GOOD-BYE

Cancer is such a motherfucking bitch. It just moves so fast, sometimes.

Uncle Rodney died this morning at around 4:00, surrounded by his siblings and a good friend. We saw him last Thanksgiving; he'd mentioned severe back pain that he'd thought had come from lugging hundred pound bags of rock salt. In June he'd awoken to paralysis, a malignant tumor in his spine. Admitted to the hospital, he had learned that the cancer was Stage Four and had spread to his bones and other areas on his body.

Diagnosis was near Memorial Day. Passing was near Labor Day. So fast. Cancer is a bitch.

I saw Rod twice before he died. The first time was right after he'd been admitted to the hospital in Ypsilanti in June. The second time was when he had been in physical therapy in Birmingham. Both times he'd been bright-eyed and had had his wry sense of humor, his dark joking. He was stoic and strong, stronger than I would have been, I'm sure, having been bullywhapped with the dual diagnosis of terminal cancer and paralysis. As I prepared to leave after the first visit, he'd said something about his being a wuss. I remember that my heart had caught a bit in my throat. "No way," I'd said. "That's bullshit. You're as strong as anyone I've ever seen." He smiled but I don't think he had believed me. I spoke the truth, though.

Strong. Stoic. Full of cancer and paralyzed, I had never even seen a tear...or a why-me attitude.

Uncle Rodney, my father's little brother, died this morning at around 4:00. He was surrounded by people who loved him. Rod's only son, my cousin Dean, died in a car accident almost 20 years ago at age 18, and his passing crushed my uncle.

20 years ago this December, Dean left this three-dimensional world. His father followed today.

I'd like to think that they are together, wherever--be it Heaven or be it an alternate plane of existence--catching up on lost time. I like to think that, on that tenuous slope between this world and the next, Uncle Rod saw his only son, Dean, smiling and beckoning.

And I think that Uncle Rod climbed painlessly from his deathbed and walked to the Doorway and embraced his son in a bearhug that will never be broken.

God bless, Rod. Say hi to Dean, for me.