Benjamin J. Carey's Blog

“I don’t need a watch to tell the time. I don’t need the sun to help me shine” -Shawn Mendes 

Sully’s cancer journey started when he was diagnosed with Acute B-Cell Lymphoblastic Leukemia at 10 years old. 

This month he completed his first year of normalcy and is cancer free. 

There are follow ups with doctors, but as of a year ago there is no more chemotherapy, no more sleeping off the poison, no more spinal taps, no more drugs, and no more restrictions. 

In Shawn Mendes words, our life has been defined not by a watch, but by these moments and milestones we never anticipated. 

He is in the process of rebuilding his body and although he doesn’t speak of it, he is also healing the deeper wounds associated with a cancer battle. In a sense we are all returning to a life that is not overwhelmed with medical procedures and overshadowed by fear. 

I will never forget the pit in my chest the day he was diagnosed. Thank you to all of our friends and family for your support over these years. 

I love you Sully and I thank God every single day for your presence, your company, and your strong beautiful soul. You are my hero. You will never walk alone. 

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When Sully was diagnosed with B-Cell Lymphoblastic Leukemia two and a half years ago a lot changed. Fortunately COVID happened at roughly the same time and while he was in the hospital recovering his friends were isolated at home so he didn't feel like he was missing anything. School resumed for his friends, and eventually for him. He continued chemotherapy and treatment while going to school, only staying home on the sickest days. He had to give up sports because of the post-treatment effects of the spinal taps and drugs, and the medical port in his collarbone. It seemed like a small insignificance in the grand scheme of things, but I could tell it left an emptiness in him.

He was as passionate about football as my older son and I could see the effect that having to sit out was having on him. For a while I left him home from his older brother PJ's football trips because I was concerned he would get more depressed. I tried finding ways to lift his spirits. We reorganized his game room and I bought him a new PC and we upgraded his bike. I've spent an exorbitant amount of time with him and on things to keep his spirits up, we all have. We made a protective pad for his medical port and tried soccer but ultimately it didn't seem to fill the void of football. 

After the first year his weekly treatments became our new norm. While everyone else has been living their regular work and family life, we too have been doing the same, only with this cloud over our heads since May 20th, 2020. 

I do a great job of turning shit into sunshine, and as a marketer my social media is an intentional snapshot of Silver Linings. It's a lot of work to maintain that appeal for business reasons but in reality I'm often in the dark bumping into things trying to figure shit out as a single dad. 

This whole ordeal has been a litmus test on my relationships. I've gotten rid of a lot of dead wood and grown closer with the kind people who actually get it. I have learned not to waste my energy on negativity; to not give a fuck what anyone thinks of me or how or why I do things. Everyone has a story, but no one could comprehend this journey except the few in our circle. My approach to each day is with "tragic optimism" as coined by the existential-humanistic psychologist Viktor Frankl.

After time had passed I decided to try bringing Sully on PJ's football trips again. He seemed to enjoy them and once I realized that he never left my side. He traveled with us to all the camps and had the opportunity to see some of the best football colleges in the country. He particularly enjoyed talking with Coach Schiano at Rutgers and Coach Robinson at Texas A&M. They were very kind and made the in-obligatory point of making him feel special and having lengthy conversations with him. 

Sully didn't miss a single game of his brother's freshman season, often running onto the field and into the locker room where he was welcomed by Coach Minucci and PJ's teammates. He was a fixture right next to me at every game from the summer scrimmage to the state championship in snowy Buffalo. It turns out that something I thought would make him sad turned into a great distraction. 

A couple weeks ago he came and informed me "I'm playing football next year."

I had to explain to him that when he finishes treatment in mid-September it's not like they just pop out the medical port and you're good to go. I told him he would need time to heal, would have to get up to speed physically, and ultimately have bone density and other tests to get cleared. I reminded him the same way I do my older son, that the world doesn't revolve around football. I had to be candid with him and explain that it was a great goal but he had to prepare himself to accept whatever the terms were after treatment.

With that, he has come home from school every single day to run and join us on weights without my impetus. The last thing I am concerned with is him playing football, but "the process" is somewhat of a distraction in the last and final part of this treatment. He is also fortunate to have a good friend group that he rides bikes around town with, goes fishing, and is connected with on the X-box and PC.

For the time being he's occupied with something new and I've assured him that whatever the outcome is; if he is able to play he will have the opportunity. But if he is not able to play I reminded him that it's not the end of the world. In spite of us being a crazy football family, and believe me we are; football is not our only derivative of happiness or the bond that binds us. It's also not my ultimate expectation or what we define our manhood on.

I write because it's an outlet for me. It's a breather from all the craziness in my life and a way to stay connected with friends and relatives wanting updates.

