Last Words

I want to leave you with something

But I almost forgot

Was it a closing statement

Or a parting shot?

                                ~ Vigilantes of Love

I’m writing this late in 2015, long before it’s necessary but while my brain still functions well enough to actually put the words to paper. I’ve watched too many people in the final stages of cancer go from functional to comatose almost overnight to risk waiting.

Where to begin? Let’s start here…

Don’t be sad. I’m not. I got 49 years on this planet, and that was actually more than I should’ve had. I was diagnosed with Type I diabetes at eighteen, so by rights I probably should’ve been dead by twenty-five. So I got almost twenty-five extra years. Who can be sad about that?

And I’ve had a good life. I’ve had some good friends, done some great things, and had a pretty good career. Of course, given that I was born in the late 1960s, raised in Southern California, and grew up to be a straight, white, tall, male with a decent brain, it probably would’ve been more work to have a bad life than it took to have a good one. I cannot deny that I was dealt a winning hand.

But I learned a lesson early on that I’m not sure everyone recognizes: there’s a difference between a good life and a happy life. And I cannot claim to have had the latter. I’ve certainly had some happy periods, but by and large they were relatively brief and separated by much longer periods of something else. I’ve written here previously that my default affect has been desperate loneliness, and that has pretty much been true for nearly all of my life. Three or four decades of loneliness is more than enough. It’s time for me to be done.*

But before I’m done there are some people I’d like to acknowledge. And since I don’t want this to turn into an Oscar speech, please (please, please) don’t feel bad if you don’t find your name listed. I’d never finish if I tried to name everyone who was ever kind to me or important to me. You all know who you are. But in any case…

Thanks to Mum and Dad for being Mum and Dad, and doing the best they could in raising me.

I owe an unpayable debt to my siblings – Kris Bandarra, Tim Streck, and Catherine Stafford – who were my fellow passengers in our little dysfunctional family lifeboat, and always there for me when I needed them. I still remember the Thanksgiving when Mum was going crazy getting ready, and Tim was solicited to take Cath and me to the movies to get us out of the way. We saw The Fish that Saved Pittsburgh.

Thanks to my extended family – Aunt Sue, Uncle Stan, Cheri, Steve, Lori and Beth – for more Thanksgivings, and Easters and Christmases than I can remember. And my sincerest apologies for the inordinate number of times I caused Mum to be absent due to my stress-induced sickness, and for that one time I actually managed to vomit all over the dinner table. All I can say in my defense is that I did warn you that my throat was stuffy.

Next up, all the spouses, significant others, children and others who voluntarily joined our little clan. The sibs and I didn’t have much choice, but you guys volunteered (ok, the kids not so much). Thanks for that.

I’ve had innumerable friends throughout my life, and I can’t even begin to name you all here. But, to quote the Golden Girls, thanks for being my friends. I owe a particular debt of gratitude to everyone who stepped up when I was diagnosed with cancer. From comments on the blog to bringing over meals or sitting with me during chemo, you all made my situation so much better than it otherwise would’ve been.

As documented throughout this blog, the journey through cancer has brought me into contact with more healthcare workers than I can even remember, much less name. I’ve talked about a few of them in past posts, but at risk of repeating myself, I’m going to mention a few more here. I want to again thank my amazing surgeon at Group Health, Dr. Amy Harper, who was the best doctor I’ve ever had care for me. She insisted on treating me as a human, and made a relatively terrifying situation tolerable. The world needs more doctors like her. More generally, all the care I received during that first week of diagnosis was spectacular – and very much appreciated. I also want to thank Claire Stockhausen, my PA at the SCCA. I don’t know how many patients Claire must be caring for, but I’d guess it’s in the hundreds. Despite that fact, she always made me feel like I was the only person she was thinking about. I can only imagine how difficult her job is, but I can state for a fact that Claire is phenomenal at performing it. Finally, let’s talk about nurses. The nurses on the tenth floor at Virginia Mason Hospital. The nurses in the infusion center at Group Health, and on the infusion floor at the SCCA. I can’t even begin to name them all, but every single one of them made my experience better. They were kind, funny, attentive, overworked, concerned, honest, informative, creative and caring – and they made my experience so much better than it otherwise could’ve been. Thanks to all of you for all you did to extend my time on this planet as long as possible, and to make that time the best it could possibly be. 

(Is that the music starting up? Time to wrap up…)

As I said above, I had a good life and a pretty good career. That career basically spanned two jobs. After finally giving up on grad school, I spent the first nine years working for the Office of Sponsored Programs at the University of Washington, and the remainder working for the Seattle Children’s Research Institute. At both places, the people I worked with were the best: dedicated individuals doing difficult and frequently underappreciated jobs. I would not have had the career I had were it not for those people. Moreover, while it might sound like brown-nosing, it’s a little late for that and I do need to mention my two primary bosses in those jobs. Carol Zuiches saw something in me at OSP, and gave me countless opportunities to prove what I could do and use my skills to their best advantage. I’m grateful. And they say that no one lying on the death bed says, “I wish I’d spent more time at work.” The fact that I am leaving this world with so few regrets – I rode motorcycles across Vietnam, I saw penguins on Antarctica, I took my nieces and nephews to far away places, I stepped on all seven continents – is due to the compassion and tolerance of my boss at Children’s, Jim Hendricks. Some debts can never be repaid.

I would like to note for the record that the happiest day of my life was August 23, 2008 – my wedding day. The marriage didn’t work out, and fault for that is largely mine, but loneliness can lead to poor choices. I loved my wife, Adelia Yee, on the day we got married, and I’ve loved her to this day. I just couldn’t do it in the way she needed.

Last, but not least, I’m going air a few pieces of laundry. From about 1995 to about 2005, I was part of a family unit with Elaine Ackerman and her daughter, Cassie. Sadly, things got very difficult – as they sometimes do – and our little family exploded. But a year after my diagnosis, they found my blog and Cass reached out to me. It was perhaps the greatest act of generosity I’ve ever received, as she had plenty of reason to just close her browser and go back to her life. Instead she became the daughter I never knew I wanted, and the friend I desperately needed. I’ve accomplished a few things in my life that were pretty cool, but, again, for the record, the thing I’m most proud of is Cass. She’s carried a lot of pain – too much of it caused by me – and come through the other side as the kind of person I wish I could’ve figured out how to be. The fact that she gives me some of the credit for the good parts of her is the primary reason I’m leaving this planet not feeling like I completely wasted my time here.

And with that, I guess I’m done. Weird to think that these 1,500 words are probably the last substantive, coherent thing I’ll communicate.

My apologies for any hurt I’ve caused to anyone, whether intentional or inadvertent (which is worse, I wonder). And if anyone out there is worried about any hurt you think you may have caused me, please, forgive yourself and forget it. It doesn’t matter in the least. 

Live long and prosper…

                May the force be with you…

                                So long, and thanks for all the fish.

* For the younger readers out there, here’s one simple lesson I learned the hard way which might help you get more out of life than I did: when you’re eighteen years old and a twenty-three-year-old model wants to have sex with you, YOU SAY YES!