E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 20

COVID-19 Vaccine Perspective From a Cancer Patient

 I might lose a lot of followers for this post—and frankly, I’m a little scared. I posted something similar on my fan page and immediately lost two followers. But I just wanted to offer some perspective—from a cancer patient—even though I have MANY friends and family members who disagree with me on this topic. But the problem is, they don’t truly understand where I’m coming from.

(Please read on. I’m using an analogy, and this might not be what you expect!)

Everyone has heard this: If you use a condom, you have a lower chance of getting an STD from someone you sleep with. This isn’t 100% guaranteed, but it’s better than not using a condom at all. Having unprotected sex (with STD rates being what they currently are) is like begging the universe, “Hey, hey, just try giving me an STD!” The problem remains that you might be hyper-vigilant—you could use protection every time and then falter once. And then you end up being exposed to everyone and every STD the other person has slept with.

Let’s back up:

I’m in my 30s, and I have the world’s worst immune system right now. Okay, that might be a bit dramatic, but who doesn’t love the theater?

Someone sneezes a mile away from me, and I practically catch their cold. Someone could cough in another state and although I don’t hear them, my immune system does. And if (seriously) I get a vaccine, it does not take. Maybe that’s because my body is literally trying to destroy itself. Maybe that’s because my cells are dividing and eating each other in unhealthy ways. Maybe that’s because I still have cancerous tumors that want to kill me. Nothing like getting eaten from the inside out. (Don’t try this at home.)

So, if someone comes around me and is sick, chances are, I’ll get sick too. But not only me, all of my friends who I unwittingly carry the virus to before I have symptoms. Some of these people won’t be as lucky as I’ve been; they’ll simply die. 

I’ve tried to explain this to people, most recently a friend who came up to see me from Utah. She—like so many of my family members and friends—refuse to get the COVID vaccination. “It’s like a condom,” I said. “You’re upping your chances of getting sick. Then you came to see me. Now you’re upping my chances of getting sick.” Sure, I had COVID in January and this was four months after my most recent experience with it, but doctors said I could get this over and over—despite monoclonal antibodies. 

“It’s a hoax,” my friend said. 

“Well, the only people who got it in my group in January were people who hadn’t been vaccinated. My mom got it pretty bad, too—I was so worried.” I’d honestly been really scared for my mom. She didn’t sound well for over two weeks, and it was a bit terrifying. She’s one of the sweetest people on earth—and, man, can she play the drums. Plus, she’s tough, and she never gets sick. But that COVID thing really shook me.

My friend went on to say that she’d been recently exposed, and she still came up to see me. My mouth nearly fell to the floor. I. Am. A. Cancer. Patient. With her being exposed, that’s the equivalent of not wearing a condom. She upped her chances of getting it significantly, and then came straight to me. “Flames. Flames. On the side of my face. Burning. Itching.”

I’ve known exactly two people who have died after having cancer then getting COVID. I haven’t seen this on the news, or heard some third-hand story. I have known them personally. They were lovely people who had their lives cut even shorter than necessary.

It’s devastating thinking how long these people fought cancer only to have their fight cut short by an exposure to COVID. For example, my first diagnosis came in 2018. I’ve been fighting HARD since 2020. I’m finally seeing hope. To die from COVID, like my friends did at this same point, would be nothing short of tragic.

Yes, I have COVID now. Yes, I just went through two huge airports without a mask. Yes, I feel like a carefree idiot. But…maybe some good can come out of this. I want people to realize how serious this is for those with comorbidities, poor immune systems, and—well—for people like me. If you’re reading this, it isn’t a plea coming from some stranger or from some governmental agency. It’s coming from me; someone you actually know who could be in real, scary danger if I get this even one more time. And yet, I could contract it over and over because vaccines don’t often work for cancer patients. I’m trusting every person I come into contact with. Their chances of contracting the virus up my chances even more.

I decided to write this because on Sunday night I struggled to breathe. I ended up getting a scary-high fever and seeing a doctor. I don’t know where I got this—probably from being an idiot at the airport—and my bout with COVID it is not over. Hopefully, it’s just a reminder of how serious this can be. Sunday was just as terrifying as liver failure and sepsis (one of which I almost died from). I guess that makes sense, because breathing is pretty great.