Coincidentally I receive quite a few emails from these posts from the kindest cancer survivors, and from parents and families who are going through the same thing or are on the other side having finished treatment. 

Last week I met @DITTYBOS a tough young cancer survivor who is also a football player and has kicked cancer's ass. He is playing football in college and has an amazing attitude about life. Follow him if you get a chance, he's an inspiration. 

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January 25, 2023: My Fifty-first Trip Around the Sun:




“Cinco mas minutos” said Memphis, one of the guides as he approached me. 

He stayed back and walked alongside me, one of those indicators that I probably looked like shit. It reminded me of when I did my first triathlon and the lifeguard in the kayak kept trailing me because I looked like I was going to drown.

It was five hours into climbing Acatenango, a volcano in Guatemala and my heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath because of how thin the air was at that altitude, and my legs felt like they had hundred pound weights attached to them. 

I had heard about the eruption in 2018 that killed 1,000 people, and of the others who died on a climb from hypothermia. Interestingly it's 75-80 degrees in Guatemala but at night it can drop quickly to below zero on the top of Acatengango. I had no idea this climb would be so challenging until I read on the plane home that it is ranked #7 on the list of 20 hardest hikes in the world. 
I had not done any training for the trip, and had lost five pounds from being sick right before I left. I only felt better the day before departing. 
As I finished the last few minutes of the climb, the extreme fatigue and crushed volcanic stone under my feet made it feel like a moon walk. My quads were cramping up so badly that I could barely walk. The only other time I felt my legs so heavy was in Harlem when I hit mile 19 in the New York City marathon. 
Five minutes later we reached the top of Acatenango volcano. The view was spectacular. There she was in the horizon blowing up and spewing smoke and lava every 15-20 minutes: Fuego, the most active volcano in Guatamala. I stood there astonished with random thoughts of the birth of earth and the ice age running through my head. Seeing something so primitive and powerful up close and personal was bizarre. 


It was a little uncanny how our tents were set up on the steep incline of Acatenango. The crushed volcanic stone everywhere made it impossible to walk around the camp without sliding. There were a few trees to grab if you started to go, but not enough to reassure you wouldn’t slide off into the void.
I threw my bag inside the tent and climbed down to the lean-to where the guides had made hot chocolate from Guatemalan Cacao, and our group socialized around the campfire. There were about 15 people in our group from Germany, UK, Denmark, China, and France. I was the only American and we all spoke in Spanish to the guides and to each other. I don’t think I spoke more than 5 minutes of English for the entire trip. 


We watched an amazing sunset, and as nightfall approached the guides made a bolognese pasta over the open fire. We had dinner and spent the rest of the evening watching the volcano erupt. The stars in the night sky up there were brighter than I have ever seen. 









Eventually I scaled the steep incline making my way back up to my tent. When I took off my boots I noticed blisters had bled into my socks, but I ignored them and crawled into the sleeping bag and tried to get warm. The overnight was rough. It dropped to 29 degrees, my legs cramped all night, and I had the worst headache and dyspnea from the thin air at that altitude. Every time I would get close to falling asleep I would wake up gasping for air. I checked my Garmin watch and my oxygen level had dropped to 92! I don’t think I slept for more than 10 minutes that night. 
My back was killing me, every time I took a breath I felt a stabbing pain in my left rhomboid, a result of carrying the heavy packs for 5 hours. At the beginning of the climb they asked everyone if they wanted a “porter” (a local worker who carries up your backpack). What kind of pussy would do that, I wondered? Most of the people in our group opted for a porter, but a few others and I carried our own backpacks and a water pack on our front. By halfway up the bag felt like an anchor.
I watched a beautiful sunrise the next morning and then ate breakfast with the group around the campfire. I went back to my tent and stretched for 20 minutes before we started the hike down. It helped a lot. 
The trip down was fast. It was dangerous but some of us ran at certain points because it was easier on the legs than trying to slow yourself down. I was thrilled when it was over. My ears popped as the bus descended back to Antigua, the village where my hostel was located. 
I didn’t want to waste the remainder of the day resting. I walked around the village, and visited the ruins of an old church that was being restored as a museum. The architecture of the building, the artwork on display inside, and the grounds were exquisite. 













I had lengthy conversations with everyone I met. One of my favorite parts of the trip was meeting the owner of a local coffee shop. Their appreciation for coffee in Guatemala is similar to how we treat wine in America. He described every bean and variety in detail and let me sample a few different blends. I spent an hour talking with him about Guatemalan history and politics while his grandchildren played on the floor and his son waited on customers. It was interesting hearing his perspectives on the UFC fruit company, their lifestyle through President Arevalo and each of the past Presidents as compared to what I had read in books. 


