Cancer and a bike ride

I just wanted to take a moment to let you know how my ride in the Sunflowers to Roses Bike Tour went this past Sunday.  Wow what a day in terms of weather, and actual number of riders.  Last year – calm winds, sunny skies, and temperatures starting out around 65.  This year I think we were thrust right into monsoon season.  Gusting winds and hard driving rain welcomed us Sunday morning. 

For me, this was my 4^th year riding in the Sunflowers to Roses Bike Tour – four very memorable rides.  Once again I was humbled to be amongst some amazing individuals – some who are cancer survivors riding in celebration of life, and others who road along in silence thinking through what cancer has meant to them and their family.   

In years past I have outlined the impact that this ride has had on me.  This year will be no different. 

This year I fell into both of the categories listed above – celebrating my dad’s successful cancer treatment (it has been just over a year since his treatments ended), but also riding in silence at times thinking about my aunt and the impact her life, and ultimate passing, had on my family.   So with that, following is my story of the 2009 Sunflowers to Roses ride.

As I said, the day did not start the way any of us had planned.  Rain was being dumped on us by the bucket load, and it was blowing sideways just to make it a little more interesting.  At the start, we had limited access to shelter, but in spite of that there were still riders who came out to ride.  There were still riders who came that morning to register – imagine that – coming out in a RAIN STORM and registering to ride in a charity bike ride.  250 or so of the over 500 registered riders made it there.  250 or so officially kicked off the 2009 ride.  250 riders all thinking about what this ride meant to them.  All thinking about what this meant to their family and friends. 

There was only one thing, this year verses any other year, that kept running through my mind – this day reminded me of my dad’s cancer treatment and the milestones that were made throughout his treatment.  By that I mean we started out in a rain strong (i.e., hearing dad had cancer).  The only way I can truly explain this is to say that, for the first part of the ride, the rain was pelting us the whole way.  Not just a friendly drizzle – no a sideways, pounding rain storm.  Black clouds swirling kinda stuff.  For those of you who have lived through a loved one being diagnosed with cancer I am sure you can understand this connection.  To me – this was like hearing about Dad’s cancer and the tears that flowed.  Being pelted by the unrelenting rain – storm clouds constantly brewing.  The rain teasing us, and then pounding us.  Teasing then pounding.  Emotions all over the place.

I am not sure how long this period of the ride lasted, but on my return trip, I started to see a break in the rain.  Sure I was sopping wet.  Sure I was miserable.  But the storm was letting up.  The unrelenting rain had relented.  For me – this was like the end of dad’s treatment.  He was miserable, but still moving toward a goal.  Still moving toward the conclusion of this ride.  We were still miles out, but moving forward at an ever increasing clip, with an end finally in sight.

And at the end of the ride, and I am not making this up, the sun broke out of the clouds for a moment.  When I turned toward the group of cheering supporters the sun hit me and the other riders I was riding with head on.  The celebration began for each of us at this moment.  We finished a miserable ride, but ended with a celebration in the sun.  The feeling here was so much like how I felt after the doctor told my dad, “Everything looks good – I will see you in 3 months.”  The sun that appeared in our life arrived at the right time to wash away a little of that misery.  Our tears could finally dry up.

So with that short story in mind, I wanted to let each of you know who I rode for.  There are so many things to say, but for me the names below say it all.  I rode for the families of those listed below, and more importantly I rode for the following loved ones…

I rode in celebration of: My dad – Robert Johnson, Mary Ann Beck, Weston Funk, Norma Monday, Danny Spain, Anand Gupta, Ramesh Sinha, all of the breast cancer survivors, and all cancer victims and their families.

I rode in memory of: My Aunt Venesa, Grandpa Rich, Sam Weeks, David Taylor, Jean Morsbach, Roy Stice, Claude Sevart, & Robin Redman, Caroline, William, and Raymond Yep, Gilbert Lee, Herman Spain, and as a friend said, “all of my family members who have died from cancer and are too numerous to name.”

Thank you once again for taking the time to read this, and for allowing me to ride for so many of you.  Thank you for allowing me to ride in memory/in celebration of your loved ones.

My Personal Storm Story

 

This purpose of this story came after reading storm stories on Norester’s Storm blog.  Be sure to head over there and check out the stories layed out there.  They will touch your heart.  Today is my day if you will, so here you go. 

I’m really not sure where to start this story.

My first thought was to start this out around the time I was a pimple faced kid and accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior? Then I thought, no how about during the time in my life when I shoved Him in a corner and kinda forgot about Him for awhile? A long while. But I finally settled upon the last year or so in my life – 2008 – in part since this is not about my life history, rather it is about my storm. Or more specifically, my storm that combined with my dad, my mom, my sisters’ storms – for me it was a storm that sucked me into it quicker than I thought possible, and with basically no warning.

The story I am about to tell you touches multiple facets. It will speak openly about my faith. It will speak openly about my lack of faith. It will speak openly about my pain, and the pain of those around me.

