10th Anniversary

 As February 23 nears as it does every year, this one marks a very special anniversary. It will be 10 years since I held or saw my son for the last time.

I am a grandmom with two beautiful grandkids: 8 yr old Jackson and 6 yr old Brielle. I may be twice a grandmom but I am blessed an infinite number of times because they are beautiful, smart, and caring young people.

 

This horrid Covid-19 has provided a wonderful opportunity to be with Jax and Brie and help them (though they're both so bright they don't need much help) navigate virtual 3rd and 1st grades. Mom Gina and dad Doug teach their virtual classes, high school English and Math respectively, from their actual classrooms, so Bruce and I stay at their house with the kids while school is in session.

Gina is finishing up her last 2 courses and will be awarded her Masters Degree at the end of this semester. To say I'm proud of her for everything she has accomplished doesn't even come close to how I feel. I know I don't tell her that often enough.

I so often wish Jax and Brielle could have known their Uncle Pete and he, them. I know he would have loved to play with them and teach them to surf and snowboard and, of course, fish.

I miss him. I miss his wonderful, oh, so wonderful, hugs.

Losing him still hurts and no amount of time will ever change that.

Friends...

Hi.

I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate that you keep in touch whether it's a call, text, email, or just forwarding silly jokes. It was so much easier when we were together at work, seeing each other almost every day and living close enough to get together during breaks and vacations.

I know it must be really difficult and uncomfortable for some people to interact with me. I'm learning who my friends are, the ones who really care. I don't blame people for keeping their distance. Who wants to be "bummed out" on a regular basis? I know I wouldn't look forward to it.

Bruce has been and continues to be a great comfort and support. He never was a father, but he is a wonderful, caring step-father to both of my kids. He's not a mother, though, and I think that only a mother can come close to understanding what I'm feeling. Don't get me wrong. I'm not discounting fathers, but men and women are just different, and there are, tragically, mothers who wouldn't know what I'm talking about and thankfully, fathers who would.

I'm so thankful for LuAnn, because she's been an actual, physical shoulder that is there for me, who understands that mother-child connection. I have long distance shoulders; you, my friends, and Charmilyn, from my college days. It's amazing to me that some of my friends are people whom I've never met. There are communities of people that I have come across on the internet and there are individuals from each that have clearly demonstrated that they are caring friends. I am thankful for all of them.

I have tried to be strong all my life because it has so often been expected of me. You know that I am not a very demonstrative person, that I don't usually express my feelings and this has been a very difficult, but necessary letter for me to write.

Love, hugs, and a very heartfelt "Thank you, my Friend",

Reggie

Kahlua Night - Pete's Last Hurrah

This is one of those drafts that's been sitting, waiting for me to make some sense of the jumbled thoughts that I had jotted down. I've asked Gina, Georgette, Colleen and Bruce what they each remembered about this night, but no one could really say much, though to each of us it was a very poignant and memorable evening less than a week before Pete left us.

He had been in quite a bit of pain earlier in the day but was more comfortable as dinnertime rolled around. He was much more alert than he had been the past few days and said he felt like eating. He finished most of the meal Georgie and Gina had prepared for him and at some point in time said that he wanted a Kahlua milk shake. I honestly don't know who he told, but I remember being in the kitchen and texting my sister, who had gone to pick up something from Costco, to "stop at liquor store and get bottle Kahlua. Serious." She told me later that it was good that I had included the "serious" and that she got my message as she had just come out of Costco. She headed into the liquor store right next door. While she was getting that ingredient, I think it was Bruce who ran over to the grocery store to get the vanilla ice cream.

I remember someone tried to start the blender but it wouldn't work. It's not one of the appliances that we use very often and apparently the gears had just frozen, so we went with the food processor. People seemed to be busy with glasses and ice cream and Kahlua and I just kept fiddling with the blender, trying to get the blades to move and eventually they did.

I think it was Georgie who asked if I wanted a milkshake, but I just took some ice cream in a bowl, splashed some Kahlua over it and carried it into Pete's room. I remember Pete was sitting up in his hospital bed and I was surprised at how much he looked like his old self. Maybe I just didn't want to see the swelling or maybe it just wasn't as noticeable for some reason, I can't really say. Everyone was already seated, chatting and laughing, as I walked over and sat down in the last empty chair. Gina said she can't recall anything specific, but that Pete kept teasing her as he had so many times, in a loving, good natured brother-sister exchange. Georgie couldn't really recall anything specific, either, except that there was a sense of peace in the room. Bruce couldn't say much about the evening.