I called a local guy I met to drive me to the airport at 3am for my flight home. I paid him what I would have paid a driver and he was appreciative. 
There is nothing like the authenticity of mixing into the culture of a 3rd world country. No commercial hotels, no translators, no luxuries. It reminds you of the goodness in people, how little we really need to be happy, and how conditioned we have become to think we need all the man made bullshit.
#LEGIONOFBOOM@1stphorm


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Everything has changed, yet everything has remained the same since May 20, 2020, the day I was told Sully has B-Cell Lymphoblastic Leukemia. By the grace of God he became cancer free, but the overall length of his treatment program is 3 years.

People witnessed his return to school, they saw his hair grow back and the color return to his face. But what they don't realize is that quietly behind the scenes he is still in the throws of twice daily meds, blood tests, spinal taps, and chemotherapy for what is supposed to be another 9 months. 

Our lives have acclimated to these things in a manner whereby they have become as routine as everything else and we are just counting down the days until it's over. He still has a medical port embedded under his skin near his collar bone which prevents him from playing football and wrestling. He is not thrilled about that, but he will complete chemo in September 2023 and have the port taken out. 

Life has not lost its luster, it has become more vivid. It has caused us to appreciate everything so much more, even the daily mundane aspects of life so often taken for granted. It has highlighted my relationships with others allowing me to experience some of the greatest acts of human compassion, while at the same time revealing self-absorbed idiots. My circle has gotten tighter, and stronger.

The responsibilities of a single dad have distracted me from having cancer anxieties. There is rarely any downtime. With my daughter off at college it's just me and the 2 boys at home and we've become an inseparable unit. I've had to travel all over the country with my older son for football camps, college visits, and games, and Sully has never left my side.

We do everything together, and depending on the day our life can resemble a fraternity, a military school, a comedy show, or a trial-by-fire. More often than not it is a bit of a shit show, but we have a lot of laughs and they will have plenty of stories to tell when they get older. Like the night of the state championship when we got caught in a lake-effect snowstorm leaving Buffalo and a 6 hour drive home took us 11 hours. 

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On Friday we made a trip to Penn State University for PJ's football visit followed by a back-to-back trip to Texas A&M University after he received a last minute invite to a special event for the country's top recruits and commits at head coach Jimbo Fisher's house. 

It was 2:00am when we arrived home from Penn State. We had exactly 25 minutes to shower and be at the airport for our 6:00am flight to Texas. 

I've been to Texas a few times, but it was my boys' first trip. They were psyched for it. Without making a political statement, my 3 children and I are socially moderate and pro-choice, but we all believe in the strong conservative values that Texas stands for. 

Aggieland was amazing. My son is a very special young man and received his 8th D1 college scholarship offer while we were there. 

After visiting Texas A&M we spent a few days with my cousin at his 2,000 acre ranch in the hill country of Southern Texas. He's the banker who handles almost all of the major ranch transactions in the U.S.

It was great to see my uncle and all of my cousins who we do not get to see often enough. Distance never weakens us, and we naturally picked up with hugs, sarcasm, and breaking chops; right where we left off last time we saw each other. 

We will never forget these soul-satisfying days filled with fishing, hunting and eating what we got, swimming in the creek, shooting guns, racing ATV's, and the authentic conversations that happen only in the absence of cell-phones and life's everyday distractions. 

There is no Wi-Fi or cell service on the ranch and the technology vacuum presents an opportunity for real conversations. Life is so short and only moments like this remind us what is so important: our wives, children, and family. 

My cousin Stephen is a hard working man that puts his family first. By day he's one of the country's top bankers but he's also a fieldsman that could make fire from sticks and hunt his own dinner with a spear. Melissa is a strong and beautiful alpha-woman, the matriarch of the family. Their daughters and sons are beautiful people inside and out and they all tower at over 6ft. 

My Uncle Mike and his wife Lindy are the epitome of Texas class, the kind from the old TV series Dallas. 

Tonya and David and their kids are so kind. David manages an oil refinery near Houston. They are people who find happiness in the simplicity of life, a contrast to the common New York lifestyle. They are loyal, generous, and warm.

The sky is different down here. It is vast and endless and during the day it is a deep blue with wisps of cotton clouds floating effortlessly. At night the sky is the blackest of black and accompanied by such a silence that you can hear your own heartbeat. 

My boys are growing up. So much has changed, so much has stayed the same. I watch them wrestle over the last deer sausage and for who is driving the ATV. They take turns driving it up and down the riverbeds while we are here kicking up dust as they speed by the camp. A Morgan Whalen soundtrack plays in my head as I watch these moments of my life fly by.