If you won’t wear a condom/AKA get vaccinated for a stranger, do it for people like me—or at least think about it. 

I’m not asking you to change your mind about any of this, I’m just asking for you to think about this from my perspective. 

Thanks for your time,

An Outspoken Cancer Patient Who Loves to Breathe

(Elisa)

If this is something you can relate to, please feel free to share this post. 

Peace out!

Right Place Right Time

 I honestly thought I could keep walking, but my leg started shaking and then began giving out on me. Every time I took a step, my right leg grew weaker and weaker until it started giving way. “I need a wheelchair,” I told Mike, defeated at the airport. And when he walked away, my eyes grew misty before I did one of the worst things ever: I started feeling bad for myself. Mike bounded away, embodying every bit of the golden Lab that should be his spirit animal. I thought of how he should be with a woman who can run and hike, someone who can walk more than a short distance without getting tired…. Someone who has more energy than the Energizer Bunny.

Mike showed up with the wheelchair, and I soon sat down and set my violin on my lap. After my emotions finally calmed, I really looked around the airport and realized how unhappy so many of the people looked. Sure, maybe all of them aren’t battling a terminal illness like I am, but they each had their challenges: some easier and some much worse. 

“I want to do something fun,” I told Mike. “Are you in?”

This was a silly question because Mike is ALWAYS in. So I handed him my phone and asked if he could push me and videotape us while I played my violin until we got to our terminal. “What will you play?” he asked.

“‘Orange Blossom Special.’” I beamed. “It’s supposed to sound like a train!”

So I played that as we chugged toward our terminal. And as I looked out at everyone’s faces, they transformed from boredom to excitement, from confusion to wonderment, and from sadness to joy.

After we “parked” with my wheelchair at our gate, Mike and I chuckled about our shenanigans, and I thought I might laugh so hard that soda would come out of my nose. At that moment, a man with a peg leg came and sat right next to me despite so many others seats. 

We talked about exactly what had been bothering me—as if he’d read my thoughts. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that we can’t take life too seriously.” He lost his leg in an auto accident decades before, and despite looking like a Viking straight from an adventure novel, he said things Mike and I needed to hear with so much kindness and tenderness.

“Here,” I said, digging through my carryon. “Here, I’ve been waiting to give this to someone for four days! You’re the person. This is for you.”

He looked at the book “Two More Years” a bit puzzled.

“She wrote it,” Mike said, smiling.

The man grinned and put it into his bag. “Thank you. Really.”

So, yesterday I remembered once more the magic of meeting people at the right time and the right place—and I also saw first-hand the power of finding the good and bringing it to others no matter what we might be going through ourselves.

My Cancer Isn’t in Remission, But my Sh*tty Attitude Sure Is!

 “Although my cancer isn’t in remission, my sh*tty attitude sure is.”

They told me I wouldn’t live past two years. They said the brain tumor would never go away. They said I would suffer from depression because that’s what “facing death” does. They said I’d look disfigured and never have the same quality of life. 

People will tell you all the terrible possibilities. At some point you either accept what they say or you decide to listen to the positive people in your life, pray for hope, and SHOW the nay-sayers what you can do. And even if there’s a small chance, maybe you should prove them wrong!

I’m still fighting cancer. That and chronic pain are something I face every day after numerous surgeries, treatments, and radiation therapies. BUT, my story isn’t over. 

I’ve almost surpassed the two-year life-expectancy mark. The cancerous tumor in my brain died. I work every day to choose joy and hold onto the good moments that fill each day. My quality of life is different, but so is my perspective—and I’m grateful for the insight. In fact, although my cancer isn’t in remission, my sh*tty attitude sure is.

The point is that if I can come back from ALL of that. If I can still see the good after losing a child, fighting death each day, and striving to find hope, then you can too. It’s a choice. Continuing to find the good—despite trials and hardships—IS a choice. Holding onto joy and letting go of negativity is a choice. So, what choices have you made today?

Note: I decided to write this after reading an amazing review. It just brought tears to my eyes and made me so grateful again for everything I have. Fighting stage four cancer has been almost unbearably hard at times, but the blessings I’ve experienced throughout this journey are priceless.