*****************

It's been 5 years today that Pete lost his battle with sarcoma. I came here to read some of my unfinished drafts. It's been only 5 years, but  it seems such a long, long time ago. I miss him so much.

A New Life - Part 1

It's been quite some time since I've mentally been able to sit down and add anything, but I'm going to attempt it now.

So much has happened since Pete's death that I hardly know where to begin. Time seems to have compressed and twisted but I will try to give a chronologically correct version of the events that have unfolded. It was sometime in July/August while Bruce and I were camping out in Pennsylvania that I received a call from Gina. She and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for some time and she was scheduled to begin some fertility pre-treatments the following week in preparation for surgery in September. When she asked if I was sitting down I had a very odd feeling, premonition perhaps, that she was going to tell me that she was pregnant. That's exactly what happened.

There were many challenges for Gina, particularly emotional ones, during the course of her pregnancy, and being separated by 3,000 miles made it very difficult for both of us. She was hoping for a girl so was very disappointed and even angry when given the news that she was carrying a boy. It was especially difficult for both of us when some well-intentioned people would, with crass insensitivity, say how wonderful that we could look forward to having a child to take the place of Pete. Fortunately, those people were few in number.

I flew out to California in the fall for a week and Gina flew back to New Jersey during her winter break. It was during her visit back east that Pete's girlfriend was able to do something that I truly believe was tremendously helpful to Gina in altering her psychological disengagement with the little creature growing inside her and, despite Gina's protests contrary, began to awaken in her an awareness that this was a tiny being with fingers and toes, intent on growing and eventually emerging sometime around his projected due date of April 7, 2012.

As Bruce and I had approached retirement we had often talked about the possibility of moving out of New Jersey but when Pete was diagnosed those thoughts evaporated. After his death, with grandparenthood on the horizon combined with my increasingly emotional reaction to more and more things that ignited painful memories of Pete's ordeal, those thoughts began to resurface.

The Month of February

It's been almost a year. The closer it gets to February 23rd, the more often come the choking tears. I fight them back because they start at the most inopportune times. Sometimes I know what triggers them, other times they seem to spring unexpectedly.

Bruce and I were driving up the parkway to drop off papers for our tax accountant the other day. Watching the trees, buildings and landmarks that Pete had watched as I drove him along this route to doctor visits, treatments and hospitals filled my mind with wondering what he had been thinking on those many trips, and the tears came, as they are coming now.

I've been packing for our move. There are tools, so many tools, and I'm having trouble trying to figure out how to pack them. Some belonged to my dad, some are mine and some are Pete's. I picked up a pair of pliers. My dad's initials, JT, were deeply scratched into the handle. Then a pair of nose pliers with cushioned handles, part of a set that belonged to Pete. A set of ring pliers that Pete had bought me. Some people cherish a china figurine or a photo. For me, each tool I pick up holds a wealth of memories and using them to build, fix or create is a link to my dad and Pete. At least that's what it feels like to me.

I really haven't worked with any tools for quite some time. I'm packing them up so it will be some time in the future when I'll be able to start again. I'm looking forward to the peace it brings me. Working with those tools is a way for me to communicate with my dad and my son, to feel their presence, to feel their love.

A New Year

It is the evening of the first day of the new year. It has not been a good day for me. I made it through Thanksgiving and Christmas with some difficulty, but today? Today was near impossible. My eyes are burning and I've had a headache much of the day, no doubt from crying. I woke with tears in my eyes, and except for a few short periods here and there when I was able to hold it in, I have cried just about the entire day. The time between these kinds of days has grown as the months have passed, but when this kind of day does come...

I miss him terribly every day. I guess it just builds and builds inside of me until I just have to let the flood gates open. Why today? Part of it is because he was still here in 2011. He was still undergoing chemo and radiation this time last year but despite the fact that the future was looking more and more uncertain he was talking about working on his boat and going fishing with his friends.

