Joey Feek: A Life Well-Loved

Joey Marie Martin Feek

September 9, 1975 – March 4, 2016

The world has lost another loving mother and talented woman to cervical cancer. Her bravery and the support of her #1 fan, husband Rory Lee Feek, have made Joey's passing particularly painful.

First, watch the Overstock.com commercial to remind yourself of of where it is that you remember Joey Feek. Sweet, pure, loving, simple, caring, country Joey and her husband Rory, along with their dog Rufus made one of the endearingly enduring commercials I've seen.

I am not one who follows country music closely, so I'll admit, Joey's death was a surprise to me. But after I heard the news, I spent the whole morning reading Rory's journal, This story is just so heart-wrenching. These days, all of us know someone who has battled cancer. Many of you have battled cancer and so have I. Many of us know someone close to us who has lost that fight, such as my brother. Cancer is such a scourge. Cancer takes way too many of us too soon.

Please read about Joey and her courageous battle. Send some support to Indy, her daughter with Rory, and Rory's older daughters as this shattered family tries to make sense of a senseless and devastating loss. Think about what you might be willing and able to do to improve cancer research, diagnosis, treatment, and care.

For those not familiar with Joey, this Wikipedia article describes her rise to fame, her cancer diagnosis, the birth of her daughter, and the resurgence of the cancer that claimed her life at the age of 40.

This Country Rebel blog is a source of so much information about Joey's life and death. I started here and got lost for hours and hours.

Re-Mission: To Mission Again

Today I am quietly celebrating four years of remission. 

Any joy I feel is tempered by the fact that in the past year, by brother and so many other people around the world had their lives cut short by cancer. 

I want to take the opportunity on this anniversary to ask you to take some action with me, to accept this mission again:

• celebrate of early detection, good facilities, and competent treatment, for these may have saved my life and the lives of a growing band of survivors
• support those doctors, patients, caregivers, and family members who are in the fight
• remember those caregivers and family members who are grieving
• foster compassionate support and ongoing research to find a cure for this dreaded disease

Cancer changes everything. In a very real sense, we are all in this battle together.

"No one wants cancer. All of us who have heard their doctor pronounce the diagnosis have crossed a line no one wants to cross. Once crossing the line, one's perspective on life is forever changed. There is no cure for cancer (yet!), and one cannot un-get it. Once cancer is in your body, the best you can hope for is to get the disease into a management phase known as remission." --Read more HERE

For those of us who have walked the walk and survived. let us talk the talk to raise awareness, increase empathy, and improve funding for research and care. Remission means to mission again!

May is Brain Tumor Awareness Month

The Todd Tree is Thriving

February 16th would have been my middle brother Todd's 52d birthday. To commemorate his birthday and celebrate his life, I planted an acorn from a Seeds of Life kit. The kit was provided with great compassion by my colleagues at Armed Forces Services Corporation (AFSC).

On Easter, I published a photo of the first glimpse of the seedling poking up through the soil and moss. The accompanying text featured a timely quote from Mark Nepo's Book of Awakening.

Ninety days after Todd's birthday, in the middle of Brain Tumor Awareness Month, I took the above photo. This shows that--since first peeking above the ground on Easter--Todd's tree is thriving. The framed photo of Todd is his memorial brochure. He seems to appreciate his seedling's progress.

I do not understand cancer. I cannot bring my brother back. The mysteries of life and death are beyond my comprehension. I cannot explain why the spark of life left my brother in the middle of his extraordinary life. I do not understand how the spark of life was ignited in that little acorn, the seed from a far away red oak tree.

Like the acorn, I am planted in dark despair and buried in cold uncertainty. In the midst of eternal emptiness, some mysterious spark speaks to me. Do the best I can with what I have where I am.

I can:

• honor my brother's memory. 
• nurture the seedling that is now a living memorial, and someday plant it in the forest near my home. 
• surrender my ego-driven desire to know and understand, and accept some things on faith. The seed cracks open without understanding why.
• show compassion to others in the fight--patients, caregivers, and family
• trust science and support those working to find a cure. 

