A Special Night at the Ballpark

Tonight, a young Red Sox pitcher threw a no-hitter against the Kansas City Royals.

And that sentence really says so little.

In June of 2006, after a rash of injuries to the Red Sox starting pitching staff, rookie pitcher Jon Lester made his major league debut. The 22 year-old was a sensation. A couple of months later, Lester had to miss a start because of soreness in his back. It was originally thought that his ailment was related to a car crash he had been involved in a week earlier. But as further tests were done, Lester was diagnosed with a form of non-Hodgkins lymphoma.

Cancer.

Jon Lester moved back home & underwent chemotherapy treatments. And by December 5th, 2006, he was pronounced cancer-free.

He resumed baseball-related activities by Spring Training of '07, but the Red Sox organization wanted him to take it slow. So Lester pitched in the minors for several months, regaining his strength & velocity. And by July 23rd, he returned to start a major league game against the Cleveland Indians at Jacobs Field.

I remember watching that game on ESPN. We had just moved my Mom down to Florida, and the game was on, and I told Mom how that young kid had licked cancer & was now back to full strength. The ESPN cameras found his parents in the seats, and it was evident that it was a big night for them. With tears in their eyes, they passionately rooted on their son as he got the win that night. I'll never forget the image of his mother pumping her fist with tear-filled eyes as he finished off his final inning of that game.

Jon Lester made it through the rest of that '07 season in rocky fashion. He didn't pitch poorly, but he wasn't yet making the kind of progress folks expect a 2nd year player to make. He really just wasn't back to full strength.

But October came around. The Red Sox won a draining 7-game ALCS to advance to the World Series, and almost immediately had to face the Colorado Rockies. After the Red Sox won the first three games, their top four starting pitchers were all a little too taxed to pitch Game Four. So Manager Terry Francona gave the ball to Jon Lester. And all he did was go out and win the clinching game of the World Series, less than a year removed from battling cancer.

Still, he had help in those games. He only pitched 6 innings (18 total outs) against the Indians in his return, and 5 and 2/3 innings (17 outs) in the World Series clincher.

But tonight was different. Jon Lester pitched all 9 innings & recorded 27 outs. He face 30 different batters, and not one of them could get a hit against him. Jon Lester was center-stage, and tonight he was the strongest man on Earth. He threw 130 pitches -- about 30 more pitches than the average starter throws on any given night. And even to the very end, Lester was throwing heat. His fastball was clocking in at about 95 MPH.

For Red Sox fans, it was a fun night. But for people who have been touched by cancer, and especially Jon Lester and his family, tonight was a special night at the ballpark.

More Reflections on Mom's Passing

Here are some more random reflections in the wake of Mom's passing. These are realizations or lessons that I think will be helpful for anyone who reads. Or they may just be memories that I wish to preserve here & look back on sometime in the future. Anyway, feel free to peek in to see what's on my mind this Sunday afternoon...

• A long-time friend, Lori, has taken an active interest in my younger sister. Lori lost her mother when she was 16. So she has a lot to offer us in terms of experience & guidance during this season of our lives.

One thing I picked up on, that Lori said when she visited yesterday, was how this is "a unique experience in (my) life." That is a really good way to describe it. Some folks say it's "tough" or it's "hard." And it is, but that language is somewhat imprecise. It is really just a unique experience. It is unlike anything I have ever experienced before.

• Other folks say, "Nothing prepares you for it." I sort of think that is imprecise language as well. In a sense, I was prepared. I have a faith that sustains me, and I had plenty of time to say goodbye. But when that loved one (in this case my Mom) is gone, there are a FLOOD of feelings that come over you. That's part of the uniqueness of this experience for me -- the amount of raw emotion I'm dealing with. And I think that's what folks mean when they say, "You can't prepare for it." The inevitable raw emotion comes over you like a wave. And there's nothing you can do in advance to buffer yourself from the intense nature of this sorrow.

