Celebrating Three Years

Today, we celebrate three years cancer-free for my daughter, Jessie. Even as I type that, I'm somewhat in disbelief of that statement. Has it really been three years since she completed her treatments? Which also means, it's now going on 4 years since the horrible June day in 2012 that changed our lives forever.

"Three years cancer-free" is really not an accurate statement, to be honest. What I can tell you is that you're never really "free" of cancer. It's always there, lurking beneath the surface. I still have days when I will be overcome by a moment that reminds me of what Jess went through, or just how scary it all was for her, and for us. The tears can come out of nowhere. There's a fear that I know will never ever truly go away. 

Even three years later, I'm still a bundle of nerves every time we go to Loyola for her check-ups, both in the days leading up to it and the day of. I don't sleep well the night before. I don't think Jen does either. And I'm sure Jess doesn't.

It's just how things are now. I'm worried every time she has a sniffle, the slightest cough or complains of any discomfort. And I suppose that will just be the reality for Jen and me now and forever. It's an exhausting day, and the feeling of relief and elation to know that she remains healthy is impossible to describe.

I ask everyone, when you think about your charitable donations, please consider the American Cancer Society, or CURE Search or any organization funding research and support for curing cancer, and children's cancers in particular. I long for the day, when no child or parent has to hear that awful word, or has to experience the terror of diagnosis and treatment, of chemotherapy and radiation, of missing their families and friends and school while stuck in the hospital for days, weeks or months at a time. I wish no other parent will lie in bed at night, sleepless and scared and ask, "Lord, why couldn't it be me instead?" 

In those dark days of 2012, if I could have traded places with her, I would have without a moment's hesitation. I still would, as it pains me to think of the things she's had to face, at the obstacles she's had to overcome. She doesn't like when I talk about trading places. I remember her telling me back then that she wouldn't want that, that she wouldn't want me to be sick. But I wish I could make it all go away, wish I could do something so she wouldn't have those memories.

I'm so grateful for the kindness and love of our family, friends and even the strangers who have each helped us throughout this journey over the past 4 years. I remember saying back then, that one of the things that kept us going was the amazing care and concern we saw from the people around us. 

A little story that illustrates this was when Jess was very sick, and we were doing the CURESearch Walk to raise money for children's cancer research, we had a team for Jess. I asked one of my friends and former colleagues (the wonderful Kelsey Krzmarzick) to design a logo for Jessie's team that we could put on a t-shirt. We reached out to a local printer in Manteno to print the t-shirts. Not only did the folks at Basham's print the shirts for free, when we picked the shirts up, inside the box was an envelope. I can remember my wife Jen calling me at work and through sobs explaining to me that inside that envelope was $1,000 and a note that this was just to help us out a little. We had no connection with Basham's ever before. 

That generosity was an amazement to us. I cannot count how many people we had never met before heard about Jessie, and would come up to us in the local grocery store or at the library or the park and just offer a kind touch or words of encouragement. In those darkest days, we learned that LOVE is a real thing, and it heals. It healed our broken hearts, repaired our despondent spirits. And I really believe it helped cure that damn cancer. 

I sincerely love each and every one of you who has taken the time to think of and pray for Jess (and us). I ask you to celebrate Jess tonight by saying a prayer for those who are currently battling this disease, for those that did not make it to "survivorship" as they call it, and for the families that love them.

My hero

Hello again everyone. It's been a really, really long time since I have posted anything here. It's not for a lack of anything to say, although not really anything of substance I'm sure. I've spent much of my time on here often spouting meaningless prose about my sports fanaticism or love of all things related to Bruce Springsteen. Entertaining entries for me, but certainly nothing especially important or profound.


My favorite entries have been the ones about my kids and my coming to grips with their growing up -- and my own. Those are the ones that always bring a smile to me, and the ones that I'm most thankful that I wrote down somewhere. My kids bring me and my wife, Jennifer, such joy and love and writing about them is pure pleasure.


But sometimes life throws you a wicked, wicked curve. I'm writing today about one of my kids, but it would be hard to call it pure pleasure. Quite the opposite.