I've had a life of ups and downs, love and hearbreak, but God damn I always manage to find the silver-lining every single time. If you are lucky, you know that no one loves better than me. 
If I died tomorrow I die a happy man. My cup is full. It always is. Life is what you make it.

A social media memory that appeared on my timeline is the impetus that causes me to take a seat in the kitchen reflecting on Sully's Leukemia journey. 

The kitchen is dark except for the glow of the utility light over the sink. It's a school night and the boys are in bed sleeping. The house is quiet except for the dishwasher running and the faint sound of Darius Rucker playing from the Alexa. 

I sit at the table waiting for the last load of laundry to finish so that I can fold it and go to bed.

My God has it really been two years since that day?

We have another year left of chemotherapy, spinal taps, blood draws, MRI's, pill cases and doctor appointments, but my boy is cancer free. 

How will we get through another year? Exactly how we've come this far: I'm not sure how we've done it. I just pray to God before bed, we wake up and plant our feet, and we go through the motions. 

In the blink of an eye Sully has been through an unpleasant divorce, cancer diagnosis, his sister leaving for college, and then the dog that slept with him every night; his best friend, got slaughtered in the road in front of our house by a passing truck before his very eyes. 

One of these experiences alone is a challenge for a kid. All of them shoved into a short time period is a lot.

But he is so resilient, optimistic, responsible, and such a pure soul. He is the epitome of a good boy. We find positive vibes and laughs in every day.

One day recently I was upstairs and happened to pass by his game room while he was playing the piano. It was bittersweet. 

He had been on a visit to my mom's and taught himself how to play a couple of songs on my brothers keyboard while he was there. Naturally she sent the keyboard home with him. 

He set it up in his game room and I noticed that he began choosing the keyboard over the X-box. 

That day he sat there with his back to me playing Beethoven's Fur Elise. I stood outside and watched from the doorway. It was one of those moments that touches you in a way you never forget. All I could think of was how much he had been through and how beautiful it was to see him find such enjoyment in the notes of the classical song he was playing. 

I was impressed by his choice of music and ability to play that song with no experience. I stood there listening, careful to leave before he finished and noticed me. Later that evening I told him how proud I was and he told me how much he enjoyed classical music. 

The past year has brought many changes. I have watched him become a better chef; his specialty being fried rice and chicken. He is on a soccer team, builds forts in the woods, bikes all over town, and has a friend group that has grown very large. 

He has become extremely independent which makes me proud but melancholy. Some of his independence is his natural personality but the rest is a derivative of growing up in a single parent house. 

Recently we reorganized his closet, I taught him how to use the washer and do his own laundry, and he has been spending a lot of time with his friends. 

One Saturday I left to do a road race and called his phone to check in on him and his older brother: 

"Hey bud, what are you guys doing?"

"I'm eating", he said. 

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the Mexican place."

"What do you mean you are at the Mexican place Sully? You and your brother were supposed to call me if you left the house."

"I'm with a friend having lunch at the Mexican place across from the gym where we go. We rode bikes."

I paused and stared straight ahead for a moment with the phone at my ear ready to kick his ass; but oddly this 12 year old man boss on the phone made me feel like I was interrupting an adult lunch. 

"You have to pay you know. How are you paying?"

"From my account, I have my card. I got $500 for my birthday", he said. 

I paused again, and then replied.

"Oh, okay. Well, uhm... you better have your helmet, and stop spending so much money on door dash and food or it will be gone quickly. We have food at home."

"Okay Dad bye."

I smiled and shook my head. His maturity in the overly coddled environment these kids grow up in today amazes me. He is an old soul, brilliant, and streetwise. 

He told me a week later that he had a girlfriend. Coincidentally I learned that was the friend he ate lunch with at the Mexican place! 

He got a flat tire on his bike last week because the tires were so bald. He said he skidded and just heard air leak out. Sure enough I looked and the rear tire was flat and so bald it had almost worn through. I asked him why he didn't tell me the tires were bald and he just shrugged his shoulders. After a closer inspection I saw that one of the break pads had broken off and his seat needed to be raised because he had grown. I looked up at him and he just shrugged again. I shook my head. 

"You can't just ride it and not maintain it. Look how filthy it is you need to wash it once in a while, oil the chain, and check everything."

He looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. 

He rides back and forth to school so I needed to get it fixed immediately. The local bike shop was closed on Monday. I called one a little further away that was open but the man told me they were too busy to fix the flat while we waited. So we hopped into the car and drove there and bought two new tires, tubes, and brake pads. 

He liked the idea that we were going to do this ourselves. We got back in the car and he said "I'm going to help you". 

"Yes you are" I said. 

The next hour consisted of grabbing the right tools for the job, having to explain every detail about the tools, the parts, and a plethora of questions as we disassembled and reassembled the bike. 