• This raw emotion comes out for me in a number of ways. Seeing others cry (like my sister, or like I talked about a couple day ago with my grandmother) can get the water works flowing. When my sister, Katie, voices some of these grieving realizations while crying, I can't help but get misty myself while trying to comfort or console her.

Also, seeing Mom's old possessions around the house is difficult. I've heard folks talk about that -- I never knew what a truly big deal that was. I've often heard folks mention, "It's like they just up & left. They're gone!" Mom's coat is still hanging over her computer chair. Katie brought Mom's shoes to me last night with tears in her eyes. At one point yesterday, she was crying over a hat that Mom wore. Mom lost her hair with the chemotherapy, of course, and was insecure about showing off her baldness in public. So she had these cute little caps. And whenever we spot an empty hat, it just serves to remind us of the emptiness in our lives & in our hearts. I'm sure we'll be putting all those things away soon, but for now they evoke a very visceral emotional reaction.

As I typed that last paragraph, I got a big lump in my throat & a little teary-eyed. Some of my younger readers may not understand that element of this grieving process yet, but I suppose you will eventually. I've hardly ever been one that clings to physical possessions. But now even small things are important keepsakes because they represent Mom in some way. Even down to the charts we had on the wall where we tracked Mom's "pain spikes" and when we gave her her pills four times a day. Those now seemingly meaningless pieces of paper are precious. A keyboard Mom bought only just a few months ago means a lot to us because Mom loved piano music. It always sounded irrational to me before, and it might even sound that way to some of you. But for those who have experienced intense grief at this level, you know precisely what I mean.

• My Dad is grieving, too. Even though he & my Mom were separated for the better part of a decade, that doesn't erase the 22 years they spent together as close companions. It's a big loss for him, too. In some ways it is bigger for him than it is for my sister & I. And he's been a rock through it all.

• I had a conversation with Lori & my Dad about the ways people die. Lori lost her Mom suddenly at age 16, so she never got to say goodbye. She also never got to experience her mother's love as an adult -- she never got to be "just buddies" with her Mom.

My Dad lost his mother just eight years ago. Her decline and death was a prolonged & drawn out experience. My Dad lost his Dad (Philip Wesley Cunningham, Sr. -- the original!) suddenly when he had a heart attack. One of the worsts parts of it was that Dad should have been with him -- they had planned a fishing trip, but Dad had to cancel for some reason, and he had the heart attack on a Saturday morning.

Dad says that he would prefer the experience of his mother's death over his father's sudden loss. Lori, though she hasn't experienced it, says that she couldn't imagine going through a long, drawn-out death experience. I think that it may be a male/female thing. Being a man, we enjoy playing the hero. And so being there for Mom for everything little thing, no matter how tedious, can be fulfilling for us. And it was for me. I have no regrets for how I was there for Mom since her illness began over a year ago.

• I got to watch my Dad be there for his mother through her decline & death. I said at the time that I learned a lot from him about how to handle a situation like that in a positive way. And many of those lessons helped me help Mom through all of this.

If I could share one lesson that I learned, I would say that it is good to keep a light personality & sense of humor through this kind of a trial. In her final months, my grandmother began to think that Dad was her boyfriend. So he went along with it, and would joke, "So where we going for our date." And so on & so forth. In like manner, I would joke with Mom. I think it's comforting for everyone if you can make light of things from time to time.

• When my Mom got out of the hospital a few weeks ago following her seizure, she got on the computer only a couple of times. She used to spend hours on the computer -- reading & sending E-mails. She was known for her very long E-mails. But she didn't have near enough energy for that after her seizure.

One of the very last E-mails she sent, when I look at her account, really gets me:

(Subject:)
seizure & hospitalized for a week

(Body:)
I had a rough week this past week.
Becky

The shortness & directness of that E-mail says it all for me. Didn't have the will to capitalize the subject heading. I just hate that she had to suffer like that. I'm glad that part is over for her at least.

• You never know when your last moment will be with someone. My last real moment with Mom was on Thursday afternoon on the day before she died. I was very simply changing the sheets with the hospice nurse -- a difficult chore when Mom became immobile! Anyway, I was rolling her over in the bed toward me, and she woke up from her nap. She said, "HEY Bubba," and gave me a big hug. She was very sweet in her last week.