May is Brain Tumor Awareness Month. You can join the fight to find a cure for brain tumors:

• promote awareness about brain tumors; 
• help fund brain tumor research; and 
• reach out to patients and caregivers who are in the fight. 

The Mission? Remission!

Note: this post follows and builds upon a similar Facebook status I posted previously.

Today I am quietly celebrating three years of remission. Three years ago today, my endocrinologist told me in person what he and my oncologist had decided after interpreting my latest labs: No Evidence of Disease. What a thrill and what a relief to hear those three little letters: N.E.D.

I was diagnosed with papillary carcinoma in September 2008. The battle that ensued consumed the better part of 3 years. Biopsies, surgeries, chemo, radiation, scans, labs--It all seems so long ago. These days, I take a pill every morning and I have frequent labs and ultrasound checks, but otherwise, all is well with me. 

As you read this, please join me in celebration of early detection and good facilities, and competent treatment, for these may have saved my life. Celebrate also compassionate support and ongoing research to find a cure for this dreaded disease.

Today my joy is tempered by my younger brother's ongoing struggle. He was diagnosed in November 2012 with a cancer much more difficult to treat. His battle continues and I long for the day when he will hear my favorite three-letter word: NED

No one wants cancer. All of us who have heard their doctor pronounce the diagnosis have crossed a line no one wants to cross. Once crossing the line, one's perspective on life is forever changed. There is no cure for cancer (yet!), and one cannot un-get it. Once cancer is in your body, the best you can hope for is to get the disease into a management phase known as remission. 

For those of us who have walked the walk and survived. let us talk the talk to raise awareness, increase empathy, and improve funding for research and care. For my brother and everyone I know fighting cancer today, 

your mission is re-mission! 

An Individual Doesn't Get Cancer... A Family Does

Each week, two anonymous students named Dangerdust create amazing chalkboard Art. One example is shown below. I selected this one for reasons which will be obvious to PhilosFX regulars.

You can see the rest of the article and many more examples HERE.

A skeptic wonders...

• If they are anonymous, how do we know there are two of them? 
• How do we know that the art works take up to 11 hours to complete? 
• If the art works appear every Monday morning, isn't it pretty obvious that the rogue student artists are up to their mischief Sunday nights? 
• Quick show of hands: who has heard of Banksy? 
• OK, keep your hands up if you ever heard of the Columbus College of Art and Design?
• I think I see a publicity stunt...

Enjoy the art and don't ask too many questions! 

We All Have Cancer (NaPoMo 30/30)

We All Have Cancer

I have cancer. My brother has cancer. We all have cancer...
We are all terminal--but for some of us, that reality looms more ominously

What would you do if you knew that this day would be your last?
I am not talking about some vague "within 3 months" window. I mean TO-DAY

• Would you start writing a book? The Great American Novel?
• Would you smoke pot for the first time, because, why not?
• Start a fight? Settle a score? 
• Train for that marathon you've been wanting to run?
• Would you look at an old photo album and recall glory days gone by?
• Call up an old friend and renew old ties? 
• Make some tea?

Hmmmm.....

• Would you review and catalog your memories in a desperate highlight reel?
• Would you gather and distribute your treasures in an attempt to be remembered?
• Would the tone of your last poem be wistful? Hopeful? Fearful? Resigned? All of the above?
• If you wouldn't start reading a new book or sit in a multiplex on your last day, why not?
• Would you rush to the office to finish up all those projects? Or maybe just one project?

Here's an idea: Grab a seat near the fountain at the Sunset Plaza Mall and just watch and listen as people scurry by, eventually slumping over and sliding into the water, the water... 

• On second thought
• Noooo....

Such things as we know we would not do on our last day--why do we do them at all? Have we so many days to spare that we can afford to waste a few? How do we know this?

Let's grab a bottle of wine and a blanket, right now, and maybe a candle, and a couple of our finest glasses. We'll go to Gravelly Point and watch the planes take off and land, as they always do.

Until the sun sinks behind the horizon, as it always does.

And we shall have, for at least that brief moment, truly lived!

More Than Tough Enough

Todd, a graphic artist by trade, made this poster himself. This is version 2

My brother Todd is one tough hombre. 