Feathered Quill review here:

https://featheredquill.com/two-more-years/?fbclid=IwAR1k-hDxWRj2AQhvIHkCedgHh2wVP-IQD-rwHfnpj_qErMI95K4hIwpUiAs&fs=e&s=cl

EC Stilson—Cancer Patient—Sings ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ at Gate City Grays game

 “Would you like to sing the national anthem at a semi-pro baseball game?” she asked, and it felt as if the woman had reached into my soul and found one of my deepest desires. Since doctors only gave me two years to live (although now they’re saying I have much longer) I’ve been thinking about my bucket list. The three biggest items have been singing the national anthem at a baseball game, bagging an actual deer during a hunting trip, and going to Italy.

I’ve wanted this since I can remember. At the age of five, I sang the lyrics to the national anthem so many times my mom actually woke up singing them one morning. “Wow,” she said, “I must be hearing this a lot.” And we both laughed.

But my stamina isn’t what it used to be, and I honestly worried, wondering if I could actually do this. So, I dressed up like a pinup girl because if anything says America it’s: apple pie, 1950s cars, baseball, and pinup girls. My kids were so excited to support me and so many friends showed up at the ball park.

I’ll never forget standing under the stadium lights on “home.” Thank God I brought my cane because it felt like my sole friend out there, so trusty and reliable. But then, as I heard other songs playing on the speakers, I actually forgot the melody to the “Star-Spangled Banner”! To make it worse, I couldn’t even remember the key I needed to sing in—a cappella. 

I started shaking and felt like I could fall over. Then the announcer walked up and handed me the microphone. It was my turn. I felt so weak—and dizzy…. But somehow I miraculously remembered the key AND the melody. But after the first verse, I completely forgot the words.

I stared out at everyone: friends, family, throngs of strangers…. My breath caught in my throat. It was such a metaphor for my life—that very moment. It just seems that I try with all my heart, but always have an Anne-of-Green-Gables moment. Things always have a bit of flavor, they’re always memorable, and they are never perfect.

I apologized into the microphone: “Sorry.” I looked out and people cheered, hoping I would have the gumption to continue.

And then somehow, like it always does with life, the melody came back to me. I instantly thought of ice skaters and how when they fall they better pull off a triple axle at the end. That’s when I decided to go for the high note. My family had told me not to try it, but what could I lose at this point? So I sang with everything in me. I still shook a little and held onto my cane even tighter for support, but I actually pulled off the high note—and then an octave above it!

Afterward a well-known local photographer took pictures of me, and a reporter even did a story on me and my will to persevere despite hardship.

I met the owner of the baseball team and got to see so many friends who I haven’t visited with in years! But I have to admit that I cried pretty hard because of my mistake. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized it was a good thing.

“You cried?” my kids asked, shocked. 

“But, Mama, you don’t cry about stuff like this. What people will remember is your strong voice and that you actually got out and did this even though you have cancer,” Indy said. 

“Yeah, most people wouldn’t even try,” Trey said.

Sky, my 17-year-old, gave me the biggest hug. “Mom, I’m really proud of you.” THAT meant the world to me. So many tears filled my eyes. Just to hear this from my kids had more import than I can describe. We’ve gone through so much since my diagnosis, but it’s really bonded all of us together. No matter how hard things have been, we have all of these memories now to look back on. It’s not the terrible things we’ve gone through that really matter, it’s how we handle them!

Trey cleared his throat. He’s 14, but so serious when he’s been thinking hard about something. “It’s like with everything else,” he said, pausing, “if you have a hard time you just keep going, Mom. You showed everybody out there what you’re really like. Life can be hard…but you don’t let that stop you. None of us should.”

So I sang the national anthem; I paused for what I told the reporter later was “to build intrigue.” “I stopped, looked out at the crowd, and can you believe they actually wanted me to keep going?” But I think this was a great reminder that it is good to keep going. I will always remember this wonderful night. But most of all I’ll remember the amazing things my kids said to me, to cheer me on after the game.

I Met a Unicorn

 She stood on the northwest corner of Yellowstone and Alameda. I spotted her several days ago, and my heart ached for her plight. The girl seemed so young—close to my own daughters’ ages, and no one appeared to stop and help her.

“You know how they are,” I heard a man say moments after I entered a nearby grocery store. “Homeless people just buy drugs with the money.”

I had to turn away as tears filled my eyes. It’s not my place to judge why people are on the street. BUT if I have something to offer them—something that will help, no matter how small—it IS my place to give help when I’m capable of it.