Right then, I didn't let the moment linger because I knew the nurse had other things to get to after we finished. I thought, "Well, there will be a few more moments." I didn't know that that would be the last moment we would share with her in a conscious state. It will always be a tender memory.

Mom's Obituary

PANAMA CITY, FL – Rebecca A. Garrick died April 18th, 2008 after a 17-month fight with cancer.

Born September 4th, 1949 in Tuscaloosa, AL, Rebecca Ann Robinson was raised by her loving parents Tom and Jean. She was raised in several cities, including Gainesville, GA, Jacksonville, FL, and Grove Hill, AL. She graduated from the University of Alabama with a Bachelor’s Degree in Accounting in 1975. She married Phil Cunningham in Mobile, AL in July of 1977. She worked as an accountant until she returned to school to study to become a social worker. She graduated from Florida State University with a 4.0 GPA and a Master’s Degree in Social Work. She worked as a social worker until she was diagnosed with cancer in November of 2006. She re-married in 2000, to Herman Garrick of Grove Hill, AL.

Becky is survived by her mother, Jean Leavelle; sister, Judy Sadler; children, Philip Cunningham III & Katie Cunningham; former husband, Phil Cunningham, Jr.; and husband, Herman Garrick.

The memorial service will be held at 10:30 AM, Saturday, April 26th at the Jenks Avenue Church of Christ with Minister Daniel Cherry, officiating. A dinner reception will follow the service, being hosted at the Lynn Haven Church of Christ.

In lieu of flowers, contributions in Becky’s name may be made to Covenant Hospice, 107 W. 19th St., Panama City, FL 32405.

Mama Has Passed On

At 9:25 this evening, surrounded by family & friends, Rebecca Garrick died. She was my mama.

I have a lot of thoughts, and I want to preserve them as best I can. This may be a little bit exhibitionist of me, but I'm going to share with each of you some of my thoughts in the last hour and a half.

• I was just about to take out the garbage when the Hospice Nurse called me into the room. She could tell that we were in her final moments. Five to ten minutes later, she breathed her last breath. Her breathing had been labored for some time. And her body was finally at rest.

• When she passed, I did what Mom told me to: I looked to the ceiling. I looked up to the right, to the left, to all four corners of the room, and right above the bed. At one time, Mom read extensively about near-death experiences. And she told me that when she passes, look up. I did.

• I am sad, but also relieved. I miss her, and will miss her, but I also have come to accept that this is a natural part of life.

• When the Hospice nurse was listening for a heartbeat and there finally was not one anymore -- before she said anything -- she reached her hand to Mama's face, slid her hand down Mama's face, and covered over her eyes. It seemed a little over-dramatic to me. I thought they only did that in movies. My Mom's sister, Judy, had to ask her, "Is she gone?" And she replied, "Yes."

• That's when the crying broke out. Hearing all the ladies cry, I couldn't help but break down a little myself. No shame in that, of course, but I just prefer to do my crying in private. So I let a little bit out, hugged everyone and cried.

I'll especially remember hugging Dad & crying. We've hugged a lot -- he's good at that. We've hugged, in this very house, at times when I was leaving and times when I've come home. We've embraced in times of joy -- I'll never forget us hugging and jumping up & down in our living room the night the Braves won the World Series in 1995. And now we've hugged in a time of extreme sorrow. And I've seen him cry before, but his face this time, with the grief, was difficult to take in. I'm sure it was true vice versa, as well. He told me he was proud of me -- how I've held up & handled all that has needed handling. That meant a lot. He's told me in recent weeks that he's been impressed with my sister & I -- how we've cared for Mom. He said that it has given him a lot of comfort for if ever/whenever he gets into that rough of a condition.

• The WORST of it for me (by a country mile -- no other part of this was more difficult...) was seeing my grandmother, Mom's mother (we call her Mama Jean), break down & cry. I'll never forget the expression on her face. I can't imagine the pain of watching her grown daughter suffer & die at her relatively young age. Mama Jean hardly wanted to leave Mama's side in these last days. She loved her so much.

