few months before her 38th birthday. She was such a wonderful loving person who had devoted herself to the care of her son, Bobby who was also a cancer victim. Sissy was a fighter and when she found out she had cancer, she took it in stride and decided that she was going to fight it and to beat it. She was always positive and upbeat and even on her worst days, always managed a smile.

  Sissy was the middle child of five and the only girl. She loved hanging with her brothers and they always were watching out for her. When she was 19, she met Phillip and they fell in love. A year later, they were blessed with Bobby and thought their life was perfect. Unfortunately, when Bobby was 10 months old, it was discovered during an examination that he had something wrong with him. The family was sent to Duke University Hospital and it was then that they diagnosed him with Tri-lateral Retinoblastoma which is a very rare terminal cancer that focuses on the eyes. His unfortunately had also moved into his brain. The life expectancy for Bobby was only another 8 months and the doctors advised Sissy and Phillip to take him home and just give him as much love as possible and also to try to have another child because their child was going to die. Sissy told the doctors that she wasn’t going to accept that and for them to try to save him by any means possible. Essentially, his care was signed over to the doctors so they could experiment with treatments to try and save him, which they did.

  Bobby went into remission but as a result of his cancer attacking his eyes, he had to have them both removed. He was totally blind but not like any other blind person I’d ever known. He loved video games and was really good at them. His sense of hearing was uncanny and he used it to help himself go about life with very little assistance. He was taught by his mother to be very independent and not to feel he was handicapped by his lack of sight. Sissy mainstreamed him into public school and he blended in so well that one day he ended up being told he needed eyeglasses. The story was that the school nurse was doing vision screenings and so he went along with the class. When it was his turn to read the eye chart, he said that he couldn’t ‘see’ anything. The nurse had no idea he was blind since he’d walked in unassisted and she told him that he probably needed some glasses. He left the office and went to tell his mother. She was floored that the nurse had told him that but after talking to her; she realized that Bobby had been so much like the other kids that she hadn’t had a clue that he was blind.

  My profession is that I make eyeglasses and I’ll never forget the afternoon that he came to my office and proudly announced that he needed glasses to help him ‘see.’ Sissy was quick to gesture behind him that we should just do what he said. I ended up making him a pair of eyeglasses with plain lenses to satisfy his need to fit in with people who couldn’t see. He swore that when he wore them that he could read his Braille much better.

  Everything went well until Sissy’s diagnosis. It had started with her feeling tired and that led to depression. The doctors gave her anti-depressants and tried to figure out what was causing her issues. Several months went by before it was finally discovered that she had ovarian cancer. Chemotherapy became a weekly thing and Bobby encouraged and supported his mom because he’d already been through it all himself. She fought as hard as she possibly could but it was so far advanced when it was found that it ran rampant despite the chemo. After only a few months, her local doctor discontinued treatment because he felt it wasn’t doing any good. She didn’t accept that and turned to Duke again since they’d helped save Bobby. They tripled the dosage and it began to take a toll on her. She was so sick and had no energy. Noises were amplified and food tasted really metallic. Nothing was normal and she didn’t like it one bit. One thing I did was call her every day and see her every chance I could get. Little gifts and cards were my way of cheering up her days and bring a smile to her face. I also encouraged her to come to visit us for the weekend so she could rest which also gave Phillip time to bond with Bobby. She prepared them for her possible death and it was so sad.

  One activity that Sissy and I loved to do when we were together was to do scrapbooking. It was something she could focus on and also she felt as if she were leaving something behind for others. She scrapbooked right up until the month before she passed away and after her death, Phillip called me and asked me to come over. When I arrived, he showed me her scrapbook which had empty pages with post-it notes instructing me to finish them. She had everything planned right to the end.

  She began to have issues with her health related to the chemotherapy and at one point had to be resuscitated. That scared her and she told me that she needed to take care of things in case something like that happened again. She asked me to do her eulogy at her funeral and I was stunned. I didn’t like that she was talking about final things but I also understood that it could be years before I would have to do it. I wrote her eulogy that day and I’m glad I did. Instead of writing it filled with grief, I wrote it filled with my love for her and my pride at her strength. I filed it away for the day when I’d have to deal with it which turned out to be less than three months later.

  Bobby was 14 and doing really well when his mom passed away. He’d become really close with his dad and also with myself and my husband. He loved to come and stay with us just like his mom did and it also gave his dad a break. About four months after Sissy died, Bobby began to complain of pain in his arm. His dad took him to Duke and they found that he had a tumor in his arm that had broken out of his bone marrow. They treated him the same way they had in the past and luckily, the tumor went away. It was scary to think that his cancer could come back after so many years but it went away so quickly and five years passed making a milestone for a cancer patient. Unfortunately, Bobby’s cancer came back again when he was 19 but this time, he didn’t tell anyone right away.

  I noticed Bobby’s appetite had fallen off and when I asked him about it, he’d explained it away by saying he needed to lose weight. Finally, he couldn’t hide his discomfort anymore and told his dad that he had pain in his stomach. By the time he got to Duke, the doctors found that the cancer was all over his abdomen, liver and lungs. The doctor, who gave him the diagnosis, essentially told him that there was nothing they could do for him. He was sent home with hospice and large dosages of morphine. Once again, I made it my mission to make every day he had left special for him. I saw him every day and when he ask
ed me for a birthday party, I was more than happy to make it happen. Friends and family gathered to celebrate the bittersweet event that was his 20th birthday which we ended up having a week before his actual birthday. He was on oxygen and very uncomfortable but had a smile on his face as we surrounded him with love and his favorite thing, presents. We tried to make his day as special as possible but knowing all the while that it wasn’t going to be long before he would die. He celebrated his actual birthday at home lying on his couch and of course, I went to see him. He was tired but still tried to entertain me with a video game challenge. I knew he was failing fast and it made time with him even more precious. The day before he died, I had the crazy idea that I didn’t need to go over there to see him. I reasoned that he was probably sick of seeing me but when I called, I was told to come over. It was insisted upon. When I got there, I realized that he was coming to the end of his journey. We sat together and prayed and he had such a sense of peace. It was overwhelming for me and I spent most of the night with tears running down my face. I didn’t want to leave because I knew that would be the end of my time with him so I dragged the evening out as long as possible. Finally, he insisted I needed to go home to take care of my pets and I knew that was my cue to leave. I kissed him and told him I loved him and he said that he loved me and for me to tell his uncle that he loved him too. When I got to the door and turned to leave, I simply said, “I’ll see you.” He smiled and said, “Yes, you will.”

  He died at 5am the next morning. I treasure the memories I made with Sissy and Bobby and will for the rest of my life. They inspired me to follow my dream to become an author and I believe are in my corner watching over me.

  They both showed incredible strength and faith and had genuinely beautiful hearts. I have no doubt that they are walking the streets of Heaven and Bobby is pointing out the beautiful sights to his mom. They live in my heart and always will.