Paul's Heart

My Dad – The School Bus Driver

There are moments in life, that just trigger memories.  Yesterday, I had one of those.  I grew up estranged from my father most of my life, so for me to have any kind of concept of my dad to be a “coochie coo” kind of parent, was really hard to imagine.  And in times when I did see him, I definitely would not have described him that way.

Which is why, when we adopted our daughters, one of the first things I told my father, who constantly felt guilt for the lack of being involved in my life, “we can’t change what happened, but you have two beautiful granddaughters and they love you.  If you feel you have something to make up, here is your chance.”  And my dad adored his granddaughters.  They especially knew that going to “pappy’s” house, meant raiding the huge Oreo Cookie cookie jar.

But from what I knew of my father, he was fairly gruff.  Driving truck most of his life, he was a “motor head” and quite talented with handy repairs.  Definitely not “coochie coo.”

But then a few years ago, he dropped a bomb on me.  Having recently retired due to both age and health issues, he decided that he needed something to fill his time in.  He told me, “I am going to drive school buses.”

I was like, “you know dad, they have kids on them?”  He laughed.  I began to warn him of how rough teenagers could be when he cut me off that he would be driving elementary school kids.  And again, I was like, “really?” as if I was concerned how the kids would react to someone the way I used to think about my dad, and  stress the way I “used” to think of my dad.  The fact is, my daughters did change the way he was around children.

My father told me lots of stories of children he had seen somewhere, telling me of behaviors both good and bad, and then turning the conversations to how I was raising our daughters, complimentary.  But one of the most touching stories was that of Chinese twins on his bus, that he said reminded him so much of his granddaughters, not just in a physical resemblance but also in manners.

When my father was diagnosed with lung cancer, eventually he had to retire for good.  And he was so touched by all of the families on his route who gave all kinds of tokens of support.  But is was the hugs from all the children as they said goodbye to their favorite bus driver, that meant the most to him.

It is often said, that depending on the situation of someone’s passing, it is better to remember them a certain way.  And this is definitely one of those memories  I will always cherish of my father.

Yesterday, I saw a school bus with a driver that resembled my father.  Being behind the bus, I saw the red flashing lights as the students poured off the bus, turning to wave goodbye to their driver.

I miss you dad.

Celebrating Josh

I am sad right now.  My sorrow deepened by yet another long term survivor, recently passing away from a return of the same cancer that led Josh into my life, and other health complications.  But it is because of how he lived his life as a survivor, my sadness is oddly not as intense as is normally the case.

The story goes back just before the turn of the millennium, around late 1997 I think.  I was trying to extend my outreach of cancer support to patients beyond my local efforts.  Long before Facebook, there was a “listserve” for those who had battled Hodgkin’s Disease (us long-termers still refer to the politically incorrect terminology).   A mother on this listserve, was looking for support.  Her son, in his mid-20’s was battling Hodgkin’s.  She signed her posts, “Lynn, mom to Josh”.

The impression that I got from Lynn, that Josh could be very stubborn.  He also gave me the impression that he was very private, so I rarely heard many details from Lynn.  Conversations via email typically  revolved around pending testing, and of course, anniversaries of remission, and spontaneous symptoms.  But I only heard from his mother.

That changed in 2000.  With only one question from Lynn, “why on Earth would you want to visit Bakersfield, California?”, I made plans to do just that.  I was planning a weekend trip to the west coast to see a professional football game and thought I would just drop south into Bakersfield and meet my very first long-distance, long term cancer survivor.

There was no doubt what Josh meant to his mother.  Lynn and I spent countless hours exchanging emails about Josh’s conditions and concerns.  And when I finally arrived in Bakersfield, clearly we knew that we only had a limited amount of time during my visit, and Lynn was going to make it count.

But the visit was not going to be all about cancer.  Not if Josh had any say in it.  Besides the rock band Korn originating from Bakersfield, another popular tourist stop, was Buck Owens Crystal Palace.  Yes, for those of us old enough, the same Buck Owens of the “Hee Haw” country variety television show.

The museum/restaurant was filled with all kinds of merchandise that belonged to Buck Owens.  And for a music history nut like me, I was in a place that ranked among Graceland, the Music Experience, or even the Rock N Roll Hall Of Fame.  We all dined at the palace.  There was not talk about cancer.  We enjoyed a great meal, had a few beers.  And Josh showed me, what I have never been able to do in my life, he lived his life the way that he wanted to do it, following his battle with Hodgkin’s.

When we got back to his house, we had some other minor chit chat, about some of his collections that he kept.  But there was never any discussion about cancer.  This is the way that I knew of, that he wanted it to be.  I would hear about his brothers, but no cancer.  That was how I knew Josh, and from the one and only time that I got to meet and spend time with him.  And yes, Lynn, as hard as it was to believe, I enjoyed my visit to Bakersfield.

His mother Lynn, or as I nicknamed her a long time ago, “mother Lynn”, as I often found myself relying on her as a voice of reason for any number of issues that I may have been dealing with, remain good friends.  Lynn is not the first parent I know, that has faced losing a child.  There is an expression that goes something like “no parent should ever have to bury a child.”

Lynn, my friend, I have no concept of the loss you feel right now.  I can only imagine and try to understand.  But if there is one thing I do know, that you never once, stopped fighting for Josh, even when Josh did not want to fight.  I knew from every conversation that we had, how much you loved not just Josh, but all of your children (and grandchildren).

And following that visit, our circle of survivors would extend even further, all across the country, and the Earth, and perhaps, our meeting may have been the beginning of “Paul’s Heart”.  Our connection showed how important, and needed, contact with other survivors, family, and caregivers was to get through each and every day.

Josh, you are missed my friend.  I am thankful that I got to meet you.  And I am thankful for the friend in your mom, that I got to know because of you.