Over Memorial Day weekend, my 10 year old daughter Jessie complained of back pain. We didn't think much of it -- she had been swimming at a friend's house and riding her bike. Probably just a pulled muscle or something. Then it continued into the week. My wife took her to the immediate care center where they thought it might be a urinary tract infection or something of the like. They encouraged Jen to take Jess to the pediatrician, which she did the following Monday afternoon. Even then, it didn't seem serious, although the doctor felt like her symptoms "didn't fit neatly into a box." So, maybe it was a kidney stone or something like that. Unusual for a 10 year old, but not off the charts. He told us to have an ultrasound the next morning, Tuesday.


That night, at bedtime, Jess was in extreme pain and discomfort, So much so, that we ended up taking her to the emergency room by our home in Manteno. There, some more tests and some pain medication, but it still didn't seem too serious. They sent us home around 4 am with a prescription for pain medicine to go with her antibiotics to fight the infection. She should be alright. Just before we left, we asked, "should we still go for the ultrasound in the morning?" The doctor said it was probably a good idea and if it was a kidney stone, that would confirm it. After a 4:30 am stop at the 24-hour Walgreen's, we were back home, Jessie was resting comfortably and I was contemplating whether to try and head into work on two hours sleep while Jen and Jess headed to Orland for the ultrasound, which seemed like just a formality.


Instead, I decided to go with, just to be sure all was OK. I emailed my folks at the office, let them know I'd be out in the morning and should be back online working from home that afternoon.


I didn't end up working from home that day.


Instead, the technician told us they'd transmit the results to our doctor and he would "call us later." We left and debated where to stop for some lunch on the way home. A good burger at Pop's in Frankfort seemed like a great choice. We were discussing menu choices with Jessie. Jennifer's cell phone rang.


And life as we know it would never, ever be the same again.


Jen answered and I continued driving until she touched my arm and quietly said "you need to pull over." I pulled into the parking lot outside the restaurant and listened to half of a conversation between Jen and the doctor on the other end of the phone. Jessie watched a DVD in backseat. Jennifer's hands were shaking as she scribbled notes on a pad of paper. I saw two words and my head began to spin violently -- "mass" and "oncologist."


Oh my God. This cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. It's not real, please tell me it's not real, it's a mistake, it's something besides what it is. 


But it's not.


That day, June 5, we found out my beloved Jessie has cancer. And we were instantly transported into a world we had never imagined even in our darkest nightmares. 24 hours later we were at Ronald McDonald Children's Hospital at Loyola in Maywood, Illinois, preparing for Jessie to have exploratory surgery to have a biopsy to determine the disposition of this horrible invader into our daughter's body and our lives.


More words I never wanted to hear or see, that pain me and make me tear up even now as I type them: tumor, malignant, chemotherapy, radiation, surgery. And then tears, and more tears and even more. 


There is nothing to prepare you for this kind of thing happening to your child. Even now, after nearly two months of chemo treatments, I keep praying that I'll wake up from this terrible dream and the problems I'm dealing with are cranky clients, temperamental telephones or even chicken salad in the toilets. I'd so much rather be dealing with that than this.

Anyone who knows me well know that my kids are my world. Jessie has been my special little girl from the first moment I held her, from the days she called me "da-doo". She's a very special little girl.


Even in the most dire circumstances though, you find things that reaffirm your faith in love and humanity.  The love of our family. The love I've seen sent her way from my extended work family at JT, most of whom have never even met her, means more to me than mere words can express. The countless cards, emails and calls from friends far and wide, old and new has helped us through some of the darkest days of our lives to date. And the people around our little town, who have stopped us in the grocery store or at the ballfield to touch our shoulder, offer their love and friendship, are an amazement to us. The love directed toward our beautful daughter has been inspiring in the face of the most awful circumstance imagineable.



The most inspiring person in all of it has been my Jessie. And I guess that's why I'm writing this today, just to put it down and share it with whomever takes the time to indulge my ramblings. And to hope that maybe she will inspire others the way she has inspired me.


She heard the word "cancer" and held her tears. She has taken on all of the slings and arrows of this malicious disease and its treatment with strength and poise far beyond her 10 years. She worries more about her mom and me and how it affects us. 