In August my daughter gave us the news that she was pregnant. The baby, a boy, is due in early April. I'll be going out in March and stay until after the baby is born. I'll come back to NJ and then Bruce and I are planning on moving out to California soon after. I need to be near my daughter. I need to be near my grandchild.

Order to Destroy - July 14, 2011

Pete received a notice in the mail a few weeks back from MAZE Laboratories. I knew it would be coming but holding the envelope in my hand made it real. I couldn't bring myself to open it right away but when I finally did I didn't read the whole letter, there was no point. My eyes just focused, or tried to focus, on the paragraph that began "If you choose to discontinue storage..."

This is not my choice because I have no choice. This is something that I have to do and the deadline is close. I can't put it off any longer so I made the call to find out what paperwork I will need to send in along with the form. All I need, it seems, is to sign the form, have it notarized and send a copy of the death certificate because Pete had provided my name as the person authorized to order destruction of his specimens if he was unable to do it.

To say this is difficult is an understatement.

It's Hard to Say Goodbye - June 26, 2011

I asked Gina to write something for the blog the other day, as I've just been unable to write anything myself. Here's what she sent me:

It's hard to say goodbye.

Still, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be to commit Pete's ashes to the Atlantic Ocean during his final memorial service June 18. He grew up with a fishing pole in his hand and spent many summers out on boats - first our grandpa's boat, then headboats and party boats, and finally, his own - so I can't think of a more fitting final resting place for him than in the place he loved best.

I have to admit, I was a bit uneasy about this trip. Since Pete's cancer, trips home were awkward and uncomfortable for me. Living in California, I had some distance from the reality of his illness, but having to face it was really hard for me. I never knew what to say or do for Pete and my mom, and inevitably, I would say or do the wrong thing. This time, I would have to deal with the added reality that my baby brother wouldn't be there, and even worse, never would again.

Shortly after arriving, I went down to the basement where Pete's things are packed (mostly cartons and boxes full of clothes, fishing gear, books, and some mementos). I cried. Two days later, I went down to pick out a shirt of his to wear out on the boat for the memorial. I chose a blue T-shirt Pete bought in Dana Point one spring when he came out to visit me and Doug, a year or two before he got sick. When Pete was broke, my mom would buy his ticket to California during my spring break from teaching so he could come out and visit us. Pete had been so excited to go sportfishing in California, but the spring before, it rained almost every day and he never got to go. This time, he had great weather, so he researched the different fishing boats and chose one in Dana Point, a little over an hour away from where I live.

I got us a hotel room and we drove out the night before; then, I got up with him at 4 a.m. to drive him the mile or so from the hotel to the boat. We both got to do what we loved: Pete spent the day fishing, and I took the opportunity to go shopping at my favorite mall. When I returned from my outing, I headed back to the harbor and anxiously looked for Pete. About a half hour later, the boat pulled in and I saw Pete. He wasn't smiling. Not only did Pete not catch any fish, apparently, nobody did. He was not a very happy camper. He did leave with a hat, a shirt, and a pen from the gift shop - and some memories - but that was about it.

Last Christmas, I came home for a visit. I don't remember who sent it, but I think a friend (friends?) of his from Costco gave him a small framed three-dimensional "picture" of a small fishing boat heading out to sea. At the top of the frame is a clear glass piece that allows light to come in, giving the boat and the waves added dimension and life. It was beautiful, but its title "Last Catch" gave me a chill. I thought it was prophetic, and I really hoped Pete would beat the sarcoma so he could have many more catches and many more boat trips in his future. Sadly, Pete left us two months later.

So, on June 18, a boat full of about 90 of Pete's family, friends, and coworkers set out to say our last goodbye and take Pete on his final fishing trip. Three miles from the dock, the boat stopped and we took turns scattering his ashes and tossing flowers into the ocean. At the same time, somebody called our attention to the large school of fish breaking the surface not far from the boat. Afterwards, we all headed over to Farrell's for food, drinks, and friendship. It truly was a celebration of Pete's life. I was sad, yes, but what surprised me was the tremendous sense of peace that I felt. People who Pete loved and who loved him in return were there, and we were surrounded by that love. I knew that this is what Pete would have wanted. I knew that after two-plus years of fighting this disease, he was at peace. I will miss Petey forever, but I also know that he is home.