"Didn't you used to build bikes when you were a kid dad?" he asked. 

"Yes sort of, I raced BMX bikes"

"Listen this part is important" I said as I was assembling the first new tube and tire on the rim. 

"You have to be very careful as you inflate it that the tube stays fully inside the tire. If it's not on properly and sticks out it will get pinched and pop."

He was hyper attentive his eyes didn't blink, he loved this project. 

We inflated the first tire and put it back on. 

The most memorable part of the job was when we were reassembling the second tube and tire onto the rim. 

I got hasty and made the mistake of putting it on the bike this time before inflating it which made it more difficult to keep the tube aligned. As we started to inflate it, it exploded twice!

BOOOM!  BOOM!

Sully's face lit up and he cupped his ears. I started laughing. 

"Uhm..... THAT. That is what I meant not to do Sully."

"We should have inflated it while it was off the bike and been more careful. Good lesson."

"That was loud. Are your ears ringing dad?"

We finished the job reusing one of the old tubes that wasn't popped, installed the new brake pads, adjusted all the cables, and oiled everything.

"Thanks I can do it myself next time now that I know how to do it" he said.

Earlier in the month I took him for chemotherapy in the morning and then dropped him back at the house because I had a short meeting for work around the corner. He stays home from school on chemo days and lays low watching TV or playing the X-box. 

I returned an hour later.

"Sully" I called out when I walked in the door. 

Nothing.

"Sully!" I yelled. 

After two more times yelling louder the side door of the house burst open and he walked in. 

He had his red Beats headphones on and was breathing hard, dripping with sweat, and had a tomato red face. He looked like someone hit him with a flame thrower.

My eyes widened.

"What are you doing?" I asked. 

"Working out" he said as he nonchalantly pushed past me without even making eye contact.

I turned around.

"What? Where? What?" I asked. 

"In the gym" he said not even turning around or breaking his grown man stride.

During COVID I had built a fully equipped gym inside of a solarium on the side of our house. 

"Where are you going now?" I asked

"To take a shower" he said. 

I stood there eyes wide and had one of the hardest internal laughs I've ever had.

Amazing. 

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“At the end of the day people won't remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.”
― Maya Angelou

I write it as I see it. My exercise in understanding this crazy thing we call life. A simple archive of stories to survive me. 

I was showering today when I heard my 17 year old daughter Milan screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Dad!!!" 

I thought it was because I had the radio turned up, but upon grabbing my towel and getting out she shrieked "Lennox has been hit by a car hurry!" She was crying. 

She had just arrived for a 3 day visit from college in Alabama. We didn't even get a chance to say hello and I was running around my bedroom frantically looking for a pair of pants to put on and run downstairs to see what happened. 

I threw on a pair of jeans and ran outside passing my 11 year old Sully on the front porch who was also crying and looking at our dog Lennox who sat in the driveway. 

I looked back at Sully as I ran over to the dog and told him "calm down it's going to be okay." 

I told Milan the same thing but after I saw the dog I realized I might be bullshitting them both. He sat in the driveway upright. He was alert, but stunned and not moving. They had thrown a towel over him and there was blood everywhere. 

"It's his legs Dad, you can see the bones and they are bleeding badly," said Milan. I was proud of how calm and collected she was, clearly a result of her EMT training in high school. Sully cried harder.

"Okay everyone relax it's going to be okay, we're going to take him to the hospital just calm down," I said.

I ran inside as fast as I could and pulled 5 or 6 beach towels out of the closet. Pots and pans crashed onto the floor that were stored next to them but I left them and ran out the door. I wrapped the towels all around Lennox and then I picked him up and laid him in my back seat. 

I ran upstairs to put a shirt and shoes on and returned to them waiting in the driveway. The towels were quickly soaked in his blood. 

"Stay here. I'll be back I'm going to take him to the hospital, I have to get him there quickly before he loses more blood." 

"You aren't going anywhere without me he's my dog," Milan said. 

I saw the look in her eyes and knew there was zero chance of changing her mind. 

"Get in the back seat and sit next to him then. Sully get in the front seat, let's go," I said to them as I hopped into the car. 

I wasn't even sure where to take him. We pulled out of the driveway and called his vet. They told us not to bring him there, but instead directed us to the veterinary emergency room nearby. I put my hazards on to excuse my excessive speed and got us there safely in less than 10 minutes. 

I parked the car out front and picked up Lennox in the bloody mess of towels and carried him in. The doctors descended upon us immediately and brought us into the operating room where they had me lay him down on the table. 

Sully and Milan stood near me as they tried to keep him from moving. He began moaning in pain. The doctors took off the towels and you could see most of the bones in his rear legs. All the skin was torn away and the blood was still seeping out. I directed Sully to the waiting room.

