Dunno

This was Summer, 2004 and it was Dave and Shelby's wedding. Dave is in the red vest, Elena is being the tiny goof between Dave and I and on the end is our boss, the reason we all know each other: Anna B. Later on we tried to roll and run on the hay bails behind us. It was a good wedding.
The scary thing to me is out of everyone in this photo, I am the only one who hasn't had cancer since it was taken. Anna found out that fall she had precancerous growths; she was 33. This past fall Dave came down with a softball-sized tumor in the middle of his chest. He did six months of chemo and just had surgery last week. He's weak but he's fighting. He just turned 30.
Yesterday afternoon Elena called me saying she had news. She's been with the same great guy for close to three years now so I was expecting the usual, "I'm engaged!" call I've fielded dozens of times. Instead the call revolved around cortisol levels and the hypothalamus and thalamus and the words "tumor" and "pituitary" together. Elena is 26.
It isn't like I know a whole bunch of people from AL; 30 at the most. And then three come down with tumors? At such young ages? I don't understand it, and I'm scared. It is early, she still has a lot of tests before she knows the extent of the tumor and whether to be scared, but I can't help it. She's one of my closest friends.
How does that happen?

Damn You, Tonya!

This is Dave.
Dave has been a friend of mine for almost 8 years. We met at the camp I worked for in Virginia where we all lived in tents and crazy things happened regularly. Dave came as a companion to my friend Shelby (now his wife) and he brought along an exuberance that is unmatched, a zest for fun that is both light and deep. We have had many adventures in these years (one of my favorite involves a situation attempting to explore a new cave). He is a dear, dear friend. Like a big brother only with less fights. When three of us came down with giardia, Dave was the one who volunteered to drive the deathly ill people 30 minutes to the hospital in a 1989 maroon Caravan. He and I have run many programs together, having so much fun in the process our kids would tell us to calm down. Our interpretive dance to Peter Gabriel’s “Solsbury Hill” is still one of the funniest moments of performance I’ve ever been apart of. He is another in a long line of people who blew into my life and have taken root. I am blessed by these roots.

Dave has cancer.

I got an email from him a few weeks ago, detailing the discovery of Tonya the Tumor, a softball size germ cell tumor that is sitting in this chest, overlapping his lungs and close to his heart. Of all the cancers to get at 29 it is one of the most treatable and he is in chemotherapy, with hopes that he’ll be done with it before summer starts. He called me this past weekend to see if I had any questions about his cancer, to make sure I wasn’t worrying too much and to see how I was doing. We talked for about 30 minutes and I got to ask the questions I wanted to ask, let him know how much I loved his friendship, and make him laugh as much as I could. As long as I’ve known Dave he has had the gift of good attitude. No matter the situation, no matter the resources at hand, no matter how glum it looks, Dave has a good attitude that is full of realism and yet abounding joy.

I can’t believe I get to have people like him in my life.

Not because he is sick, but because he is Dave.

(this is Dave with his twin brother, Dan. Dave is the one in the sombrero. Both are equally awesome.)
Dave's CaringBridge Site.

February

Lots going on in this head at the moment. It's that period of time when I simply have to tell myself what I should be thinking in order to quell all that my pessimistic mind would have me dwell upon. Part of this I blame on the impending doom of February.
I'm serious. February is that time of year when everything sort of looks grey, there is little that brings joy or hope or promise. Spring is an eternity away, daylight is as dull as a textbook and skin is dry and cracked. It just makes those things that are less than ideal even more disheartening. Dar Williams has an old song about February that I don't particularly like, but it does capture the time well, the freezing and the forgetting.

What I've been listening to lately:
Old school Hole, like "Doll Parts" and "Miss World". Why I don't know
"These Friends of Mine" album by Rosie Thomas, featuring Denison Whitmer and Sufjan Stevens
Old Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
"Fisherman's Woman" album by Emiliana Torrini
And, randomly, Styx. Like "Mr. Roboto" Styx. "Come Sail Away" Styx.
And then "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1" by the Flaming Lips.
(So songs about robots)
The Indigo Girls first album. I think this brings me comfort, since I've had it since I was 8.

(the above photo is with Natalie at my college graduation. Nat has been my mentor, friend, and mother figure for close to ten years. I owe much of who I am currently to her and her strength, humility, honesty and integrity. Last week we found out her cancer has returned. Her spirits are great, she's ready to beat it for a third time. I'm not, I'm a friggin' mess. I have puffy eye syndrome from bursts of tears. I want to take four shots of cheap whiskey and then kick something)