Random Thoughts - May 1, 2011

In cleaning and going through Pete's things I also am going through some of my own things that have been stored away for what seems like eons. Before computers and blogs I wrote with pen and paper, using notebooks to hold my journals, poems and ramblings.

Though I wrote this in November, 1982, it seems to fit well with my thoughts of Pete today.

Reverie
The beauty of the day
And warmth of sun
I wish to share with you.
The peace and strength
I search for
I find in thoughts of you.
The fields, the trees,
The laughter of children-
More beautiful because of you.

Some of Pete's Last Text Entries - April 28, 2011

Pete ---> Brian W - Thanks Brian. I miss you guys and wish I made more of an effort to get together this past summer. Say hello to your fam for me (crissy, kids, momma dukes, bren, etc.), I think of you all very often. Still looking to recover somewhat, since I need to finish my boat and do some fishing this summer, so don't count me out of the fight... I am realistic, but I refuse to quit, it's not in my nature... Sent: Feb 12, 8:20 AM

Jeanne O ---> Pete - I Miss U Pete!!!! U'll b happy 2 know I'm still doin my Animal Noises & I can now do a Real Turkey Call ;) I've perfected my chicken, pig & goat. I'm a hit @ register w/kids ;) Adults tooo!!!! ;) Rc'd: Feb 12, 6:30 PM
Pete ---> Jeanne O -Awww, good to hear you're keeping up the good work, wish I could see you in action (Message was never sent)

What Story Could They Tell? - April 24, 2011

The other morning I pulled out a box filled with an assortment of beverage glasses that Pete had bundled in newspaper for safe storage when he packed his belongings and moved in with us. As I unwrapped this mix of odds-n-ends, most displaying something to identify their origin, I could guess that some Pete had collected himself, while others must have been given to him by friends as I know he was never in Hawaii, Arizona or Texas.

I set each one down and sorted them according to type - beer glasses, 2 with Yankee insignias (Pete was a Phillys fan), another from the Subway Series, another simply shaped like a football. Did he attend games or did one of his friends bring back a souvenier because they thought he might like to know they were thinking of him? Which of his friends remembers how Pete came to posess the  glass eblazoned with Bud Lite "Bubble Boys" or the one from the Pilot House or from Applebee's? Did they represent a birthday celebration or other notable event? All are in pristine condtion except for the one advertising "Pete's Wicked Ale". That one looks like it was used often because the screen printing is worn and faded.

Then there are the shot glasses. I'm pretty certain that the one from Puerto Rico is a memento of when he and Rod S. and several others went there to visit Timmie P. What memory, though, does the shot glass from Point Pleasant represent? And who gave him the one from Arizona?

It was difficult looking at those empty glasses and wondering why Pete brought them here. Each must hold a story, some reason why he wrapped them so carefully, but for now they remain silent.

That Last Goodbye - April 21, 2011

I attended a support group recently, specific to parents, grandparents and adult siblings who have suffered the death of a child of any age. I was taken aback by the number of attendees and though I didn't count, my very conservative estimate would be around 50.

They began the meeting by having everyone introduce themself and provide some information about their child. Among all those present there was only one couple whose child, a woman about Pete's age, married with 3 young children of her own, was also a cancer victim. Most of the children were adults or young adults, but their deaths were sudden and unanticipated - the result of traffic or other accidents, suicides, drug overdoses, and heart attack.

We all lost a child, one couple lost two, so we all shared that common grief, but, with the exception of the parents of that young woman who battled breast cancer for 4 long years, there was a huge difference. Dare I say that that couple and I were the "fortunate" ones who had time to prepare for our child's death? That we were given the opportunity to say our final good-byes, to tell our child how much they were loved and to hear them say that they loved us? To be with our child and hold and comfort them as they left this world? To know that we were doing all we could do to make the transition as peaceful and loving as possible? And, yes, to accept death and even welcome it because it released our child from the pain and misery that cancer inflicts.

I cry because I miss Pete. But I cannot imagine the horror and devastation all those other parents had to endure when they received the shocking news that their child was gone, the fear that their child may have suffered unimaginable pain, the anguish of never having had the opportunity to say that last goodbye, to exchange that last "I love you".