"You shouldn't be here now. Go sit down out there and I'll be right out," I said to him. 

Tears rolled down Milan's cheeks but her poise was great. I have always had an innate ability to stay calm in the worst of situations and put people at ease. It appeared that trait had rubbed off on Milan over the years because she just stood at the foot of the operating table politely asking questions as if she was one of the doctors. 

The weird thing about veterinary E.R.'s is that they allow you to remain with the pet. Milan stayed beside him the entire time while I went out to console Sully and make trips back and forth between them. 

Sully had calmed down and went through bouts of staring out the window silently followed by more crying. 

Over the course of the next hour and a half we learned that Lennox had multiple fractures in his hind legs, the tissue was torn off, and he had potential damage to his bladder and internal organs. They told us that his needs were beyond the scope of what they could do there and that we would have to take him to a hospital that was more advanced where they could do further tests. 

They told us if he made it he would be in the hospital at least a week and would need multiple reconstructive surgeries adding up to an estimated 20k in medical bills. 

After listening to the doctors I took a breath and went outside. I noticed Sully trying to go back to the dog and I motioned through the window for him to sit back down in the waiting room. 

I went on the side of the building where no one could see me and I cried. Not as much for the dog as for the idea that I would have to explain this to him and see him go through the pain. 

They were inseparable. They were like the boy and his dog in Old Yeller. He was constantly doing stupid things with the dog, laughing at him, having full blown conversations with him, and entertaining himself til no end. The dog slept with him every night. I knew his world was about to cave in, and the kid had been through so much in the past year with his cancer battle. The situation sucked. 

Milan who had just stepped into the house from her plane ride when this happened was still in shock. It was some homecoming for her first trip back I thought to myself. 

I began to look for the silver-lining and realized this whole instance was probably written long before it happened. And that Milan was supposed to be here for this because the universe knew Sully would not get through it without her. That was the best sense I could make of the tragedy. She was the second closest to Lennox, often calling home from college begging me to put him on Facetime. We named him Lennox after the NYC hospital that all 3 kids were born in.

Finally we left the veterinary hospital and the two of us went to pick up my middle son Preston from basketball practice. We pulled up and the door to the gym was open. We were late but there were still kids shooting around. I told Milan to go in and surprise him. He had no idea that she was coming home for a visit, and he had no idea the dog was just ran over. 

The rain poured down as Sully and I watched from the car. She called out to him as she stepped inside the gym, and a few seconds later we saw him walk across to her smiling. They hugged in the frame of the doorway for what seemed like an eternity. That image will stick with me for a long time. 

"Why is he sniffling? Why you sniffling Sully???" Preston asked when he got in the car. 

I smirked because his tone was so abrasive and out-of-context for what we had just been through. 

"Lennox got hit by a car," I said. 

My eyes welled up. Sully burst out crying and Preston sat dumbfounded and blessed us with a few profanities. He is probably the most compassionate and sensitive one of my 3 kids, but he has a shell of armor and rarely shows any emotion when he is hurt except for anger. 

We discussed dinner options on the drive home but unanimously scratched them. No one was hungry. 

About an hour after we were home the doctor called. 

He was gone. Lennox had died from the internal bleeding and injuries. 

I gathered the 3 kids and told them the news. It was a bad scene. Sully's heartbreak and anger reminded me of his emotions on the day I had to tell him he had cancer.

"Why!? Who's going to come to the door when I get home!? Who's going to sleep with me!?" he shouted. 

The deep belly cries continued as Milan tried to console him with some sort of explanation about God which he didn't seem to be buying. 

Milan started crying and then said "I have to go for a walk, I want to call my friends." 

Sully stayed on the sofa sobbing with his face planted in the pillow uttering things I couldn't make out. 

Preston walked in from outside. 

"What were you doing??" I asked. 

"I was washing the blood off the driveway with the hose" he said. 

When I heard him say that it put in perspective how each of them was handling things so differently. Sully was emotional and needed physical affection and love and reassurance. Milan needed space and respect, and Preston needed to feel helpful through his acts of service and also needed some space to process it by physically exerting himself. 

I wanted to force Milan and Preston to stay home. I wanted to hug them and let them cry on my shoulder, but I realized that all 3 of them were dealing with it in different ways.

I needed at that moment to love them each differently in spite of what I felt myself. When you love someone you love them in the way they need to be loved, you don't force your own coping process on them because that's how you think they should handle things.

Everyone handles shit differently when life comes down on you. There is no wrong and right, it's not about age or gender. And to be enlightened and armed with that knowledge is to have the most fulfilling and healthy relationships. 

They left and I stayed with Sully rubbing his back until he calmed down a half hour later. 