So, lets’ get started. Let’s jump right in.

First some facts for those of you who have not been along for the entire ride, my dad was diagnosed with squamous cancer (in his case throat cancer) on January 20, 2008. What followed was a series of 35 radiation treatments, 7 chemo treatments, somewhere around 5500 miles driven, numerous doctor visits, a life of living a “normal life” to one that ended in feeding tubes because it was to difficult to eat or drink. In short, this was a disruption to our “comfortable” way of life, and to a point, my life felt like this: 

I saw this picture and thought – this was me – this was my life.

As you read above, my life changed when dad was diagnosed with cancer. The biggest thing I had to deal with obviously was my dad’s health, but I also worried about him… you know – worried like I didn’t know I could. Thoughts ranged from “Is he going to die,” to “what will happen to mom?” to “why now?” “why him” “why…why…why…” I was basically stuck in “why” mode. And, to top it off I was also worried about mom and dad’s financial health, mom’s emotional and physical health, my little sister, my other sister, to x… to y… to z… Then you add in the stress of family life, work life, and spiritual life – well life seemed to stop for a minute for me.  You know when you go through something like this, life is spinning around faster and faster until a point where it truly feels like it stops – that point of realization…that point where your emotions slam you.  Your emotions crush you.  And for a moment, nothing else mattered except the burden you feel.  Now take that times a 1000, add some tears and you have life stopping for a moment.As I look back at this now, I realize that I was relying on “me”… leaning on no one… trusting few. Including God.

I started to question – I started to slip – I started to not understand – I started to pretend – I started to pull inside myself. So, as the days turned into weeks that turned into months, I started to question more… things that I never thought of before crept into my daily thoughts… “Where are you God!?!” I demanded… “If you are here, what do I need to do? What should I be doing?” ” How can this be happening? Why is it happening? Why now? Why to dad? Why to mom? Why to us…life has been so hard already… we have lost so many friends and family lately.

We can’t handle another death… I …can’t …handle … another … death!

All these emotions lead to the feeling of the coffee cup – slowly sagging… slowly failing. 

Then I finally hit that point. That point when you drop down to your knees and pray. That point when you finally admit that you cannot do it alone. That you admit you need help. That you do need to trust someone. That you need to stop pretending. For me that was right after I lost another friend to cancer – right in the middle of dad’s cancer treatments.

My prayer was simple… I cannot remember the exact words, but I said, “Here you go Lord. You know my problems. You know my pain. You know my needs. I cannot do this alone any more. I am putting 100% of my trust in You. I cannot begin to understand why all of this is happening, but I can put my trust in You. So, Lord, here ya go. Help me. Please…. “

And I really don’t know how to explain it, but life started to feel different. It was as if I switched cups – and now my cup was a little taller. As I look back God was talking to me all along. He was walking with me all along. He was carrying me most of the time – all of the time – I just choose not to listen or pay attention. As I look back I can see He was part of my bible study group. He was there with my friends when they sat and listened to my struggles. He was there when people showed up in my life who were in need of help and I became that friend who listened. There were times God carried me during the darkest part of my doubts and struggles…through the darkest parts of my storm. He led me, gently, back out of my storm.

I am listening now – and God is everywhere and in everything I do. He speaks to us in so many ways. There are times when He is working harder in my life and those are the times that I can feel his presence more – the “God Moments” if you will.

So with all this said, is my life perfect – no. Is dad’s cancer gone – only time will tell. Is this my final storm – probably not. Do I continue to struggle – absolutely. Do I see differently now – yes. Do I pray more – absolutely. Does God know these things – yes. Is He there – yes.

So with that I end with this – Pray always.

(1 Thes. 5:17) Pray always… such a short verse… but worth repeating – daily, hourly, every minute.

(1 Thes. 5:16 – 18 ) Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

God helped me through this storm. He taught me so much. He used me along the way.

Wow… thank you God.

Take care.
Your brother in Christ.
Michael

 

Dad’s horrific battle

Today is another step in my dad’s battle against cancer.  He returns to the hospital for a PET scan today to see where we are. Was that scare tissue we saw with the CAT scan, or the cancer?  He returns today to see if the pain and battling over the last year worked – at least for now. 

In 2008, what I saw was a remarkable man walk through a horrific battle, stumble but not fall, and then regain himself over the course of 2008.  He looked and sounded great during Christmas, so this is hoping and praying we don’t have to do it all over again.  Honestly, and yes selfishly, emotionally I am not ready… I know that I should not worry about things – but dang I do. 

So with that, I ask for prayers for both my mom and dad.  I ask for prayers for dad’s physical health, and for both mom and dad’s emotional health.  I pray that you will join me today and pray for them… that our voices will reach Him in unison.

UGH

It is an UGH Day.  The weather is changing… the rain is getting ready to start. The weather man is promising hail tomorrow morning during rush hour.  I am triple book this evening. 