We had just been talking, in fact, yesterday about how Mama Jean had a third daughter. Her name was Jennifer. She died soon after being born. Of Mama Jean's three children, she's had to watch two of them perish. And we even received the horrible news Monday that Mom's sister, Judy, has a tumor in her right breast. The doctors do think that it may be benign, but they haven't completed the tests yet. PLEASE pray for Judy. I just hate it for Mama Jean right now, and I don't want to imagine what any more suffering she would have to endure.

Reverse Christmas Eve

I dreaded waking up this morning. After the news about my Mom from the hospice nurse yesterday, and after hearing my Dad tell me last night that he thought she would pass on in the middle of the night, I dreaded what might await this morning. As a kid, when you go to bed on Christmas Eve, you can't wait for the next morning. Last night was the exact opposite.

But Mama made it through the night. Her mother & sister are coming to visit today, and Mom knows it. She may be holding out for that.

The End is Near for Mama

I just thought I'd let everyone know that the hospice nurse gave us serious news today. She said that she thought the end is near for Mama. She's not a doctor. But she does have a lot of experience, and she says Mom is exhibiting signs that she is ready to pass on. It was probably harder for her to deliver this news than it was for us to hear it. She was very emotional when she delivered it to us.

It has been very emotional for us since initially receiving the news. My sister & I have already shed a few tears, and there are probably more to come.

I thank all of you for your prayers. Please continue to pray for our family.

I was listening to the podcast for a radio show this weekend called "60/20 Sports." It is hosted by James Carville & Luke Russert (the son of NBC News Host Tim Russert). Their guest was Dick Vitale, and he was talking about his favorite charity, The Jimmy V Foundation for Cancer Research. He said he recently had another friend die of cancer, and that father's young daughter was their grieving. Vitale was there to be with the family, and the one thing that the young daughter said to him was, "Cancer sucks!" I think I'd have to agree.

How To Comfort the Suffering

I've learned a lot in the last few weeks about how to be compassionate to people who are suffering. There are a lot of things that I've done in the past, which I said or did in an effort to be compassionate, that I now realize were not.

If you want to be a better servant to people in suffering, check out this list. I borrowed it from Dr. John Mark Hicks, who just recently took up blogging again. These are very good guidelines for being there for someone who is hurting...

What can we do for someone who has lost a loved one to death? I lost my first wife (1980), father (1994) and son (2001) to death, and my second wife and I divorced in 2001. I share here based more on my experience than any expertise.

1. Have a healthy sense of inadequacy. The worst and most offensive thing to a sufferer is for someone to come with all the answers.

2. Be there and be silent. From a sufferer’s point of view, the most important thing is not what you say but your presence. Be present and be God’s instrument of comfort.

3. Listen. It’s difficult to listen to a sufferer, and the tendency is to try and change the subject. Take a cue from the sufferer. If they lead you into remembering their loved one, go with their lead. If they talk about something more superficial, talk about the topic they choose. Be willing to listen to questioning doubt. Job’s friends were unwilling to hear Job’s questioning and tried to stop him. What we do represents God for them. They will experience God’s listening through our ears.

4. Be willing to experience pain with the sufferer. We may have enough problems in our own lives that we often don’t want to experience the pain and hear about the problems of others, but a sufferer needs someone to listen, feel with them. Proverbs 25:2. When we are willing to sit with others in their feelings then they can also feel the empathy of God’s own presence.

5. Express your love without interpretive statements. Don’t say, “It’s all for the best,” or “God plucked a rose from his garden.” Never try to interpret why a person died or what God’s intent was—this is not only arrogant but doesn’t help the sufferer. Say something that you feel, such as “I feel awful about this. This is terrible.” Never tell a sufferer how they should feel, but you can tell them how you feel, that is, how you hurt with them and how awful you feel about the circumstances.