I turned on the TV for a distraction, and later in the evening everyone returned to the living room on their own terms. When they were receptive to it I was able to love them the only way I knew how; with affection and words of encouragement. I reminded them that Lennox was an old man and lived a nearly full life. I asked them to focus on the memories and not his absence in the days ahead. I told Sully what a great dog owner he was. 

And I shared something someone had told me earlier in the evening that I thought was so appropriate: 

"Everyone knows on the first day they get a pet, that someday they will have to say goodbye."

Sully has been robbed of so many things over the past year and a half due to his treatment for Leukemia. I am nervous that he will become depressed. He was so close with Lennox, we are going to have to fill the void.

The man who was speeding down the block in the pickup truck and hit him saw us off when we left for the hospital and he returned later in the evening to apologize again. I am glad my kids were able to get that closure and saw that there is still good in humanity. I'm not sure how destiny connected him with the event, but I'm sure there is a lesson learned for him. I can't imagine how he felt standing in my driveway with the kids crying over their bleeding dog. 

On a lighter note; we love everyone in our neighborhood, but coincidentally the only asshole on our block stood on his lawn shaking his head when the dog was hit and the kids said he didn't even come over to offer help before I arrived. The same "Karen" that calls the town on his neighbors that park on the street. He hated the fact that our dog was trained to piss at the curb. Another hollow man. 

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The room is dark except for the glow of the dimmed sconces on the brick wall over the fireplace, and tiny flames flicker in a mason jar candle on a table nearby. I sit on a sectional sofa with my legs stretched out on the coffee table in front of us. It's quiet. It's after midnight and the light from my macbook glows on my face. Sully my 11 year old has fallen asleep next to me after our movie night together. He lay on his back with his arms stretched out over his head. His hair has finally begun to grow back and given us just enough to squirt some gel in. It's been a little over a year since he was diagnosed with B-Cell Lymphoblastic Leukemia. The look on his face and his reaction when I had to tell him he had cancer last year will haunt me forever. 
This past couple months have brought up a lot of emotions as all of the memories from a year ago began popping up on my social media feeds. He has completed one year of treatment and has two more years to go. For the past year he has been at the hospital almost everyday for chemotherapy, blood tests, spinal taps, or blood transfusions. 
He will need to complete two more years of chemotherapy and testing. The good news is he is cancer free and only has to go to the hospital once or twice a week for this maintenance phase.  After two years if everything goes well he will stop chemotherapy and just have to go for annual tests. It's a long program, but that's the standard for young boys who have Leukemia to minimize the chance of it coming back. 
My daughter graduated high school and I dropped her off at college in Alabama a couple weeks ago. It's just me and the two boys at home now. Once again I am in the middle of changes and transitions.  I find my thoughts and emotions pulled in many different directions, as a dad, as a man, and as a human being trying to figure out the meaning of life.  
Sully finally went back for the last two weeks of school and his friends and teachers gave him a warm welcome. It was a long time coming. Now summer is almost over and he'll be starting middle school in September. 

I took him for 6th grade orientation this morning, and although COVID has changed how they are doing things, it was great to see him back with his friends. We had lunch at the diner afterward and a morning filled with our usual banter and humorous moments.  


After lunch we pulled up the list of his school supplies on my phone and we headed to staples.
   After a couple debates on which folders were the right ones and searching for a "stylus pen" we moved on to scissors.  Scissors: A dozen different types.  
"Get these dad."
Sully handed me a pair of blue scissors for $3. I didn't even look at him as he placed them in my hand, I was still standing there entranced by the array of different scissors on the wall before us. 
"What about these?" I asked, as I handed him a pair of $6 non-stick scissors. 
"Okay" he said. 
My eyes were still fixed on the wall of scissors. 
"No wait, how about these." 
I handed over a pair of "non-stick TITANIUM" scissors, my eyes still not leaving the rack in front of us. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sully smirking and looking at me.  "Dad these are 11 inch scissors, the list says we have to get 7 inch scissors." "Let me see that", I said.  "Oh shit you're right. Okay" I went back to the rack of scissors and over the next 10 minutes I worked my way through all of them, moving shit on and off the racks, opening and closing them, and trying to figure out why one pair was $3 and another was $29. Finally I grabbed the $21 non-stick titanium forged scissors with LIFETIME WARRANTY.
"We'll get these. Look at these Sully, the Mercedes of scissors!" I said laughing. 
He looked at me and we both started laughing as I was opening and closing them. It was 100 percent a Larry David moment. 
"Wait these blades have a nick in them and they don't close smoothly", I swapped them for a different pair. 
We started to walk away and then I said "Wait! These have pointed tips! The list says the tips have to be rounded!"
We laughed our asses off and finally settled on a middle of the road pair of 7 inch scissors, and agreed that what just went down in aisle 12 of staples was definitely a Curb your Enthusiasm episode . 
#FUCANCER


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According to my health tracker I slept 7 hours Monday night. 1 hour and 28 minutes was "REM sleep", but only 45 minutes of it was "deep sleep" as compared to the 1 hour and 20 minute minimum recommended. I suppose that's why I still felt tired when I woke up at 6:30am. 