Today I saw the girl again. “Mike, I can’t stop thinking about her. We HAVE to do something.” So we went into Winco, bought a chocolate rose and a small unicorn charm, and pulled out $20.

“A unicorn?” Mike asked, and I simply nodded. It just felt “right.”

After we had everything arranged, we pulled into a parking lot, and even though the girl had been over 15 feet away moments before, she turned as if expecting us.

“We bought you something!” I wanted to hop out of the car—I was so excited to meet someone new and hear her story! But I ended up moving slowly. Sometimes I forget how much my body has changed because of the cancer. The doctor said even if I do get over this…someday, my bones are like Swiss cheese with holes from where the cancer has eaten through them. 

“We got you a chocolate rose, water, this…” I handed her the money, “AND a unicorn charm!” 

Up close, the girl was honestly so beautiful with the most wonder-filled eyes. Dirt graced the left side of her face, and her clothes looked tired and worn. But despite that, I felt she had the soul of Peter Pan!

“A unicorn?” She exhaled with disbelief.

“Yes!” I said. “You know what unicorns stand for?” 

She shook her head. 

“They’re rare and special. They’re unique and wonderful. They’re…just. Like. You.”

“I could just cry,” she said, her voice breaking. “This means so much to me.” Then she told me and Mike all about her battles: how she’s fought disease and sickness since she was 10 months old. Now—despite overcoming so much—she’s gone through even more as a young adult.

I thought of the man in the store from days before, the man who judges homeless people. He had no idea what this girl had gone through—none of us really do except her. After all, we’re each fighting battles that no one else truly understands the way that we do. What’s the point of trying to pull each other down when we can lift one another up?

After she finished her story, I told her about my fight for life. “Doctors told me I had two years to live. But it’s almost been two years, and I might be getting better.” 

Her eyes widened. “But you look so healthy.”

“Life can be surprising, right?!” I said. “But the point is that if I can get through what I’m going through—against all odds—then you can too!”

She clutched the charm really tightly and then gave me the biggest hug. “You’re gonna be okay,” I said, then followed with, “I just know it. I’m Elisa, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“I’m Makayla,” she said. “It’s just like Kayla with an ‘m’ and an ‘a’ at the front.”

Before we could go, I looked over at her. Makayla seemed somehow different from moments before. She glowed, practically looking like a princess, a mythological unicorn that everyone hopes to someday meet at least once in their lifetime. I felt so honored!

“You know what,” she said, “I’m gonna wear this unicorn! And every time I hold it, I’ll think ‘Elisa is blessed!’ You’re gonna get better. You just have to.”

She faced so much—a lot more than what I’m going through. And yet she had the kindness…the strength…the fortitude to think about me and my struggles. “I will be praying for you every day, Kayla with an ‘m’ and ‘a’ in front of it.” I waved, smiling.

“Sometimes life can feel hopeless,” Mike said,” but pretty soon you find the light…just around the corner.”

We got into our car and drove off. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, I just feel so bad for all of the hardships in our world.” 

As Mike drove, I turned on my phone and saw a post someone had written, “irate” about a celebrity breakup. I shut off my phone and looked at the clouds through the windshield. Life…can be so complex, so beautiful yet strange.

What does it mean to ring the bell in a cancer unit?

 He rang the bell and everyone clapped—so happy—but the patient looked tired, and then he cried. 

My journeys to the infusion unit started in 2020, and I’ve seen several people ring the bell. Some look ecstatic…others deflated.

“What does it mean?” I asked a nurse the first time I witnessed this.

“They’ve finished treatments. They’re done.”

At first I thought this meant they were in remission, but after almost two years, I’ve come to realize otherwise. It doesn’t always mean they’ve beat cancer; sometimes it simply means they’ve ended this leg of their journey. While some head to a happier cancer-free life, others—like the man I saw yesterday—are wheeled away to palliative care.

This journey has been excruciatingly hard, and since 2020 I’ve desperately wanted to ring that damn bell.

By the way, they call it “a bell,” but it’s actually a Zildjan gong. You can’t put something like that in front of a musician and expect them not to touch it! But it’s harder to reach than a treasure in “Indian Jones”! So many nurses swarm around it, and their queen—the charge nurse—hardly ever leaves its side.

