On A Different Note

When it rains, it pours. If it wasn’t world altering enough to find out that the love of my life was diagnosed with cancer, I’m dealing with the news that someone who has become an unexpectedly good friend from the web is dealing with an even more sobering disease. He has told me he’s been given an alarmingly short amount of time to battle Lou Gherig’s disease. It’s really been weighing on me. Talk about perspective. This is someone I didn’t know from Adam a year-and-a-half ago. This incredible individual participates on a sports forum that I visit daily. Each day, for every post I write, I have a new joke-of-the-day signature that follows my oft-comedic (well, at least I try), and usually inane ramblings. What started out as a relationship built on his emailed contributions of new humor has become a full-fledged friendship, wherein we have a beer (or nine) whenever he’s in town on business, and several phone calls throughout each month. This is a guy who is as old as my mother and father (sorry, man!)—not someone I would have expected to become a person I would lean on for support throughout my ordeal with Anna’s situation, and certainly not someone who may be benefiting from the support I’m giving him with his battle. Perspective. Man, I hate perspective. It’s okay for me to write about my hatred of the dealings of the management and front office of the Seattle Mariners, but to deal with the reality of life’s unfairness (I hate the term unfair, but it works here), it’s sobering. I want my friend to know that I’m by his side, thousands of miles away, and praying that a cure is found for his disease soon. Real soon. And I have faith that it will.
Where does this leave me? Well, Anna has a disease that although has no cure, I’m sure she will be rid of soon. There’s no chemo for Lou Gehrig's. My friend, whom I hold out hope will recover and rebound from all of this, doesn’t have that sort of prognosis. My heart, soul, and prayers go out to not only he, but his loving family, He’s become a sort of inspiration for me. This is a man who wishes to put aside his own ailment to call and ask how Anna is coping. How I am coping? How can I tell him that I’m feeling anxious about Anna’s chemo, when I know what he’s going through? Easy. He’s incredible enough to put his thoughts of she and I above his personal thoughts of well-being. For that I thank him, and want him to know how much that truly means. There you are, miles away, my friend, and as your thoughts are with us and our battle, Our thoughts, love, prayers, and spirit are with you during your struggle. Your jokes lift me up. Your friendship lights me up. Thank you for being you.
Cancer? Schmancer. We’ve got love to deal with here, people.