Relay for Life
Feb. 27th, 2005 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tarigwaemirLowell House, on the Feast of St. Leander
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jaebi_lit is currently raising money for Relay for Life, a cancer research fundraising initiative by the ACS. I've donated a rather measly $4 to it--unfortunately, am currently on a tight budget for the rest of the year--but I thought I could help her out just a little more by posting a link here. Give a $1, if nothing else?
Recently--come to think of it, it was only two weeks ago--a friend of our family's at church died of brain cancer. I didn't want to mention it on the journal because whenever I started talking about it, I got sidetracked into issues that I didn't really want to talk about. Nevertheless, when I read Cat's post on LJ this monring, I thought that maybe I should at least write something down so that I'll remember to do something more.
My only direct experience with death has been through cancer, and both times, the person who passed away was someone I knew through church, and both times, their children were my schoolmates. J., whose father died from liver cancer, is now in her freshman year of college, and A., whose mother died a few weeks ago, is in ninth grade and happens to be a close friend ofldmoonflower's younger sister. I was in ninth grade myself, when J.'s father died; it's an incident that recalls some guilt for our family because he didn't learn about his cancer until he applied for health insurance with my father. He was diagnosed when he went to take the medical exam that is part of the procedure for determining insurance status. J.'s father was a tall, robust man, cheerful and loud-voiced like most Korean 아저씨, and his family had always been rather kind to ours. When I saw him, shortly before he died, receiving the sacrament at his home, he had wasted away to the bone--and I know they use that expression often in writing, but it's different to see it in real life. It's possibly the most frightening sight in the world to see someone who is instantly recognizable and yet is completely altered, not only in appearance but in voice and personality.
A.'s mother is a presence at church; her husband has been parish council president (not to mention my dentist and probably dentist for many of the church kids) and she herself has a strong personality. She's always been wonderful to me--as proud of my accomplishments as if I were her own child--and in fact, her two youngest children were the first kids at church that I ever really got along with. A.'s mother became diagnosed with cancer shortly around the end of my senior year, and she asked my mother, whenever she visited the hospital, if I could be allowed to visit because she wanted to congratulate me on getting into Harvard. I never did get the chance, and I didn't get to see her until a year later, after she had been completely altered by chemotherapy. They said, then, that the tumor was gone, but the cancer had taken more than just her hair and physical health. A.'s mother was a clever woman, quick with words and ambitious for her children; chemotherapy left her with a child's mind and a blank, smiling face. I saw her being wheeled to the front of the church during Mass, then wheeled back quickly as she started making too much noise during the homily (she was in pain and did not have the clarity to perceive where she was). Later, after Mass, she went around kissing everyone's hand, which charmed everyone to be sure, but it was also saddening because A.'s mother, while affectionate, had always been a dignified woman. She relapsed, I heard, this past winter, and this month, she passed away. A.'s older brother will soon apply to college, if I remember correctly; A. is still very much a teenager. My mother cried as she told me the news on the phone and asked what would become of them?
I think what bothers me the most is the feeling that I didn't do enough.
Please help Cat out, if you can.
Yours &c.
jaebi_lit is currently raising money for Relay for Life, a cancer research fundraising initiative by the ACS. I've donated a rather measly $4 to it--unfortunately, am currently on a tight budget for the rest of the year--but I thought I could help her out just a little more by posting a link here. Give a $1, if nothing else?Recently--come to think of it, it was only two weeks ago--a friend of our family's at church died of brain cancer. I didn't want to mention it on the journal because whenever I started talking about it, I got sidetracked into issues that I didn't really want to talk about. Nevertheless, when I read Cat's post on LJ this monring, I thought that maybe I should at least write something down so that I'll remember to do something more.
My only direct experience with death has been through cancer, and both times, the person who passed away was someone I knew through church, and both times, their children were my schoolmates. J., whose father died from liver cancer, is now in her freshman year of college, and A., whose mother died a few weeks ago, is in ninth grade and happens to be a close friend of
ldmoonflower's younger sister. I was in ninth grade myself, when J.'s father died; it's an incident that recalls some guilt for our family because he didn't learn about his cancer until he applied for health insurance with my father. He was diagnosed when he went to take the medical exam that is part of the procedure for determining insurance status. J.'s father was a tall, robust man, cheerful and loud-voiced like most Korean 아저씨, and his family had always been rather kind to ours. When I saw him, shortly before he died, receiving the sacrament at his home, he had wasted away to the bone--and I know they use that expression often in writing, but it's different to see it in real life. It's possibly the most frightening sight in the world to see someone who is instantly recognizable and yet is completely altered, not only in appearance but in voice and personality.A.'s mother is a presence at church; her husband has been parish council president (not to mention my dentist and probably dentist for many of the church kids) and she herself has a strong personality. She's always been wonderful to me--as proud of my accomplishments as if I were her own child--and in fact, her two youngest children were the first kids at church that I ever really got along with. A.'s mother became diagnosed with cancer shortly around the end of my senior year, and she asked my mother, whenever she visited the hospital, if I could be allowed to visit because she wanted to congratulate me on getting into Harvard. I never did get the chance, and I didn't get to see her until a year later, after she had been completely altered by chemotherapy. They said, then, that the tumor was gone, but the cancer had taken more than just her hair and physical health. A.'s mother was a clever woman, quick with words and ambitious for her children; chemotherapy left her with a child's mind and a blank, smiling face. I saw her being wheeled to the front of the church during Mass, then wheeled back quickly as she started making too much noise during the homily (she was in pain and did not have the clarity to perceive where she was). Later, after Mass, she went around kissing everyone's hand, which charmed everyone to be sure, but it was also saddening because A.'s mother, while affectionate, had always been a dignified woman. She relapsed, I heard, this past winter, and this month, she passed away. A.'s older brother will soon apply to college, if I remember correctly; A. is still very much a teenager. My mother cried as she told me the news on the phone and asked what would become of them?
I think what bothers me the most is the feeling that I didn't do enough.
Please help Cat out, if you can.
Yours &c.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-27 04:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-27 06:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-27 06:03 pm (UTC);_;
Stories like this make me hope I am good enough to get my hands into cancer research.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-28 12:52 am (UTC)I remember going there and feeling completely awful about it. There were so many people, a lot of cancer patients, and they were all working so hard and were so enthusiastic about it. It make me feel so guilty--it was too late for me to raise money, but I worked my butt off anyway.
It makes me feel bad now--I have no access to a credit card, but I'll pray for Cat and the cancer walk.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-28 01:36 am (UTC)I hope your grandfather recovers; I'll keep him in my prayers as well.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-28 04:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-03-01 07:58 am (UTC)Thank you for your prayers.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-03-02 12:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-03-01 07:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-03-02 02:59 am (UTC)I hope your cousin recovers. It's hard enough when it's a person you know; I can't imagine how painful it must be to have a beloved relative become sick from cancer.