That’s why yesterday seemed so surreal. I went to leave the infusion room, and my path to the “bell” was free and clear. I sneaked up to it—probably looking like Gollum (after my back surgery), then I swiftly lifted the mallet… Just when I was about to finally hit that coveted thing, a nurse saw me!

“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said right as my daughter snagged a couple of pictures. “Is today your last treatment?”

“Well … No,” I said to the gong police. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?”

She broke out laughing. “You’ll get to ring it someday! And it’ll be wonderful.”

So I set the mallet down, veeeery slowly, and left.

Later that day a medical specialist said my labs looked almost better than they have since I started this journey. “You actually might beat this, Elisa. We’re still worried about the cancer in your lower back, BUT the cancer is still gone in your upper spine! We’re getting more scans of your lower back in July. It seemed impossible before, but now I honestly think you have a chance. You could beat this!”

This is something new. I’ve heard they could lengthen my life, help keep the cancer stable longer, give me a few more years... But to “beat this”? My heart soared!

So, I didn’t actually hit the gong, but I did hold the mallet in my hand—and it felt AWESOME. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I’m starting to feel so excited.

Despite hurting and being exhausted from my latest cancer treatment and infusion for my bones, I am so happy right now. Hope…well, it’s a powerful thing.

Norma’s Last Gift

 

Honestly, maybe you’ll think I’m crazy. Maybe it’s just science? 

Let me explain.

Me (10 hours ago): I want to do a random act of kindness for someone.

Indy: Well, you could do something for me.

Me: Ug! That’s not how it works.

But I have talked about teaching her how to sew—and we shouldn’t break promises. So, I brought out fabric a dear friend wanted me to have after she died a few years ago. 

Anyway, Indy made the cutest apron with the vintage quilt squares. The whole time I thought about Norma, Nolan’s mom. We had the same birthday (Groundhog Day), and she left me fabric along with a typewriter that I wrote about in “Two More Years.” I read that chapter recently and remembered how amazing that woman was—I even thought about that as we sewed today. 

Then, when Indy modeled the apron she made—this rainbow kept appearing! 😮

Is this incredible or what?! I’m stunned. I kind of think Norma knew how much I remembered her today. Maybe this was her last gift to us?

Life Will Surprise Ya

 I sat by the store’s garbage can, right outside the entrance. Luckily, Indy had no idea that I’d begun feeling so nauseous on this shopping trip. She’d waited days and days for the outing, and I didn’t want it getting ruined—especially because of cancer. Cancer has taken enough from us. “Mike, you’ll help her get some stuff?” I whispered. “Make it fun?”

He nodded. “You go rest in the car. I’ve got this. She’ll have an awesome time.”

Indy seemed happy to shop with Mike—and that made a huge difference for me. But after I stepped outside, a wave of fatigue hit so strong that I couldn’t take another step. In fact, I could’ve cried as I placed my hand against the exterior brick wall and then slumped to sit by the garbage can at the store’s entrance.

So many people passed. One fancy woman studied my pale face and stick legs, then tipped her nose in the air and walked on. This continued until I willed Mike and Indy to burst from the store. I couldn’t stand people’s judgement anymore, but I needed help getting back up.

I finally stared, hoping to see my family, and that’s when one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen came out of the store. I went to look away, but she gazed down at me with so much kindness. “How’s your day going?” she asked, stopping momentarily with her friend. 

“It’s good.” I smiled. “I’m so grateful for the nice weather.”

After they left, my load felt somehow lighter. It seemed as if an actual angel had stopped to check on me. But then my thoughts changed. I thought about how easy it is to be nice when things are good. It’s a lot harder when you’re dealing with sickness, suffering, and eventually death. “I bet she’s never experienced hardship,” I thought. “Things must be so easy for her. She exudes so much joy. I remember those days.”

I’d been having those thoughts, rationalizing her kindness, when that same woman and her friend—the exact lady who could’ve been a Disney princess—came back to talk with me! “I’m sorry,” the supermodel said, “but I felt like God told me to come back and ask if there’s anything you need prayer for.”

I blinked, completely shocked. “I have stage four cancer,” I said, and her eyes grew wide.

“So…do I,” she said.

