Comments on: A Chance to Talk

By: My Halloween Treats | Mind Over Miles

My Halloween Treats | Mind Over Miles — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 00:18:32 +0000

[...] crusade against cancer. This week, Fat Cyclist has struggled more than I’ll ever know and his recent writings have touched me in ways my simple words cannot [...]

By: The Fragility of Life « Be The Change

The Fragility of Life « Be The Change — Sun, 03 May 2009 19:46:16 +0000

[...] A Chance to Talk 10.29.2008 | 10:01 am By the end of Monday, I didn’t really think I’d ever get a chance to talk with Susan — my real Susan — again. And that, more than any of the other fifty things that have me messed up, left me on the verge of panic. And then, yesterday afternoon, Susan became herself again. It sounds odd, maybe, but others noted it too: you could tell even before talking to her. Just looking at her eyes was enough. And so she and I (with the help of my Mom, who is doing a wonderful job of taking care of us) went about having an ordinary day: helping the kids with homework, planning Halloween costumes, going on a walk in what must be the best Fall weather the world has ever had. Until yesterday, I really had no idea how wonderful an ordinary day is. But as I watched Susan help one of the twins with her reading homework, I thought to myself that I would rather be right there than on a trip to Hawaii or Italy or anywhere. Then, after the kids went to bed, I talked with Susan about our hospice nurse and how we’re focusing our efforts right now on helping her keep her mental clarity — though I really had no idea we’d have such great success. It was such a relief to have the conversation with Susan, to have her be a full partner in this, instead of it being a decision I was having to make mostly on my own and imposing on her. Now I can feel right about it. More important than the talk about our shift in focus — from fighting the cancer in her body to fighting the symptoms coming from the cancer in her brain — I got an opportunity I expect billions and billions of people have wished for: Having thought I had missed my last opportunity to tell Susan all the things I want to, I suddenly had a new opportunity drop into my lap. A second chance. And you can bet I did not pass it up. Susan’s still herself today. She got up with me and helped get the kids ready for school, just like any ordinary day. But ordinary now feels so amazingly extraordinary. Now, I don’t consider this a “call to action” blog (though, honestly, could fatcyclist.com now be any further from its original purpose of being a cycling lifestyle / comedy / weight-loss blog?). But I’m going to make an exception today. I’m going to tell you to put yourself in my shoes. Think for a moment about the person you care most about. Now think about what you’d wish you could have said if that person were taken away from you. Now think about how glad you would be if you were given a second chance to say those things. And then go say them. [...]

By: Mark B.

Mark B. — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 22:56:08 +0000

I tell my daughter every night at bedtime that I love her, and I’ve had nothing but kind words for my sister & her family every night, as well. It’s what I practice, after losing my dad to heart failure in ‘95.

When my mom passed (in hospice, 2-2003), the last thing I said to her (don’t know if it registered, she was at least semi-comatose) was, “Goodbye, Mom…I love you.” Slightly past midnight that night, my brother called to tell me she’d passed.

My family is all I really have of value; the house is home, but I’ve had several. The bike is precious, but it will only last a short while in comparison, before another one takes its place.

I feel you, and I agree.

By: S

Sat, 01 Nov 2008 15:58:22 +0000

Fatty, I drop by for the bike stuff, the quirky humour even.

This personal stuff is downright scary…

If I am half the man you are when the time comes; then I’ll be content.

By: Pink

Pink — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 13:36:46 +0000

My Mom died of lung cancer and I never knew she was going to die. I wrote a letter about her for her memorial and said that she didn’t just get my goat, she kept it tethered in her back yard. Like many mothers and daughters, we were too much alike.

I am so sorry for the pain you’re going through. But thank God that you had those hours with her to say what you needed to say.

You’re a good man and a good father and you will survive.

By: Brian

Brian — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 10:54:14 +0000

Elden – a message everyone needs to hear. Thank you. The bustle of life you can easily take the time you have with loved ones for granted, and that is just a waste.

By: roadrash

roadrash — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:14:09 +0000

Elden,

Just arrived home from a long business trip to L.A. I woke my wife up to let her know just how much I love her and appreciate everything she does for our family. And I will tell her every chance I get – - especially when she is awake :-)

Continued prayers for strength and grace.

By: ann

ann — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 15:09:17 +0000

“I laid beside Susan . . . as she pressed her hand to my chest to stop the flow of blood from the knife wound she was certain she had just given me.”

I woke mid-sleep to pray, and realized how very deep this metaphor is – and how she is expressing, through the haze that is her reality, how dear you are to her. Blessings to you all, and to Susan as she works so hard to express her love.

By: Twenty-Something

Twenty-Something — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 14:11:31 +0000

Seriously, truly, amazing. Your words came at a really crucial time for me, Thank You.

Wishing you amazing things for the future and more “ordinary” days to come!

By: ms picket to you

ms picket to you — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 00:07:18 +0000

for the first time ever, i read someone’s words OUT LOUD to my husband. in so many ways, this moved me and us both and i thank you so very much for having the willingness and ability to share it. profound and purely… love.