He has brain cancer (Grade 4 Glioblastoma Multiforme, or GBM IV) and I feel sorry

... for the tumor! 

Surgeries, radiation, chemo, whatever it takes, tumor. You can hide and we will find you and dig you out and crush you. The little bits you leave behind? We'll slice 'em with a cyber knife before they can even take root, and then we'll slice the slices. Bet you didn't see that coming, now did you? There's more, you twisted little freak. You can change your DNA and we will simply come after you with a different toxic cocktail designed to snuff you out. 

My brother has tools: (a) a chemo port in his chest so he can pump you full of poison; (b) titanium plates like manhole covers in the side of his head. He can reach in there and choke the living shit out of you any time he wants, you shape-shifting little parasite; and (c) a zipper on the right side of his head. That zipper is proof that he is ready for you. 

Meanwhile, what have you got, tumor? A few demons in your corner? We have a host of angels, prayer warriors around the globe, and a faith you cannot shake. 

You are not one to give up easily, or you would have left already. I think we can all respect you for your tenacity--if not your judgment. But here is the bottom line. You should have stayed home. You are messing with the wrong hombre. You leave now, peacefully, and we'll call it a draw. You stick around, and 

...we'll kick you back to the gates of hell, you gnarly bastard! 

Visit Todd's CaringBridge site with Journal and Guestbook: http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/todddoane

Cancer and the True Meaning of Life

My brother, my lovely sister-in-law, and their son

It was Thanksgiving, 2012, when my brother was diagnosed with cancer. Glioblastoma multiforme, or GBM, is a particularly hideous form of brain cancer. The tumor actually modifies its own genetic makeup in a sophisticated display of adaptive defense. Too much treatment risks harming healthy tissue. Too little, and the tumor adapts--literally morphing its DNA to become more resilient. Chemicals that threaten to kill the GBM tumor today will not have the same effect on the tumor tomorrow. A length of GBM tumor may be composed of multiple different organisms.

Think about that! GBM is the Ninja Warrior of cancer tumors...

The tumor is fighting hard to survive. As cancers go, GBM is particularly crafty and insidious. It is fighting hard and dirty. My brother, his medical team, his family and friends, and a global network of Prayer Warriors are fighting back--harder and, if not dirtier, at least with full access to all the weapons available within the medical profession. Todd has endured surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and a second surgery at Thanksgiving 2013.

My brother sees special significance in the fact that his two surgeries have occurred at successive Thanksgivings. The reason? One cannot be full of both resentment and gratitude simultaneously. One emotion inevitably pushes out the other. Wow! The impact of that insight strikes me as Profoundly True. Todd has chosen the high road. He is focused on the lessons his battle has taught him. His acceptance of what he cannot change, and his courage in facing what he can--and must--change, is an inspiration to thousands of people.

It is unfair that my brother has GBM, but no one ever said that life would be fair. The fact is, cancer of any type could happen to anyone, at any time. For reasons beyond our control, the life force of a bunch of atoms took the form of a GBM tumor and took hold in my brother's body. Anger and resentment at this travesty of justice would be understandable. But my brother's response has been one of grace and gratitude. While no one wants cancer, having cancer can take us to the cliff's edge and force us to contemplate the ultimate meaning of life.

Paradoxically, my brother reports that since his second surgery, he has never felt more alive, more purpose-filled, or more committed to helping others achieve lives of significance. The battle raging within him has honed his sense of who he is and why he is here on this planet. He lives now to make each day a holy gift.

As for me, I am not as evolved. I don't just want the tumor gone, I want to kill it with my bare hands. I wish my brother's tumor had eyes, so I could stare into them as I squeeze the life out of it and watch it die in my grip. I want to look into cancer's beady Ninja eyeballs and witness the moment when that tumor yields to its demise and leaves my brother for the last time. My resentment and anger are blocking my ability to accept what I cannot control and to express gratitude for the good that has come and that will come from this experience.

In other words, I need to be more like my brother.... 

May we all find the true meaning of life while we have time to put the knowledge to good use! May we all be truly happy and healthy in the year ahead.

Peace! 

Related post: http://philosfx.blogspot.com/2012/11/my-brother-todds-prayer-network.html