Tears filled my eyes as we both relayed that we never would’ve expected for the other to have cancer. I couldn’t believe how much we had in common or how she suddenly felt like such a kindred spirit. “How old are you?” I asked.

“33,” she said. “You?”

“39.”

“I’ll be new to the area soon. I’m actually moving here. Do you recommend a place for cancer treatments?”

After we finished exchanging information, Mike came out and helped me walk to the car. 

“That was the strangest thing,” I told Mike and Indy. “I’d just been thinking how she probably didn’t have a care in the world, and then she came back and ended up telling me that she has cancer!”

“Wow, that’s crazy, Mom. It goes to show we don’t always know what other people are going through. Looks like you have another story to write about!”

“You’re right! Thank God I went to sit outside when I did.” I was supposed to meet that woman, but without the bout of fatigue and pain I never would have. “Life is so ironic.” I sighed. “It’s been a pretty good day…after all.”

Watching the Earth Come Alive—and the Power of Always Finding the Good

 Today I tried to pick a favorite memory with my dad, and I realized just how many we have. From watching “The Grey” at a movie theater and laughing that we paid to see such a scary movie to deep-sea fishing in Mexico (catching more tuna than the boat could hold and spotting humpback whales to the side of the boat) we’ve had some pretty amazing times. But the one that stands out the most for me today is one of our hunting trips.

He woke me up even earlier than farmers rise and handed me a thermos that held shepherds’ coffee. I quickly realized the value of drinking that stuff slowly—to avoid a gut full of grounds! 

We four-wheeled over to a ridge my dad had scoped out with my Uncle Wayne the day before. But before we could traverse to our lookout spot, my dad relayed the importance of silence. “We’re trying to blend in,” he whispered, then placed a finger to his lips.

We combat crawled to the edge of a cliff before just waiting for a long, long time….

It was slow at first, but I started to feel the pure energy—the heartbeat—of the earth. The wind played the most beautiful melodies I’ve ever heard, and, as if calling them to life, oranges and yellows streaked across the sky—playing a symphony for those lucky enough to see it.

I felt the earth’s skin aching to shake off the cold and darkness as a tumble weed popped from the ground and rolled along, fighting his way through this world, just like the rest of us. 

And then it happened. The sun burst from a mountain range and started highlighting the tips of everything. The trees ignited with life. The ground heated with excitement and the joy only brought by a new day. My strawberry-blonde hair whipped in front of my face and turned to fire! And my dad, well, he grinned in a way I’ve never seen. He looked every bit a majestic mountain lion, wild and free. He looked so…alive.

Not long after the sun rose, we spotted two does resting under a massive tree across the valley. My dad and I worked all day to get within shooting distance, but when we were almost there, the does simply stood up and bounded—as fast as lightning—to the exact spot we’d started from…across the valley!

After that we gave up the charade and talked freely. I relayed how surreal it’d been feeling the earth wake up like that, and my dad imparted the value of always finding beauty in life (which to him is always finding the good). 

That night we ate fancy potatoes that my Uncle Wayne and Aunt Judy made. I heard hilarious stories that shocked me, and I remember feeling the warmth of the campfire as I looked from my parents to my epic aunt and uncle. The four of them have always been true legends in my eyes; heck, just being by my dad and Uncle Wayne is like meeting Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!

Over a decade later my dad had a stroke. I couldn’t get a plane ticket fast enough, so I hopped in a car with my oldest daughter and sped through two states just to be by my dad’s side. “This means so much to me—to us,” my mom said. “I can’t believe how fast you got here.”

“That’s what you do for the people you love!” I said. And as I squeezed my dad’s hand and told him I loved him, I just knew he’d make a full recovery—like he did. 

I honestly never lost faith that he’d get better because I’d seen him on that ridge so many years ago. I’d seen his fighting spirit and the beauty of his soul. And I think that’s one of the greatest things he’s passed on to me: the courage to fight even when all of the odds are against us. Plus, he’s shown me again and again that there’s power in having an unshakable will to ALWAYS find the good. 

I’ll be forever grateful for the lessons he and my mom have taught me; they’ve buoyed me through every hardship life has thrown my way and helped me truly cherish the good times.

Love you so much, Dad. Thank you…for everything. I hope you know how very much I love you. Happy Father’s Day.