Something I Found - April 20, 2011

I've been busy sorting through Pete's things and boy, did he have a lot of stuff! Granted, the vast majority of it is fishing and boating paraphanalia, but there's lots of other stuff, too. I found several boxes of chemisty and physics texts and notebooks. As I was fanning through the notebooks, in the midst of an unused section of a chemisty notebook, I ran across the following that Pete had written:

Feeling like a part of yourself is missing when they're gone.
Getting a warm feeling when they are near.
A smile from them gives you a rush.
Being concerned about their happiness to the extent that it bothers you if you feel they are unhappy.
Wanting to know more about them, so that you might know what to do for them to cheer them up when they're down.
Being willing to give more than you would to just about anyone.
Being able to forgive them for doing or saying something which you might disagree with.
Making a concious effort to do something they will appreciate, or not to do something they will disagree with.
Wanting to see them smile all the time.
Feeling lost when they've got something else to do, but knowing that they are thinking of you.

My Muse - April 17, 2011

Muse: n - a source of inspiration; especially : a guiding genius

My muse is in hiding. During Pete's battle with Sarcoma he was my focus and nourished my muse. Now that the cancer has claimed victory I have difficulty concentrating. Just to write these few sentences has taken so long. It's not that the words aren't there; there are so many thoughts swirling around in my brain, flying faster and coming from so many directions that I just can't capture them to set them down here.

It's 3:23 AM. I sat down in front of the computer over an hour ago. Not much to show for the time I've been here.

Relay for Life - April 9-10, 2011

This was the 2011 Relay for Life weekend in Redlands. Gina and 9 of her students participated and did an awesome job of raising money for the American Cancer Society. This year's theme was Fairytales so the team chose to decorate their campsite around Jack and the Beanstalk. Gina had contacted The Liddy Shriver Sarcoma Initiative and they had sent her brochures and bracelets to include in their informational display. Today I'm posting her photos and write-up of the event.

A portion of their Display Board

April is usually a beautiful month in Southern California, but it can also be a bit unpredictable, which was the case this past weekend. After a 90-degree weekend April 1-3, we got socked with unseasonably cold weather - and snow! - this weekend. Just in time for Relay for Life.


Best Campsite



Fortunately, the snow didn't extend over the hill, about five miles into the next city where this year's Relay was held, but it was still pretty cold. Daytime temps were only in the low- to mid-50s, and overnight temperatures were in the low 30s. Despite the setbacks, my kids toughed it out, raising over $2,200 for the American Cancer Society AND winning the trophy for the best campsite at the Relay. According to the judges, our team's site best tied together our personal mission with this year's theme, sharing Pete's story and educating other Relay teams about sarcoma.

Jack's Beanstalk

The day began with some welcoming remarks and a speech from a breast cancer survivor, and then all the survivors - I would guess around 60 or 70, but I didn't count - started the opening Celebrate lap while everyone else lined the track and cheered them on. That was the first of many emotional events. Over the course of the 24 hours, we heard from other survivors, including the father of the youngest survivor registered at this event, a two-year-old girl named Taylor from Guam, currently undergoing treatment in Southern California and was invited by the team from Red Lobster after her family ate there for dinner recently.

After the rain came the rainbow

Sometime around 5, I ducked into the tent to eat some dinner when one of my students came in and said it was raining. I asked if it was raining or drizzling and he said sprinkling, so I stayed put. A few minutes later, it was pouring! We scrambled to move the tables, get the posterboard with Pete's story and brochures from the Liddy Shriver Sarcoma Initiative out of the rain, and save Luminaria bags. Unfortunately, many Luminaria were ruined, but the volunteers did the best they could to recreate those destroyed by the rain. Luckily, the one I made for Pete was unscathed, but one I made for a friend and co-worker undergoing treatment for GBM (brain cancer) turned into a soggy mess. Eventually, the rain and wind moved out and we were treated to a welcome sight: the sun and a huge rainbow.

Pete's Memorial Photo

After the Luminaria were lit, we moved off the track to the stage where the sister of our club's president gave the speech for the Remember ceremony. This summer, they lost their grandfather to cancer, but both of these young people had been involved with Relay since before cancer ever touched their lives. Next was a slideshow of participants' loved ones who lost their fight, and the picture of Pete holding a huge striped bass was the second one. Even though I knew it would be up there, it still hit me like a ton of bricks. We cried through the lone bagpiper's mournful song and then followed the piper in silence - except for sniffles and sobs - around the track in the dark, with only the Luminaria bags to show the way. A former student of mine who was at Relay with one of the other schools' teams offered me his arm and walked me around the track.



