Every Little Memory

8 years ago this weekend, I saw Parliament Funkadelic at the Detroit Electronic Music Festival (DEMF). I went with my brother, and friends, Scott and Michelle. I had just completed my 2nd chemotherapy treatment of 8.

I didn't feel great, but I didn't want cancer to change the way I lived. Ironic, considering it changed my life more than any one event aside from birth.

3 years ago this weekend, I was in Deer Isle, Maine, getting married to an angel.

I hope I never truly understand why I have been so lucky in life. Lucky to be married to such an amazing woman. Lucky to have survived cancer. Lucky to have such great friends. Lucky simply to be alive.

Yesterday, my angel was by my side when I went to see my oncologist. I like having her come to these appointments with me because:
1) She has a great relationship with my doc;
2) She knows what questions to ask (even though she doesn't always tell me what they mean...);
3) He answers her honestly;
4) She is sometimes a buffer;
5) And it's nice not to always see an oncologist alone.

So yesterday, Dr. Parikh, Sheryl, and I spent a lot of time talking about Sjogren's. This is a good thing. At this point, 8 years out of treatment, I want to blame all of my ails on Sjogren's, and not Hodgkin's - or any other cancer for that matter!

Every thing spurs a memory for me. This Memorial Day weekend spurs those thoughts first and foremost.

As my wonderful wife lies sleeping in bed, I think, too, about blessings. Memories and blessings. I've got a lot of both.

Sheryl, thank you for making my life more meaningful. And I mean that from the bottom of my cold heart, hands, and feet.

Have a great weekend everyone!

When I was a kid, I used to play and play and play until the streetlights came on, or until mom called us in for dinner. I loved playing. I loved being with my friends.

I loved summer nights, and playing all night long.

I was reminded of my childhood this week - I was blessed with the opportunity to ride my bike to work. I was like a damn Cheshire cat! And so I rode to work and back - 13 miles round trip. Afterwards, I worked on the yard - weed-whipping, mowing, etc.

And man, I had stuff to do! But while watering the plants, I realized that I was whupped! In fact, I felt just like I did when I was a kid - I was excited to be playing, yet my body was beat... my legs hurt, and my mom can concur that my knees used to ache like nobody's business!

So, this week, I was a bit depressed that I wore out so easily. It's the stinkin' Sjogren's... the same thing that doesn't let me shed a tear or spit without medication.

I came into the house, grabbed a handful of Motrin, and slugged it down with a dirty vodka martini. An hour later, my knees no longer ached, and I was ready to go to bed.

Tonight, as well as every other night, I love my life.

I just wish I had a little more stamina. Ummm... make that A LOT more stamina!

Our First Time

Well, it was a very busy weekend, and for the first time in four days, Sheryl and I are not spending time with Rey and Amanda, Aaron and Cheryl, Mike and Brenda, Shane and Lori... and John and Katie, Ron and Kathy, and it feels a little odd.

On a weekend when I was proud and honored to stand up in my cousin's wedding,
On a weekend when I introduced Sheryl to the remainder of my aunts and uncles,
On a weekend when I had so much fun...

We had our first time.

Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" was playing. I was never a big fan of the song until only a few years ago, but here I was, arms around my beautiful, amazing wife, looking deeply into her eyes, and kissing her gently...

For the first time...

We danced.

“A Fan from Ferndale, Michigan got that one!”


Last Sunday, Sheryl and I went to the Tigers game with her brother, sister in law and nephew. After the game, her nephew was able to run the bases, and it was our first chance to ever get onto the field at Comerica Park.

It was exciting for us – probably as exciting as it was for her nephew. The line wound throughout the seating areas, and we had a chance to take a lot of pictures.

As we were filing out of the park, I had Sheryl stand next to the statue of Ernie Harwell, and took her picture. I took another with her and her nephew – and Ernie’s statue.

Little did we know that a few days later, the Detroit legend would lose his battle with cancer.

Everybody in Detroit knows Ernie Harwell. Everybody has an Ernie Harwell story.

And like everybody in the last 50 years who has grown up a baseball fan, I remember Ernie’s iconic voice calling the games of my childhood.

Oh, what a legend the legend became, though! People fell in love with Ernie Harwell because whether he knew it or not, he was with them through thick and thin. Through love and death. Through happiness and sadness. Ernie was always there.

Ernie Harwell went gently into the night. He went with the type of kindness and warmth that you would expect to see in a Buddhist monk. Ernie was a man just like any one of us. But through his legend, he became more than all of us.

People lined up outside of Comerica Park to bid farewell to the icon. The line existed for 15, 16, 17 or so hours. Grown man after grown man cried. People took pictures. Hearts broke.

Baseball is a game. Baseball announcers are just doing a job. But sometimes – and here’s your proof – one man can make a difference in his world. One man can cause tears of love to wash the streets of Detroit. One man is still just a man…

Unless you’re a legend.

The Righteous Brothers sang that “if there’s a rock and roll heaven, well you know they’ve got a hell of a band.” And if there is a field of dreams somewhere in Iowa, those ghosts now have one heckuva announcer.

I never met Ernie Harwell, but I am really sad that he's gone. Rest well, young man. Rest well!