Brendan,

I feel you brotha, it is tough. As a husband and father to two young boys, I struggled with many of these feelings. I struggled with these feelings and the need to be the "provider" even though I had to stop working, step away from the job I loved etc...and watched the hardships my family endured seeing me struggle through radiation and chemo, then further struggle through the surgeries that would ultimately disfigure me and wreck my body.

I kept wanting to make their pain end by just giving up. I had some comfort in the fact that I was smart enough to have life insurance in place to take care of them if I passed on. I even thought about giving in, so they wouldn't have financial struggles anymore or watch me suffer. It's not good thinking, because my family needed me, not money, or an end to the struggle.

When I was first diagnosed, we told my boys what was happening, they were 4 years old and 7 at the time. Where my 4 year old didn't understand, my 7 year old started crying and said: "But Daddy, I don't want you to die!". That was the most difficult thing I've ever had to go through. I told my son right then, "Son, I'm not dying yet we're gonna fight this thing with all we've got, I promise." I didn't understand how hard that promise was going to be then, or how powerful it was as a motivator for me to get through it.

My friend Charm reminded me of this in an excerpt from a Robert Frost Poem: "The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I've got promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep." It reminded me of my promise to my son and my wife. I knew that even if I passed away, they'd know I did everything in my power to stay with them, and I'd given an example to my boys of what it meant to fight, and how much I loved them.

I was given a 17% chance of survival when I was diagnosed, that just means that 83 out of 100 people diagnosed similarly to me die within 5 years. I didn't care and it hasn't been easy, but looking back and being on the other side, I'm glad I kept my promise. I went through hell and came out on the other side and get more time with those I love. I know I'm not guaranteed tomorrow, but I have today, and where life is different and has different challenges after treatment...I'm thankful for every moment.

I want my son to tell me when I'm laid to rest "You kept your promises and you've earned your sleep." Until that time, I will rage on against the struggle that is life. I'll share with you a poem I've shared on these forums before, it hits me every time, and I hope it inspires you.

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light"

-Dylan Thomas


Rage on brother, rage on.

Eric