Empty Sails

Man, what a day this was.

Okay, first of all just to get it out of the way: June 25, the day both Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson died. Farrah you saw coming; there was just a documentary about her life and illness not even a month ago, so you can't call it a surprise. But even when you see it coming, it's still shocking to have death actually happen. Trust me on this one.

And then Michael Jackson?! Wow. I'm going to be very curious to see how that happened because that was about as out of nowhere as I can think. He must have had some pre-existing condition that played a part in this. Farrah was a shock. Michael Jackson? I don't think there's been anyone since Princess Diana who's death is going to be as media saturated as his will be.

And if those two CNN moments weren't enough (and I certainly don't mean to downplay their importance in saying that, but they aren't going to affect my life much beyond what I see in terms of news coverage), illness and its horrible effects hit closer to home today when I checked my e-mail this morning. I was part of a mass e-mailing that SuperKyle's mom sent out, basically saying that since his cancer is not responding to treatment and his bone marrow hasn't recovered after his last procedure, he isn't elligible for treatment anymore and his team of oncologists will be transitioning him into palliative care instead. The disease will spread to his vital organs, and eventually his body will shut down.

And if you didn't know this, he's nine years old.

I got to know him when his sister "24" was in my class. That was her nickname - long story, and I'm sure she'd prefer I didn't repeat it. He was in remission back then, but in the past year and a half his cancer had come back twice. The second time, last fall, he started missing a LOT of school due to his treatment and this made him eligible for homebound tutoring. I told his teacher I'd be willing to do it when I found out, mostly because SuperKyle and I had always gotten along really well so I thought I might be able to help... and because I knew in my core that if she knew something like this was going on -- and I'm pretty sure she did know somehow -- Dop would have wanted me to help him.

It wasn't easy, but I'd been through it before so I knew what to expect, and I was able to keep a pretty good poker face while he sat at the table crying and vomiting from the pain one minute and then barely able to think coherently once his meds kicked in. Luckily for all of us, mostly him, that stage didn't last very long and we were able to spend some good time together and get some work done. We had some good times along the way, too: We played Dinosaurs on his Nintendo DS (he named my dinosaur "Roar," which is a pretty solid dinosaur name), we pulled a little prank on his sister during her birthday party, we used his little battery-powered massage tool to massage his dog's back and butt so she would stop barking, and we came up with our own private battle cry, "Go 73!"

That one is meant to stay between the two of us (though I think his mom knows the origin of it too), so I can't tell you what it means. But I can tell you that when the Relay for Life hits my hometown next month, one of the luminaries that will outline the track after dark will read "GO 73!" And people will look at it and be puzzled by what it means, which was the a big part of the reason we started it.

If you want to follow his progress or get more of the story, click below for a link to his CaringBridge page:

SuperKyle