Pete's Luminary Bag*



Around midnight, I gave up, but not before I'd logged 15 miles around the track. The cold and exhaustion of the day got to me and I crawled into the tent with some of the kids to try to stay warm and get a bit of rest. I didn't really sleep, but I got to get off my feet for a while. The teams are supposed to have someone walking the full 24 hours, and one team had someone running - 215 laps in all or roughly two marathons - for most of that time. I resumed walking shortly after 6 a.m. at 33 degrees and logged another two and a half miles before the closing remarks and the final lap - the Fight Back ceremony. At the closing, Relay organizers announced the event had raised over $45,000 so far - and were still counting.

Through events such as this one, hopefully, enough money, awareness, and support will be raised so that one day, cancer will become a thing of the past and the senseless deaths of so many, like Pete, will be prevented. Thanks to those who supported my team and my kids. Celebrate! Remember! Fight Back!

* The words Gina chose to write on Pete's Luminary are from "Oceans" by Pearl Jam:

Hold on to the thread
The currents will shift
Guide me towards you
Know something's left
And we're all allowed to dream
Of the next time we touch.

You don't have to stray
The ocean's away
Waves roll in my thoughts
Hold tight the ring
The sea will rise
Please stand by the shore
I will be, I will be
I will be there once more...

The Hole in a Tree - April 3, 2011

I drove Bruce up to Newark Liberty Airport this morning. He’s flying out to Ohio for a week-long visit with his family. As we travelled along the Garden State Parkway and then the NJ Turnpike my eyes would begin to burn as I choked back the tears, remembering the many times that I drove this route on the way to countless doctor, chemo and radiation appointments. I never counted the number of trips nor figured out how many hours but I’m guessing that I spent more time with Pete over the past two years than I had since he graduated from high school.

Before Pete was diagnosed we had lives that revolved around school, work and friends. Family was always there, of course, but for much of the time we lived in separate homes; he in the house on John Street and I lived here, a distance of less than 4 miles, but as the saying goes, life got in the way. We would often touch base by phone or text, or I might stop by the Costco pharmacy to say a quick hello when I was shopping. He’d stop over for coffee, come here or we’d meet somewhere for a meal, but how often was dependent upon our respective schedules. Pete, Bruce and I were all working full time and Pete was attending Stockton College, Ocean County College or Rutgers during those years, so finding a mutually convenient time was not always easy.

About a year and a half before his initial diagnosis I sold the house on John Street and Pete moved in with us. The plan was that this was to be a temporary living arrangement until he finished his degree and decided what he was going to do afterward. All that changed in a heartbeat.

As I drove home these thoughts and more were tumbling around inside my head along with memories of the many times Pete and I travelled these roads together. As I got closer to my parkway exit I passed by Bamm Hollow Golf Course and I thought about something Pete had seen on one of our earliest trips. As the passenger, he had the opportunity to look around and observe the scenery, a difficult thing for me to do as the driver.

During one drive home he spotted a hole in a tree. He described it to me so often as we approached that particular section of roadway but try as I might, I was never able to take my eyes off the road long enough to find that tree, let alone the hole. So many times he would tell me to “Watch for the stand of trees set back from the road, a dead tree in the middle, its trunk broken off just above a perfectly formed, round hole. It’s coming up… There it is!” But I could never find it. He even tried to point it out to Gina when she went with us during her visit this past winter but she missed it, too.

Today, as I passed the golf course on the drive home my mind began playing his directions in my head. My eyes suddenly caught the stand of trees set back from the road and there, in the brief second that I glanced over was the dead tree in the middle and I saw it - a perfectly formed, round hole just below the break! Yes, Pete, I finally saw it and it was just as you had described it.

Florida, Fishing and a Pelican - March 27, 2011

I haven't been here for a few days. Actually it's been much longer than that. I used to get up early and sit down at the computer before anyone else was up and that would be my time to write down most of my thoughts, save them in the draft folder and go back later to finish up. I still get up early, and sometimes I write, but much of it just remains in draft. Here's one that's been a draft for a while.