6. Do something. Don’t say, “If there’s anything, anything I can do, call me.” Why not? Because this places on the sufferer the responsibility to do something, to figure out something for the person to do for them and make a call. This is a time when the sufferer doesn’t need more burdens. Have you ever really been called by someone who is suffering after you told them this? Most likely, you’ve been called rarely, if ever. The sufferer may not want to inconvenience someone nor decide who to inconvenience. Statements like, “Call me if there’s anything I can do” only extend the suffering rather than helping. What needs done? In some cases, everything needs to be done. Do something for the sufferer that you perceive they need. Mow their lawn, take them some food, help them clean their house, change the oil in their car. Show up and do.

And this final point from another Hicks entry:

Don’t Pry. Don’t inquire, listen. We will tell you what we want to tell you. Keep the questions to a minimum. Focus on presence and listening. Keep your curiosity in check. Recognize that pushing for disclosure of details is more about you than it is about helping us. Hear whatever we are willing to tell, let us take the initiative in disclosure and never pursue your curiosity with us.

If you follow these guidelines, you will bless people immensely in their period of suffering. And they will always remember it. One of my mentors in ministry is wont to say, "Folks probably won't remember the sermon you preached last Sunday. But they will always remember that time that they were in the hospital & you were there." So true.

In Flux

For my regular readers, you'll have to bear with me through this period. I've had lots of great blog ideas occur to me in the last week or so, but my life has been filled with so many duties & so much stress that I haven't been able to jott them down for later or remember what they all were right now. But I'll be back to a normal schedule sometime soon here...

For the family & friends of my Mom, here's the latest...

The Hospice Doctor came by the house yesterday afternoon, checked her out, and shot straight with us about her condition. He informed us that it doesn't look good for Mom, but that she has done much better than other people have who have been in her condition. They have added more medication for her -- mainly to help calm anxiety, reduce pain, and help her sleep through the night (which she hasn't been able to do for a while). The lack of sleeping through the night has really added stress to our household, as we have all missed sleep & been awoken in the night when Mom tried to do something on her own, lost her balance, and fell.

Last night she slept all the way through the night, and she's been sleepy & groggy all day today. So we might have to re-adjust her medicinal in-take, but we'll get it normalized soon. She's feel less pain with the new med's, so that much is good. And she's still able to do things on her own -- eat, walk, use the restroom, etc.

Thanks for all the expressions of love and sympathy. They are appreciated.

If anything else happens, I'll keep you guys updated.

Home from the Hospital

Had a busy day with Mom today, so I'm totally "Me Time" binging right now. Or at least making the most of it: I have one eye on the NCAA Basketball Tourney on the tube, the other eye on the Red Sox vs. Dodgers exhibition game on MLB.tv, and during commercials I'm playing a little old school NES Genghis Khan.

Alright... back on point. They let Mom go home from the hospital early this evening. They have enrolled her in hospice care. That will be a big help. So we already have a hospital bed & other various sundry home health care items around the house now thanks to Hospice.

We're bracing like it's the beginning of the end. Could be 3 days. Could be 3 months. But it sort of looks like Mom won't be regaining enough strength long-term to get through chemotherapy or radiation.

We've had a lot of support & help. My mom's mother & sister came down during the middle of the week to sit with Mom while my sister & I caught up on sleep from our late night at the ER on Monday. Families from my church cooked dinner for our family the last 3 evenings. And when I say "cooked dinner," that's a radical understatement. We feasted. Stuffed pork chops. Chicken stuffed with ham & cheese. Deviled Eggs. Key lime pies. (Yeah, PLURAL) It's ridiculous. It's really lifted our spirits to feast on such fine meals each night.

No tears or pity parties yet. We have way too much to do between keeping track of Mom's pills, doctor's appointments, and other details to be sad about losing her. It's been pleasant for us to have this time to spend with her if an end is indeed near.

I thank you for your prayers.

This whole experience has been an education. I'll have a whole blog later to educate you all. Some folks do things trying to help, but are really a nuisance & only add to our load. Its all good, though -- we've rolled with the punches. I'm just saying that to let you know that I'll enlighten you all at some future time about how best to serve your sick neighbor -- especially what not to do.

