Fuck cancer

(A note, before I begin: there is going to be a nonzero number of you who know me in Real Life and also knew Becky. Her parents, who I know, and sister, who I really don’t, are on Facebook and have been monitoring her page. She followed Luther, but was not friends with his account. If her family sees this, they see it, but I would appreciate it if no one goes out of their way to bring it to their attention. I am, as will probably become clear pretty quickly, writing it for me, not for them, if that makes any sense. Thank you.)

Becky Arney died yesterday. She used to pull my hair in fifth grade, and now she’s gone.

She was two months younger than me, and had been fighting cancer for nine Goddamned years. She spent most of the last month of her life in the hospital until her family finally decided she’d had enough and brought her home.

Nine damn years. The cancer started off as a small-cell cervical cancer that, as far as I ever understood, had a five-year life expectancy just north of “you’re kidding, right?” and she managed nine years. I think it was actually liver failure that got her in the end; the cancer was in remission for a while but then popped up in a bunch of other organs and that was the essential body part that gave out first.

The biggest problem I’ve ever had in my life is being able to see my feet past my ample fucking gut and this badass bitch got handed a life where she had to beat the shit out of cancer on a daily basis for nine fucking years in her thirties and forties. And frankly she did not lead the sort of life prior to getting cancer that was going to lead to gold-plated health insurance, either. She worked in the arts. She worked in prop design. I can only imagine the extent of the medical bills.

She was my first real crush, in fifth grade. If you look at my fourth grade yearbook there’s one particular girl whose picture I drew a green box around, but I don’t remember anything about falling for her. My unrequited thing for Becky lasted two or three years, at least. It was a Thing for a While. She knew; I’m sure she did. There was one particular field trip in sixth grade to a museum in Chicago where she spent the whole day letting me take her picture next to dinosaur bones and then sat behind me and intermittently pulled my hair the whole way home. She knew. By high school we were friends; we drifted apart when I left for college and then reconnected via Facebook just after I moved home and got married.

The last time I saw her, I was with my wife and son at Bob Evans, of all the goddamn places, and she just happened to be there with her grandmother. It was the only time she ever met my son; my wife was a couple of years behind us in high school so they already knew each other. When I killed my personal Facebook account, she didn’t send Luther a friend request, but she continued to follow the page, and I got updates from my wife.

She lived with her grandmother after she got sick. Imagine that. Imagine being old enough to be a grandmother to someone in their forties and you eventually have to bury them. I can’t do it.

There is not going to be a funeral, which is good, because I am generally not good at funerals at the best of times and I think there’s a good chance that “absolutely everyone from high school is there!” will not qualify as The Best of Times. She was that person who had every single person from our graduating class she could find and a sizable number of the kids from within a couple of years of us on her friends list. The eventual “celebration of life” that her obituary alludes to will be a de facto high school reunion. I have already skipped three high school reunions. I don’t know that I can make myself go to this one. We’ll see.

I’m not old enough to have to be writing this shit yet. She wasn’t old enough that I should have been writing this about her. She should have been raising the kids she never got to have, or doing whatever else the hell she wanted to do if she didn’t want to have kids. I can only assume that a cancer diagnosis at 33 can tend to alter your plans.

I used to tell people that I wasn’t really scared of anything, other than blindness, which was my greatest fear for most of my life. But for the last few days, which have been spent mostly restraining the urge to ask my wife to check Facebook again to see if her family has posted any updates, I’ve gotten this cold sort of existential horror in my gut every time I’ve looked at my son. Because apparently I’ve reached the age where people my age start dying of fucking cancer and so that’s a thing I need to start worrying about. About leaving him behind, before either of us is ready. About, hell, something happening to him. Because she was young, but it ain’t like cancer is especially discriminating, now, is it? And it’s not like this has been unique to the last few days– she had had cancer for two years before my son was even born, and one thing every parent becomes familiar with very quickly after their first child is born is the notion of their own mortality.

(This is what I meant when I said I was writing this for me, by the way.)

I don’t know. I don’t have a cute or clever way to end this, so I’m just going to stop writing.

Fuck cancer.

Hit the ground burnin and woke up frostbit

Today was a Tuesday, in case you were wondering.  I don’t know what it is about Tuesdays.  But today was definitely a Tuesday.  I think I need a T-shirt or something.

At any rate, on the way home from work the following two songs flashed into my head.  I still have every syllable of both songs memorized.  I probably haven’t listened to the Kool Moe Dee song in the larger part of a decade.  It’s really weird how the music that you were listening to when you were in middle school and high school sticks with you forever.

Or maybe it’s not, I dunno.  It’s not like I’m not still listening to the same stuff.   🙂  At any rate, enjoy some old-school hiphop while I go to bed early and try to recharge enough to make it through Wednesday.

Shoulda written a post yesterday 

Today I have a lunch with relatives, a high school graduation, and what will certainly be a very busy work shift tonight.  So this may be all you get.  


1) Managed to make it through last night without any old high school acquaintances drunkenly stumbling to my front door or anything like that.  So that’s good.  I gotta make it through work tonight without anybody finding me but they’re all supposed to be at a baseball game so I figure the chances are minimal.

2) So far this has not worked out as swimmingly as I might have hoped.  You guys seem to enjoy it when I humiliate myself (seriously, posts that boil down to “here’s some dumb shit that I just did because I’m an idiot” dominate the top 10 around here) but not many of you are spending money to make it happen.  🙂  You still have about thirteen hours!

3) I’ve been having a real problem with Amazon removing positive reviews of The Benevolence Archives— there are currently four reviews listed on the site, two five-star reviews and two four-star reviews.  There should be seven; three four-star reviews and four five-star reviews.  Luckily for me, I’ve got copies of the deleted reviews, and I think I’m gonna post ’em on the page later today or tomorrow.  I need to redo the BA page anyway, so I may as well get all my reviews up where people can actually see them.

Plans for the rest of the weekend include getting the damn Baen story done arrrgh and Redgarding the bathroom, or at least preparing the bathroom for Redgarding, with painter’s tape and plastic and such.  How are you?

In which I parent effectively

10398420_1176432005526_3036154_nIt’s Friday, which means it’s Daddy Day; the boy didn’t go to day care today and he and I are spending the day together.  Which, so far, has meant flipping through cartoons and various animated things on Netflix while I have discussions with strangers on Twitter.

I am a lousy parent.

Good news is I’ve got all day today plus Saturday and Sunday to get about 2000 words out to hit my target for the week, so it’s not like I’ve got a ton of other stuff to do.  Maybe I go really nuts and not pay too much attention to things with screens today.  🙂

(Yeah, right.)

Oh, also: turns out my 20th high school reunion is this weekend.  I would rather be fed to sharks than go, but I’m really glad that I actually looked at the schedule yesterday, because I was considering taking the boy to the zoo with my parents tomorrow and one of the reunion events is tomorrow at the goddamn zoo.  So that could have gone quite poorly.  God, I hate that I still live in the town I grew up in.

And yes, I’m in that picture up there, but I’m not telling you which one I am.