It was another chemotherapy day and I went into Sully's room to wake him up. He lay sleeping with the blankets pulled up tightly to his neck, and the window was cracked. An icy breeze blew in. He insists on sleeping with the window open regardless of the temperature outside. Our dog Lennox lay next to him like a human, also with his head on a pillow. 

I kneeled over Sully, gave him a kiss on the cheek and whispered in his ear that it was time to wake up. I told him he needed to get moving so we weren't late. I told him I would grab his towel and that he needed to hop in the shower. After 5 minutes of coaxing he finally got up and made his way half-asleep to the bathroom. Once I heard the water running I went to get ready myself. 

The usual routine ensued, coffee stop on the trip to the hospital, loud music and silly conversations, and him complaining that my driving was making him nauseous. He was on an empty stomach because he was getting another spinal tap this visit. 

The morning progressed as usual. He has a spinal tap every few months to test and ensure there is no cancer in his spinal fluid. They have become routine, but never routine for us. He gets the same nervous look on his face each time they wheel him into the procedure room to sedate him. They allow me to go with him until he falls asleep. I rub his feet the whole time. I tell him I am there and that I won't leave his side until he falls asleep. It makes me sad. 

Once they have him all connected I move up near his head before they administer the anesthesia. I rub his furry head and whisper in his ear reassuring him that everything will be fine and that I'll be there when he wakes up. I don't know what else to say or how to take away his fear. I say mostly the same things every time, simply trying to do my best to quell his anxiety. 

The nurse pushes the syringe and within a few minutes his eyes slowly close and he falls asleep. It gives me an eerie feeling and I wonder if that's how it goes when they do lethal injections. I leave the room the same way each time: with a kiss on his cheek and a lump in my throat. Each time I go back and sit in the empty room. I just sit and stare, and it feels good to just sit there and do absolutely nothing. I don't use my phone, I don't work on the computer, I don't read. On these spinal tap days I spend a good 20 minutes just sitting there becoming one with the moment. 

After a half hour or so they wheel him back into the room. I stand up and help the nurses move him from the stretcher to his own bed. His body is flacid and I prop him up and arrange his limbs in what I think would be a comfortable position. I rub his head for a while, and I Doordash some food because I know he will be starving when he wakes up.

I return to my chair next to his bed and I go back to work on the computer. He wakes up after an hour or so, we chat, and then he goes back to sleep. They start his chemo drugs. He gets 3 drugs today; Methotrexate, Pentamadine, and Vinchristine. It's a lot compared to a regular day.

He wakes up and eats. Time passes as they feed the poisons into him to attack the cancer. 

At one point he starts getting severe cramps. It's not uncommon. Normally he does well with the chemotherapy sessions, only occasionally getting some nausea and fatigue, but today the cramps make him restless and bring tears to his eyes. I was working on the computer and he yells "Dad" to get my attention. I was in the middle of a Zoom call and had to log off. He pointed to a huge pile of vomit on the floor next to the bed. 

His stomach was a mess. Within a few minutes he asked to go to the bathroom. The diarhea poured out of him. We spent the next couple of hours returning to the bathroom a few times. He was miserable and stayed that way for the rest of the day. We carried a puke bucket with us upon our departure, and he fell fast asleep when we got home. 

Over the next 24 hours I pumped him full of water and forced him to eat even when he wasn't hungry. His ass was on fire from the diarhea but nothing a little A&D ointment couldn't fix. Eventually he returned to his normal self. 

He was at my ex-wive's house the next night and I kept tabs with his brother and sister. He was feeling a little better. 

That night there was a peaceful rain. The highlight of my night was going out in the rain to cook on the barbecue grill. The old screen door clapped loudly behind me as I carried the plate of meat out to the patio. The raindrops sizzled as they landed on the lid to the grill. I arranged the steaks and closed it back up. I could hear the light rain hitting the leaves on the trees all around me. I thought of Sully. I looked up to the dark sky and it felt so good to feel the raindrops hitting my face. I enjoyed it and took a little longer returning to the house. 

Later that evening I went back outside to take the garbage to the curb and bring something to the cottage. I took my time again enjoying the darkness, the rain on my skin, and the sounds around me. These still moments are the ones that people overlook and under appreciate. These instances weave our entire lives into brief moments of silence. 

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