I'm trying to keep this blog update, so you can always check here for the latest. If there's no update, there's likely nothing notable for me to update. Simple as that.

Thanks for checking in

My Mama

Things aren't looking top swell after today.

Mom is still in the hospital. She's developed an infection of some kind, so the doctors are trying to treat that. They don't believe it is a staph infection; we think that she actually began developing it before she came to the hospital.

The most disconcerting development is that she's consistently seeing things that aren't there. And she remembers having seen them -- it's not something that comes & goes. In the hospital room, she sees paint chips and, literally, writing on the wall that are not there. She sees the paint chips falling all over her visitors' faces & hair. And says she could read the writing, though I haven't had a chance to ask her to read it yet.

Not sure if we're "near the end." Maybe it's just a rough spell. Have yet to actually speak with the oncologist(s) in the last couple days, so I don't know what the outlook or gameplan is.

I continue to ask for your prayers. Thanks everyone!

Mom Update

Since the last update, Mom has been moved from the ER to ICU, and now from ICU to a regular room. The doctors have done a good job treating her. She's becoming more lucid, speaking better, and getting a little more strength back. The doctors believe that she will be able to return home soon.

I appreciate everyone's concern & prayers. I ask that everyone continue to pray for her in the time being.

God bless.

Mom in the Hospital

My mother, Becky, had a seizure this afternoon around 4:30. She's currently at the Hospital, and will be there overnight & indefinitely. She's in pretty rough shape. We also think that she had a stroke. The doctors' best guess at the moment is that her brain cancer has progressed & caused this episode.

All we're asking now is for your prayers. I will update when there is anything to add.

Life sure is fragile...

Momma

I talked to my Mom this morning, and she gagged & became nauseous while we were on the phoen together.

Horrible drugs these chemotherapeutic medicines are. It really sounds like an oxymoron: "chemo"-"therapy." This drug is a poison in your veins that is designed to seek & destroy life -- cancerous life that doesn't belong in your body. And in the process, it saps you of life, to the point that you hardly feel alive. Nasty drug this chemotherapy is.

It's tough watching someone you love be so helpless & in such difficulty. One good thing is that it brings you closer together. My friend Daniel & I were recalling how the President of Harding University, Dr. David Burks, and his wife, Leah, dealt with the trauma of chemotherapy. Daniel, who had a special relationship with the Burks', marveled at how the process brought the Burks' closer together. He said that Dr. Burks especially began to appreciate his wife more.

I feel a little of the same way. Mom & I have a trying relationship. Partly because we have such divergent worldview's and we both happen to be pretty hard-headed. Nevertheless, this process has helped us put those differences aside for a little while & to cherish one another.

We've only scratched the surface of this chemotherapy treatment. Still at least three & a half months for us to go. And I can see already why they call this a "fight." And when somebody dies, it is that they "lost their battle with cancer." It is a war, and the cancer patient's body is the battle ground. Ever seen a nation look very good after a war? Not quite. I have a new appreciation for cancer survivors: You people are brave & strong.

Cancer

I'm in Grove Hill, AL tonight. My mother was diagnosed several weeks ago with cancer, and today had her first dose of chemotherapy this afternoon at an oncology clinic in Mobile. I'm basically caring for two people this evening: my mother, and her husband, Herman, who is an invalid due to chronic arthritis. I'll be here for the week.

Tonight, my mother is just starting to feel the fatiguing effects of her chemotherapy treatment. She is tired, but too restless to sleep. Some medication from the nurse at the clinic is keeping her from being nauseous.

The gravity of the situation hasn't quite hit me, I'd say. Perhaps when mother's hair starts falling out, or if her health deteriorates even more, it will. However, everything just seems sort of normal now, just a little less convenient.

Speaking of cancers, it appears that one will be removed from the University of Alabama. Rumors are flying about the future of Mike Shula. I can't wait to see who will replace the apparent future Shula Steakhouse Co-Manager.