Warren, one of Pete's friends, just got back from a family trip to Florida the other day and he shared this story about taking his young son out fishing while down there:

My family and I went down to the Flordia Keys for a couple of weeks. We had lots of different activities planned - horseshoe tournaments, swimming with dolphins, riding our Harleys, and fishing on a private charter, etc. Our fishing trip, however, kept getting pushed back because the wind would kick up and the captain didn't to be out in rough water with my four year old aboard. We finally went out on March 15th. We had been thinking about Petey, knowing how much he would have enjoyed fishing down here and also because his birthday was the very next day.

The captain ran the boat out and we started fishing near the Seven Mile Bridge. My son, Ryan, caught a number of fish during our outing. In fact he caught the first fish of the day, a nice size Grouper, but we had to throw it back because they weren't in season. At one point, Ryan spotted a huge pelican up on the bridge and asked what it was. The captain said, "Thats a pelican, Ryan, and we will call him Petey the Pelican." My wife and I looked at each other. Obviously, the captain had no idea about our friend Petey, nor how much he had been in our thoughts that day.

A Post From Gina - March 30, 2011

I have sat at the computer many times lately, and I've pecked at the keys, but it all winds up in the unfinished draft folder. Over the course of my blog-writing, I've asked Gina if there was anything that she would like to add but she would hesitate and then decline. Last evening, she asked if I would post something that she wrote about Pete and I responded with an emphatic, "Of course!", so here is what she wrote:



Gina and Pete, June 2010



This weekend, I will be chaperoning and walking with a group of ten students from my high school at the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, something I did last year to help out their then-advisor who has two young children and couldn't spend the night with them. Last spring, Pete was well into his treatment and was doing well, but it was an emotional night nonetheless. Only a few months later, my husband Doug and I flew to New Jersey for a visit and spent an incredible day with Pete at Six Flags Great Adventure - a way for the three of us to spend some time together since Pete was still working on his boat. At the time, I was filled with hope for Pete's recovery and looking forward to getting out on his boat with him this summer. Last June, his goatee was thick, his spirits were high, and his smile was big. This year's Relay, I know, is going to be one thousand times more difficult and emotional because Pete's picture is going to be in the slideshow, one of cancer's many victims.

I've been trying for a while now to find the right words to say about Pete, but it's been hard. My mom often talked about the first time I ever met Pete, 36 years ago when he came home from the hospital. Apparently, I thought he was a doll - until he started crying, that is - and apparently I was pretty upset about losing my role as the only child. Fast forward 36 years and now I am, once again, the only child. The difference is that now I would do anything to have my baby brother back again.

Pete and I had our ups and downs as any siblings would. There was quite a bit of torture during our elementary and middle school years and into high school. Then, when I was 17 and Pete was 16, a mutual friend was killed in a horrific car accident. That moment changed our relationship forever. We had lost two grandparents by then, but this was different. Kenny was our age, and that forced us to reexamine our lives and our relationship. We became closer than close. In my senior yearbook, Pete paid for a message to me that read "Congratulations, my sister my best friend." There were many visits where he came to see me at college with his friend Dave, a case of MGD, and a bottle of Absolut. How my 18-year-old brother got the beer and vodka, I have no idea, but we had some interesting nights! The following year, we alternated. I would go down to see him and Dave and my friend Sherri at Stockton, and he'd come up to Trenton State. After I graduated and returned home, we lived together while my mom moved in with our grandmother to care for her. A few years later, I moved to California, leaving our home to Pete and a rotating group of his friends.

Nancy and Pete in Las Vegas

Being so far away was hard, but I always looked forward to visiting in the summer because I got to spend time with Pete on his boat. He came out to California several times. First with my cat, then with his girlfriend Nancy, which is when I took my very first trip to Vegas. We did Vegas in one day - a 3-1/2 hour drive up in his rented convertible, followed by hours of open-mouthed fascination at the sights, gambling, eating, and a 3-1/2 hour drive home. I remember that Pete had planned on driving home, but I insisted. At the time, I was still a journalist, and I knew that almost every weekend our newspaper reported fatalities on the 15, a long and mind-numbing stretch of desert highway. Pete was pretty ticked that I didn't trust him to drive, but by the time we reached State Line a half hour later, he was already asleep, and around 2 a.m., I had gotten my baby brother and Nancy home safely, just like I promised. His last visit was a few years ago, before the diagnosis. He installed ceiling fans in our house and took a very disappointing fishing trip out of Dana Point. Pete really couldn't understand how I liked living out here, given the smog, the traffic, and most of all, the woefully disastrous fishing.