Her prognosis is good. Her initial treatments have shrunk the tumor about 30 percent and she will soon have surgery to remove it. She still faces months and months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. She knows she will have difficult days and more hospital stays in front of her. She tires easily and will not be able to go back to school with her 6th grade class this fall. She won't get to play in 6th grade band or be a part of student council or try out for the volleyball team. The cancer robbed her of all of that.



But she doesn't wallow in self pity or anger. She has lost her hair, but not her sense of humor. One morning, as she sat at the breakfast counter in our kitchen with her mom and big brother Mike, her thinning hair hidden by a hooded sweatshirt, Mike asked how she was doing. Her reply? 


"Goin' bald, dude."


She takes the time to write a thank you note to every person who has sent her a card or a  email or token of affection. She still sits with me and laughs at Adam Sandler movies. She tells me that everything is going to be alright. She is beautiful, strong, kind brave and true. She is the best person I know, far better than me, far stronger than me.


She is my hero, and I love her with all of my heart and soul.


I hope you will do the same. Please keep Jessie in your thoughts and prayers. This world needs people like her. Please make sure God knows that.

Beware the "Longtime Fan"

If you've ever read this blog before, you know that I'm a Chicago Bears fan. To a degree that's really probably not healthy to be honest. This is been a very tough month of August. And while I'm looking forward to the season starting, and I know the preseason games don't really mean anything, I'm still fighting this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that I've had since the Wannstedt years.

But I don't want to talk about the current edition of the Bears. I want to talk about the so-called "longtime fans." So-called because it's a qualifier they feel the need to use. You hear them on the radio all the time.

"Hey this is Rich, I'm a longtime Bear fan."

"I'm a longtime fan, since 1985."

Or the worst:

"I'm not a Bear fan. I'm a longtime Packer fan."

Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to engage in any sort of meaningful sports conversation with anyone who feels it necessary to offer the "longtime" qualifier to their fan credentials. The simple reason being they're usually full of crap.

"Longtime" fan to me means "since birth" or at least "since I started watching football."

The longtime Packer fans are the ones who really bother me. Because very seldom have I ever come across one who's been a fan since before the 90s and Brett Favre. I got into a conversation with one recently and decided to take him at his word. We were talking about players past and present and I mentioned Eddie Lee Ivory.

The guy responded with a blank stare. I grew suspicious.

David Whitehurst? Nothing.

Randy Wright? Nope.

Mossy Cade? Charles Martin? Terdell Middleton? Not a clue?

Bart Starr? Well, of course, let's not be ridiculous.

I've had similar exchanges with "longtime" Bear fans.

Terry Schmidt? Huh?

Wally Chambers? What?

Golden Richards? Bob Thomas? James Scott? Noah Jackson? Revie Sorey? C'mon!!

Donnell Woolford? Jeff Graham? Trace Armstrong? Joe Cain? Barry Minter? Raymont Harris? Seriously!!

Cade McNown?

"Oooh yeah, he sucked."

Finally.

I have no problem if you don't have the psychosis I do that requires you to retain all of this information. But please don't pretend to be the biggest fan in the world when your knowledge doesn't go back to Jim Harbaugh at quarterback.

And age has nothing to do with it. If you ask me who Bill George or Doug Atkins or Willie Galimore are, I can tell you. If you ask who George McAfee or Bulldog Turner or Rick Casares is I can tell you. As can any other who lives and dies every Sunday wearing blue and orange.

And for you "longtime" Packer fans. Either just move to Green Bay or at the very least, get on the Interwebs and look up Chester Marcol.

I can't do this anymore...

That's it. It's over. After last night, I just can't do this with you any more. This just isn't working out and I think we'd be better off apart from one another.

I know we've been together a really long time. When I met you, I was just a kid and I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I didn't understand the pain that you would cause me over the years. You were my great love and we'd spend every summer together. When you would go away in the fall, I'd miss you all winter long. I'd count the days until the weather turned warm again and you would come back.

You've always been a bit superficial, more concerned with what you looked like than what you actually were. In my younger days, that didn't bother me so much. You looked good to me, I loved you no matter what. When friends wondered what we were doing together, I always defended you, always said you had my heart. Many people tried to get me to forsake you for others, tried to hook me up with another. Especially my friends who wanted to set me up with the one across town. "She's a little crazy and rough around the edges, but a lot more fun!" I never would.

