Today I got a break from thinking about my own recent drama, although I'd rather I hadn't. My mom called and relayed some bad news -
One of her friend's children, someone I care about (our families grew up together in Ohio, but he's 11 years younger than I) has cancer. He is 28 and the doctor is recommending that they remove everything nearby. This means the best he can hope for is to live with a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. Not a great conversation piece for a single young guy who'd like to meet a nice gal.
Us, his family, and one other family were all inseperable from as early as I can remember to about 1982 when we moved away. Since then we'd get together somewhere in the country every so often. In 1997 (I think?) All of us went on one last houseboat trip on Lake Powell because that's where his father once told him he'd like to be left when he died, which sadly he had, of colon cancer. On the next to the last morning this young man, then 19, climbed to the top of Gunsight Butte with his father's ashes in the morning and didn't return until dark. When he returned we all listened to Harvest (I heard that soooo many times as a child) together without saying a word. I don't know about anyone else but I didn't stop crying once for the whole record.
It's so unfair. Makes my self-made problems seem trivial.
BTW, did anyone else catch the recent Neil Young documentary on PBS? If you (guitargeek) missed it look for a replay.
One of her friend's children, someone I care about (our families grew up together in Ohio, but he's 11 years younger than I) has cancer. He is 28 and the doctor is recommending that they remove everything nearby. This means the best he can hope for is to live with a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. Not a great conversation piece for a single young guy who'd like to meet a nice gal.
Us, his family, and one other family were all inseperable from as early as I can remember to about 1982 when we moved away. Since then we'd get together somewhere in the country every so often. In 1997 (I think?) All of us went on one last houseboat trip on Lake Powell because that's where his father once told him he'd like to be left when he died, which sadly he had, of colon cancer. On the next to the last morning this young man, then 19, climbed to the top of Gunsight Butte with his father's ashes in the morning and didn't return until dark. When he returned we all listened to Harvest (I heard that soooo many times as a child) together without saying a word. I don't know about anyone else but I didn't stop crying once for the whole record.
It's so unfair. Makes my self-made problems seem trivial.
BTW, did anyone else catch the recent Neil Young documentary on PBS? If you (guitargeek) missed it look for a replay.
I hate to hear that about your friend, man. That's gotta be a hard row to hoe at any age.
You hang in there, okay? Don't let it bring you down, it's only castles burning.