Pete and Gina at Gina's wedding

A few months after I moved to California, our grandmother died. We were both sad, but I also felt a tremendous sense of peace. Only days before she died, I had talked to her on the phone and told her how much I loved her. I had no regrets. There was relief that after several years of declining health, she was no longer in pain, faith that she would be reunited with our grandfather, her husband of 65 years, and joy that she had lived a full life. Losing Pete has been anything but joyful. There is the relief that he's no longer in pain and the sarcoma is no longer running his life, but there has been an overwhelming sense of grief that is unlike anything I've ever felt before. Nothing - not my grandparents' deaths, not my parents' divorce, not the loss of several pets, not my struggle with infertility - has hit me as profoundly as Pete's passing. I realized today that I'm grieving for myself as well as for Pete. My grief is because I will never again see my brother, my closest ally and partner in crime. My grief is also for all of Pete's unrealized dreams, the unreached goals, the unfulfilled potential. I'm sure Pete wouldn't want that. He was never one to throw himself a pity party. Nancy spent a few hours with him a few weeks before he died, and she told me that his concerns were not for himself, but for his family and friends, and that is so like him to put others first.

People often ask me how I'm doing, and I always tell them the same thing. I'm ok. I'm hanging in there. I have good days and I have rough days. The truth is I am ok. I am hanging in there. I do have good days and I have rough days. But I also miss Pete more than I can express. I think about him every day. I wonder all the time if he knew how much I loved him. I wonder if he could hear me tell him that the last few days of his life when he was unconscious from the pain medication, increased in dosage to manage the excruciating pain from the tumors in his brain. I wonder if he's in heaven, if I'll ever see him again, if I'll have an experience as some of his friends have had, or receive a sign that he's found his way and he's ok.

2010 Luminary

I know I'm going to cry at Relay when I see Pete's picture in the slideshow, and I'm going to cry when I pass his Luminary, and I'm going to cry when the solo bagpiper marches onto the field - symbolizing the people who come into our lives - and when the sound of his bagpipe fades into the night - symbolizing those who have left. But I'm also going to try to focus on the positive. This weekend, I'm walking for Pete, but I'm not just walking in his memory. I believe that if Pete were still here, he would walk so that others could have a chance to realize their dreams, reach their goals, and fulfill their potential. That's just the kind of guy he was.



California Time - March 19, 2011

Gina and I spent some time this afternoon writing out more thank you cards to acknowledge the donations, Mass cards, etc. that we received. There are some, though, that did not include an address and some were even signed only with first names. I feel terrible that I may miss sending a personal thank you to anyone; I hope they'll understand.

Tomorrow we'll be having brunch with Dave and Brenda, two of the people that I met on the Sarcoma Alliance online chat.

I'm not adjusting well to California time for some reason.

The Morning After - March 17, 2011

Yesterday passed, but it ended on a good note, a comforting one. It's about quarter past 5 in the morning and I'm showered, dressed and finished with breakfast and my first cup of coffee. I'll be leaving around 6 to drive to Philly for my flight to CA.

I haven't been on Facebook yet, but as of last night there were an incredible number of birthday wishes for Petey on his page, another indication of the number of lives he touched. I spent some time yesterday going through all the cards and recording addresses so that I can, during the flight and layover, begin writing the "thank you" notes. That's my plan at least. I did start to do it a couple of times but just haven't been able to get in the right frame of mind to complete it.

To say I'm looking forward to my visit with Gina is an understatement. I will also be having dinner this evening with my friend, Charmilyn, who is also Gina's godmother. My CA airport is San Diego and is much closer to her home than Gina's. On Sunday we'll be meeting two wonderful cyber friends in person for the first time. They were wonderfully supportive and informative whenever I joined in on the Sarcoma Alliance chat that is scheduled every Sunday and Wednesday night. Someday I hope to meet more of the people who have been part of that incredible online experience.

It's time to finish up here and get on the road. I hope I'll have the time and energy to add to my blog while I'm out there, but if not, I know I'll make up for it when I get back home.