Dear Kenny

I miss you.  So much.  The last few days I’ve actually run your cell number through my mind over and over just to make sure I can still remember it, and I can.  It's still logged in my memory bank.  On some days, my fingers itch to dial each number onto my key pad to listen to the ring, a ring that used to be followed by your deep timbered voice, “Uh…Hello”.  I swear it always sounded like you were saying yellow instead of hello.  I don’t dial the number anymore though as I don’t want to creep out the new owners.

You went through so much Kenny. I wish I’d understood all that you were going through at the time. Still, I hope I was of some comfort to you when I visited.  I understand so much more now. You were always so private, never wanting to worry anyone, especially mom and dad.  When I have a problem I want to put a blow horn to my lips and give a shout out to the universe of all my business.  You never complained.  I always complain.  You were selfless.  I am selfish.  We could both be reclusive especially during difficult times, although we had our social moments -- me, more than you.  You were so kind and giving.  I’m…well, just ornery on most days with sporadic moments of kindness.  You listened to me.  I listen to myself talk…a lot.  Shoot, we were as different as we were alike.  But seriously Kenny…I listened to you, I heard you — and it was just so painful that I put everything into not crying in front of you, and so I put on my stone face so you wouldn't know.  You wanted to talk about the fact that you were dying.  I needed to believe it wasn’t possible for you to not be in my world.  The thought of losing you was ridiculous and unbearable, but I should have let you talk instead of doing that lip-poke going-mute thing I know I did when emotionally challenged.   I'm so sorry.  Then you weren’t here anymore.  The unthinkable happened, you died. And my heart shattered.  It did.  It is still difficult to comprehend after – what?-- five years? – Geez. No more visits to Shari's for coconut cream pie.  I miss that.  No more visits from you so I can make 1-2 & sometimes 3 German Chocolate cakes during your visits.  First couple of years after I still made them in your memory.  We definitely shared a love of desserts.  A legacy from Dad I think.  And you know what?  I can't help but feel that it should have been me instead of you with pancreatic cancer then.  And now it is me.  So weird.  I wish you could be here to enjoy silly times with your kids and all your new grand kids.  Kenny, your family has grown with the addition of beautiful babies.  I know you are smiling right now with pride. Sigh.  I know God has reasons for what He does, but I just wish He could have given a hint or two of the whys behind the reasons.

I was thinking about something that made me smile on the bus ride back from Seattle today.  Do you remember the time when you were about 12-years old, you and Jimmy were playing cops and robbers?  As you were obviously the bad guy, he handcuffed you to the electric fence.  OOowe! We were so glad that fence was off or you would have been toast -- your lucky day!  The police had to call mom at work to tell her that her son was handcuffed to an electric fence, and nobody knew where the keys were.  Oh she was terrified at first…then furious as all get out. I can imagine she said something like, "What the hell?!" As your older sister, I have to say…well done.  That was frickin’ hilarious! LOL.

Now here is what I really wanted to talk to you about.  My biopsy didn’t go so well today.  Yep.  Cancer is in my liver.  Apparently, it spread from the pancreas.  Dr. Picozzi looked so sad I felt bad for him.  He said, “It’s very difficult for me to have to tell you this because you've been doing so well, but we found cancer in the liver.”  I think his bottom lip trembled a bit.  He’s such a kind man, all I wanted was for him to not feel bad about it.  I said, “Dr. Picozzi, first let me say that I’m glad I’m in your care.  I feel like I’m getting the best treatment."  Then I told him that I'd scheduled a trip to Mexico on March 2014, and wanted him to focus on fixing me up in order to make sure that trip happens.  He smiled, a big smile of relief I think.  “Well”, he said, “I hope you have a wonderful time in Mexico.”  I nodded, pleased, and released a sigh of relief because that’s exactly what I was hoping he’d say.  Now we both know we have a lot of work and healing to do before that day comes. 

More aggressive chemo starts next Thursday.  They will be using a cocktail of drugs like: Fluorouracil by injection, OXaliplatin and Irinotecan which are administered through infusion and Leucovorin which is taken orally by mouth. Radiation is no longer an option for me as cancer could be all through the liver which makes radiation therapy ineffective. Quite a toxic cocktail for one!  The breast cancer is once again put on the back burner.  Holy Moley! 

But regardless of all this, I’m getting on a plane -- bald headed all over again I imagine -- next March to Mexico come hell or high water.  You know how stubborn I can be.  We are like twins in that respect. 

Well, I guess I've said all that needs to be said.  Oh one more thing though, you once told me you weren't scared of dying, but that you were more scared of leaving your children.  That's a hero's response right there Kenny.  I know you've always told your kids you were batman, but I actually believe in you Mr. Superhero. You'll always be one in their hearts, and mine for sure. But I need to be honest, I am scared.  All the time.  I'm scared for my children.  I'm scared for our sisters and brothers -- especially Jimmy -- who will check in on him from time to time?  I worry about Debbie, as you knew I would.  And yes, I worry about dying -- more on the details then anything else, like how much will it hurt.  People say I’m courageous, but I feel like a fraud because at nights I’m a scared little girl crying herself to sleep.  People say I inspire them but how can that be with all this fear weighing on my back.  I am no superhero but I will try harder.  I promise. What do you say? 

Be strong, for your kids.  And just keep doing what you need to be doing.  It’ll be okay.  You'll be okay Big sis!

Yeah, I can hear you saying just that.  Love you Kenny!

 

Angie