This is a picture of my dad (right), Sky (middle), and me in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

Life-Changing Lessons for 5 Bucks and a Quarter

“He didn’t have enough cash on him,” the cashier said to everyone in line at the Wendy’s near our home. “He’ll be right back—thanks for your patience.”
Moments before, an older man—who looked delightfully like Mr. Magoo—had darted from the counter and rushed to his car.
“I’ll pay for it.” How could I not? To buy a meal for Mr. Magoo, well that felt like an honor. “Whatever he got, I’ll pay,” I said, and both Trey and Indy lit up with excitement. Our day was about to get interesting!
“That’ll be $5.25,” the girl said.
“Well, that isn’t much.” Magoo should’ve ordered more. “That’s less than some people spend on a coffee!”
I’d wanted to pay and leave the register before the man returned, but unfortunately it didn’t work out that way. Instead, he burst through the doors and dumped a bunch of change on the counter. “I’m sure I have enough now,” he said. 
“No worries,” the lady said. “This woman paid for you.”
He turned to me with so much concern. “I don’t take handouts. Please let me pay.”
“I’ve been wanting to do something nice for someone ALL day. It helps get my mind off of what I’m going through.” He went to protest, and I’m not sure why, but I felt like mentioning Father’s Day. I turned to that small man and looked kindly into his eyes. “It’s Father’s Day weekend,” I said, then I reached out and went to rest my hand on his, where he still clutched at the coins. “You’re a father?”
He nodded, but somehow sadly as if a long, tragic story rested behind those eyes. In fact, he had the look of grief that I know all too well—the kind of sadness that is only birthed after losing a child.
“Well, I felt almost inspired to tell you something. Happy Father’s Day! It’s not much, but hey—it’s a free meal!” And then I winked.
Magoo teared up and looked far more grateful than anyone should over five bucks and a quarter. 
The cashier came and talked with me after a while and said this kind of thing started a chain of people wanting to pay for each other’s food. This obviously made her day, but before she could go back to her post, she whispered, “You said this helps you get through your own struggles? If you don’t mind my asking, is everything okay for you guys?” She looked from me to Trey to Indy.
Indy bit her lip.
“I have…” I exhaled. “I have stage four cancer. Doctors initially gave me two years to live, but now I could have a lot more. We just don’t know. I keep telling almost everyone I meet to be grateful for what they have. It might sound cliche, but life really is short.”
It seemed as if she’d stopped breathing. “But looking at you; you’re the picture of health. You really have cancer?”
I nodded. “Life is a crazy ride,” I said. “Ya know, seeing how happy that man got over a simple meal someone paid for, it made my whole day shine bright. That kind of gratitude was beautiful. Really.”
“For me too,” she said.
We were just about to leave the restaurant when the manager came up and announced that they wanted to pay for our entire order: three meals. “We were running behind—which is very uncharacteristic of us—and what you did for that man was so kind. Here’s your money back,” the manager said, actually handing me cash. 
“Put it toward the next person’s order!” I said and a smile slowly lit his face. 
“Okay.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, we will.”
After we got into the car, Trey and Indy kept talking about how exciting our outing to Wendy’s had been. 
“Talk about instant karma!” Indy giggled. “I can’t believe they tried to pay for OUR meal!”
“Wow. What a day. That’s the thing with kindness…” Trey said, obviously thinking out loud.
“What?” I asked.
“I rode my bike to the gas station once and a guy paid for my drink. He told me to never forget it and to go do something nice for someone else. Now every time I’m kind, I think about what that man said. I’ll never forget it.”
I nodded. “But how do you think that relates to today?”
“I guess it’s just that…” He paused as if really trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s great what you did, but what means more is all of those people paying for each other’s meals. They’ll probably never forget how today made them feel—especially the people who decided to be kind. And the cashier, I know she’ll never forget us or our story. We made people really happy today because we showed that hardships haven’t gotten us down and we showed them that if we can rise above what we’re going through, no matter what other people are fighting, they can overcome their struggles too.”
I had to look out my window. I didn’t want Trey or Indy to see me cry. I was just so proud of them. Cancer can be devastatingly hard, but the lessons we’ve learned along the way are worth their weight in gold. 
My fourteen-year-old son is right. The importance of that moment was lifting each other up and the chain reaction of kindness it spurred. Life is so beautiful. Plus, who knew you could buy all that for just five bucks and a quarter.