Lately I never stop to look around – except when there is an accident. 

Worrying is taking hold again.  My dad is heading back next week for another follow up cancer checkup.  Two small specs appeared on his lung and kidney not long ago.  They may have been there before.  If they are growing – the cancer is back (or never really left).  If they are the same – we keep an eye on them.

I have been wondering a lot about faith, love, reaching out, sacrafice, commitment, expectations, silent periods, loud periods, my role.  I am afraid sometimes to ask God for fear of what the answer will be.

I have been thinking about riding my bike and my lack of excerise lately.  The mountain bike is begging to be ridden, and riding on the trails is a nice outlet for me to think, pray, and enjoy the moment.

I am writing another song, and I am getting back into photography as well (in a very small way).  So, I am trying to understand this creative passion that I have right now and push it forward in a way that will help someone. 

What about you…

Team Imagine – further update

So here is part of the team… Baby Mackenzie in the middle beside Dad, Jason to the left in the blue shirt, me to the right and Rob on the end.  Kati (mom) is taking the picture.  Who would have thought that cute little Baby Mackenzie would start getting sick and infecting mom and dad… they missed two days afterward.

Me, well, I guess I am glad that I didn’t hold her.

Total raised to-date in online and off-line donations – $2300… next year the goal is $3000.

Team Imagine – my charity bike ride

I just wanted to take a moment to let you know how my ride in the Sunflowers to Roses bike ride on Sunday, August 17^th went.  Wow what a day in terms of weather, number of riders, and yes once again number of hills.  The winds were calm.  The sky was sunny, and the temperature started out right around 65.  We had almost 400 riders – 400 men, women, and children.  400  riders all thinking about what this ride meant to them.  All thinking about what this meant to their family and friends. 

Last year, I started out by saying three words, wonderful, memorable, and hilly.  Then upon further reflection more words kept creeping into my mind, rewarding… humbling… and emotional…. This year, was no different – except the word emotional took on a new and bigger meaning.  In fact, for me, this whole year has taken on new meaning. 

With that said, I wanted to pass along a piece about the ride that has stuck with me.  

One of the riders on our team pulled his daughter behind him for the entire ride.  Up hills, down hills, and on long/short straight always.  He started out as strong as the rest of us, but as the ride continued he started to feel the impact of pulling his daughter along… but he never stopped.  He continued on. Since we were a team, we all hung back to offer our encouragement.  On occasion, one or two of us would blow out the legs a little (in other words – we got to go fast for a minute), but we would always come back to the group.  Near the end, he was really struggling.  The hills were catching up to him, yet he still did not stop.  In fact, even when we offered to take over and ride his bike for awhile, he would not stop.  He had set a goal to make it to the end.  He continued on.  So we rode on, kidding him and encouraging him, all the while watching for the finish line.  And when that line appeared, we crossed it together.

Why am I telling you this story?  Well, it reminds me of my dad and his cancer battle.  He was as strong as any of us in the beginning – actually stronger.  He kept up with us, but the hills of his battle took their toll on him.  He slowed down, but he never gave up.  All of us took our time to be with him. Offering encouragement, kidding him, just riding along with him to let him know he was not alone.  Along the way, we wish we could have taken over for a little while, but this was one ride he had to do by himself, but with a chorus of supporters surrounding him.  His goal was set.  He continued on.  When it was all said and done, we were able to cross the finish line together, we were finally able to stop and say how proud we are of him.  We can now say he is a cancer survivor.

So with that short story in mind, I wanted to let each of you know who Team Imagine rode for.  There are so many personal reasons why each of us did this, and there are so many things to say, but for us the names below say it all.  We rode for the families of those listed below, and more importantly we rode for the following loved ones…

We rode in honor of: Robert Johnson (my dad), Betty Lepper, Lucy Butler, Wain Sloan & Christina Campbell, Norma Monday, Manisha Kulshresta, Bryan Lee, Jan Condreay & Dottie Arms, Sonja Yngve, Louis F. Rhodes, Jr., Dick and Judy Russell, and all cancer victims and their families.

We rode in memory of:  Aunt Venesa (my aunt), Gene Hilt, James Stillman, Grandpa Rich, Herman Spain, Dorothy and Elsie Woodruff, Russ’ Dad, Paul’s Mom, Vina Lue Larson, Hema’s aunt who fought the 18 year battle against breast cancer, Meeta & Milan’s dear friend – Sameer & cousin – Uma Jiji, Ruth Morsbach, James A. Lewis, Louis Rhodes, Sr., Carol Kramer, Jean McClatchey, Wilma Young, and as a friend of mine said, “all my family members who have died from cancer and are too numerous to name.”

During this ride, I thought about each of you.  I thought about your loved ones.  I thought of our hope, our pain, our glee, and sometimes our grief.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and for allowing me to ride for so many of you.  Thank you for allowing me to ride in memory/honor of your loved ones.

Take care my friends.

Michael