We had many crazy, wonderful nights together. Remember Pittsburgh in 1984? What about going up to Montreal in 1989? Even those nights in Atlanta and Miami in 2003. They were some of the best nights of my life, and at those moments I didn't think it could have been any better, and I couldn't have loved you more.

But the problem is, after every one of those good times, you'd go off and break my heart, just a week or two later. You did it in San Diego. And again in San Francisco. Hell, in 2003 you came back home and did it to me here in Chicago.

Maybe I'm the one who's superficial. I mean, I have to be honest. A big problem here is that I have needs, and you just wouldn't go all the way. I think you wanted to, but somehow, things always ended with me feeling unfulfilled and disappointed.

But what happened last night just tells me that you won't ever change, and that you just don't care. Oh, you're still popular and everyone likes to hang out with you at your house, but for all the wrong reasons. And I can't any more. I want more than this.

Maybe I'll feel differently later. Maybe you'll finally realize the error of your ways and really commit to this relationship. But until then, I just have to be away from you for awhile.

I'd love to tell you that it's not you, it's me. But that would be a lie.

It's you.

Goodbye Cubs.

Random Thoughts

I haven't been on here in awhile. A half dozen random thoughts from the day, while sitting eating Ritz crackers for lunch -- pay day is Friday.

#1: I've decided I want a Jeep. It's the perfect vehicle -- top down and doors off in the summer, four-wheel drive when the freakin' snow piles up in the winter. If you would like to purchase me one, I prefer blue.

#2: Me and little man Matty bought the same shoes at Target this weekend -- Converse one-star high tops, black and white. He calls them "Chuck shoes" after the TV show, which we watch together because we're "Chuck buddies." He looks adorable in them. I probably look like a dork. But they are comfortable.

#3: I obliterated a bird the other day while driving. I haven't hit wildlife of any kind with the car for years. It was an explosion of feathers. And it freaked me out a little bit.

#4: My new wish is to acquire enough capital to buy some land and open a drive-in movie. We took the kids to one down in Gibson City, Illinois a couple of weekends ago -- shout out to the Harvest Moon Drive In (www.harvestmoondrivein.com )-- about 70 miles from our house. And it was a fantastic time. Reminded me how much I loved the drive in when I was a kid. The owners/operators of the place seem to have a great time running it and do a wonderful job. It's such a bummer that there aren't any more around the Chicago area anymore. The Sheridan in Bridgeview, the Starlite in Chicago Ridge, the Double up on Archer Ave, the I-80 in Tinley Park, they're all gone. But some still exist. You just have to do a little digging, and a little driving, but they're worth it. Check out www.drive-ins.com. They have a searchable database for drive in theaters nationwide. Anyhow, we're going back on Friday night, you're all welcome to follow us down!

#5: The entire town of Westchester is under water. I realize the rainfall totals were unprecedented, but c'mon. The whole town? Something is seriously wrong with your drainage system guys.

#6: I cannot wait for the Blago trial to end. Please Rod, just go away.

BONUS: Lastly, training camp starts in TWO DAYS. Baseball, once again, has been a trainwreck. Bring on the Bears!!

Joy Never Gets Old

Pure joy.

That's how I'll describe the feeling last night. Absolute, utter, pure unabashed joy. My boys, clad in their jerseys, jumping up and down. My wife wondering loudly, "Did it go in? Did it go in?" The fireworks going off in the neighborhood, the dogs barking. The wide grin on my boy Mike's face.

Joy.

This is why you watch sports, this is why fanatics pour their heart and soul into their teams, why we schedule our lives around it, read about it. It's why we grumble when things go wrong, and why we die just a little when they come so close and disappoint.

It's why we say, "we did it" or "we won" when just about everyone one of us had absolutely nothing to do with the actual game played.

For moments like this.

For really just the second time in my life of 42 years, my die hard fandom has yielded the ultimate reward -- an actual championship for one of the teams I pour so much of my own heart and soul into.

Yes, the Bulls won six titles in the 90s. But I have to be honest. I was every bit the bandwagon jumper with those teams. I would never say that I was a die-hard Bulls fan. Before Michael Jordan came along, I could probably count the number of Bulls games I ever watched on one hand. It was fun to see the Bulls win, but they were never really one of my teams. The Chicago Bears. The Chicago Cubs. The Chicago Blackhawks.

In January 1986, my Chicago Bears won the Super Bowl. As a complete sports idiot, it's one of the marking posts in my life. At that moment, it was the first time one of my teams had won the whole damn thing. I was 17 and it seemed like those Bears would win 3 or 4 more. They didn't.

The Cubs -- well, we aren't going to talk about them today.

The Blackhawks are a team I've followed my whole life. I remember my Grandma Johns, who was most certainly in my thoughts last night, and her having the game on WGN-TV on the big console tv in her living room in Chicago Ridge in the mid 70s, back when Hull and Mikita and Magnuson still roamed the ice in Indian head sweaters.

I remember my dad and my Uncle Art playing furious games of rod hockey between periods on multiple Saturday nights. And my dad telling tales of Bobby and Dennis Hull, and "little Lou Angotti" and Blackhawk triumphs of the past. My dad was never a huge story teller about baseball or football, but hockey was different. It was the one sport where he got excited to tell me about the way things were back when.

I watched great Blackhawks players entire careers here -- Jeremy Roenick, Denis Savard, Doug Wilson, Chris Chelios, Steve Larmer, Tony Amonte, Ed Belfour. I watched great Hawks teams in the mid 80s through the early 90s, teams that kept running into those damn Edmonton Oilers. I watched the great 1992 team win 11 straight playoff games and then lose 4 straight to Pittsburgh. And I watched it all fall apart in the late 90s through to about 3 years ago, when forgettable names like Zhamnov, Mironov, Dychehouse, Daze dominated the scene. When stars like Doug Gilmour and Paul Coffey came to wear the colors about 3 years after their legs had already retired.

So when Kaner's wrister slipped through Leighton's legs and into the net and there was that unreal few seconds where no one besides Kane himself was sure what happened, and then his teammates poured over the boards to celebrate while the Flyers and their fans sat in stunned silence, there was joy. And when Toews lifted that unwieldy, beautifully ornate what used to be silver punch bowl -- themost beautiful trophy in all of sports -- up, there were tears too. For my Grandma. For my dad. And yeah, for me too.

Hopefully my boys won't have to wait the rest of their lives for another. I don't begrudge them the waiting. I hope they're spoiled, I do. And I welcome the bandwagon jumpers. Stay on board folks -- with this team, we're hoping the ride's a long one and we get to do this again and again and again.

The Chicago Blackhawks are Stanley Cup Champions.

Joy NEVER gets old.

Vote 'Em All Out? Maybe...

The news is full this morning of stories of schools in crisis. Schools in crisis because of massive budget shortfalls, caused in no small part by the State of Illinois.

Because the State of Illinois doesn't pay its bills. According to the sign at my son's high school when I dropped him off at baseball practice the other day, the State owes our little school district $1.2 million. One. Point. Two. MILLION.

They owe the school district in Elgin more than $13 MILLION. Which is going to force the layoff of 1,100 teachers and others. In Chicago, the schools budget shortfall is more than $700 million, which will mean the layoffs of more than 3,800 people.

Just what in the hell are our wonderful elected officials in Springfield doing about it? Where the hell is the money going down there? They have shirked responsibilities for years, decades and the now the bill has come due. And who pays the price for their sloth, for their focus on self-preservation and re-election? Our kids.

I've never been one of those who subscribes to the simplistic "vote 'em all out" mentality. But I'm getting closer and closer. Democrats are you listening? I've been a loyal and consistent Democratic voter all my adult life. But the mess in Springfield has me strongly considering the concept of voting against any and all incumbents, Republican or Democrat. We need a change. You folks who are down there have had long enough.

So you're on your last chance. Do something this spring session. Work together and compromise and make the budget adjustments you need to make to get the schools paid, to make sure public safety is a priority. Make the cuts that need to be made to the non-essentials.

But make no mistake, public schools DO NOT fall into the non-essential category. Cut your perks, your member initiatives, your vanity license plates, your travel expenses, your SALARIES.

But get those schools paid. Or come November, you've lost my vote.

Are you listening?

Probably not. Because you don't care.