More on I-1000, Life, and Death...

Last week, I wrote a post detailing my father's death and how every single moment with him, from diagnosis till death, though often difficult, was precious. I wouldn't have traded it for the world, and I know that my father wouldn't have either. To me, it was the quintessential argument against I-1000, the assisted suicide aka death with "dignity" measure on the ballot here in Washington State.

Tonight, I went to a Happy Hour talk at a local pub, where our priest and dear friend, Fr. Tom Kraft, OP, shared with us his thoughts on I-1000. Fr. Tom spoke with a unique perspective -- one that I hope, none of us will ever come to know, but sadly, one that many of us will have to experience at some point or another. You see, Fr. Tom has cancer -- he was diagnosed with Stage IVb esophageal cancer in February. He underwent six rounds of palliative chemotherapy that staved off the cancer for a while, and then took a two-month "chemo vacation". In those two months, his cancer advanced and became more aggressive. Fr. Tom now has tumors in his esophagus, stomach, liver, and lungs. He is dying.

Honestly, it scares the hell out of me that we're going to lose him. I love Fr. Tom and have come to think of him as my stronghold here in Seattle. It scares me even more to think that he might suffer, that he is already suffering.

Tonight, Fr. Tom spoke of his suffering, and of the redemptive value of suffering. As believers, suffering brings us closer to Christ, even if we don't understand the why of it. Fr. Tom spoke, too, of the importance of valuing life from its natural beginning to its natural end. It was a great personal and theological talk. And then he said something absolutely profound. Something that should make sense whether or not you're a Christian. Something that should appeal to the common bond in us all: humanity.

"What becomes the law, becomes the norm.
And what becomes the norm, becomes moral."

(The quote, I believe, is attributed to a one Fr. Spitzer...)
Do we really want to elevate suicide to a morally good status?! An acceptable status?! That's eventually what will happen if I-1000 passes. Take for instance, the example of Barbara Wagner in Oregon, where assisted suicide has been legal for 10 years. She was suffering from end-stage lung cancer and was prescribed palliative chemotherapy. The Oregon Health Plan denied her request for chemotherapy -- in the very same letter, they offered her suicide pills. Seriously! Barbara Wagner is not the only person who has received such a letter. Suicide, according to the Oregon Health Plan, it seems, is the morally good (not to mention cheaper) option.

Proponents of I-1000 will tell you that everyone should have the right to choose whether they want to live or die. Ok. So, let's go with that argument for a moment. Well, what about Barbara Wagner? What about the others on the Oregon Health Plan who have been denied life-lengthening palliative chemotherapy? Where was their choice?! They chose to live and their choice was stripped away from them by a money-grubbing insurance company. So, really, what is being touted as a "choice" is no choice at all. It is doing nothing more than yanking control from the poor, the impoverished, the marginalized, and the weak and is pushing them towards suicide.

Do we really want this to happen in Washington as well?!

NO!

HELL NO!!

Please, just think about it (especially if you're voting in Washington State).

Invited Blogger -- What an Honour!

Today, I actually guest-blogged for my friend, Brit. It is her 4-year "blogversary" and to celebrate, she invited a handful of fellow bloggers (and friends) guest post this week. If you're interested, you can check it out at Brit's blog, Running Stitch. You can also use that same link to read all about Brit and her adventures at Casa Stitch -- she has two adorable little boys, and I can assure you that the pictures alone are worth the journey over to her blog.

I've known Brit for (gasp!) 7 years now - maybe even a bit more. It pains me to admit to that, as it makes me realize just how old I am and just how long ago grad school was. Brit is the college buddy (and former roommate?) of Mad-Quilter Mel, who is my grad school buddy. Mad-Quilter Mel's undergrad and grad school worlds suddenly collided one day, and we all became friends. At some point, Brit and Mad-Quilter Mel decided to teach our entire grad school group, affectionately known as the "Biochem Girls", how to quilt. My lesson came one evening in Mad-Quilter Mel's apartment -- sitting at the quilting table with a needle and thread in one hand and a JD and Coke in the other, I learned how to quilt, sort of. At some point, I realized that I could no longer pull my needle through the fabric. I crawled -- yes, crawled -- under the quilting table (surely, the JD and Coke had nothing to do with my crawling under a table) and found a HUGE (2 inch?!) knot of thread on the backside of the quilt. Needless to say, that was the end of my quilting days with alcohol in hand. Fortunately, both Brit and Mad-Quilter Mel were kind enough to keep inviting me to their quilting bees (and giving me only tea to drink) and even letting me sew on their quilts. Eventually, I got the hang of it and was even given Mad-Quilter status, as well!

Many quilting and non-quilting adventures have transpired over the years. I wish I had a photo of us at a quilting bee (I'm pretty sure Brit has a bunch). Instead, though, I leave you with a photo of a non-quilting adventure -- Hawaii. Here we are -- me, Brit, and Mad-Quilter Mel (kissing yet another quilting friend, Butch) somewhere in Hawaii...

Life: What's it worth?!

Next month, voters in our state will have a big decision to make -- yes, we'll be helping elect the next President of the United States, and the the next Governor of Washington, and probably many other elected positions that I've never heard of. But we'll also be voting on the Value of Life. Okay, so this doesn't necessarily sound intuitive, but really that's what I-1000 Death with "Dignity" Assisted Suicide measure is all about.

If we vote to pass this measure, what we're really telling people is sure, you count. - you matter while you're well. But the moment you're ill? Well, you're not really valued any more. So sure, go ahead and kill yourself. Wow. That's quite possibly the saddest thing that I've ever heard. Every person matters.

I say this from experience.

When I was 10 years-old, my father was diagnosed with melanoma in the form of a brain tumor. The oncologist, who first saw the CT in the presence of my mother, was rather blunt about it, "It looks like melanoma. We'll do a biopsy just to confirm, but I know that I'm right. There's no chance -- you might as well start saying goodbye now." He certainly wasn't much for bedside manner, but he was a damn good oncologist. And he was right -- my father died just three short months later. Had this measure been in effect, he would have been a candidate for assisted suicide - death with "dignity".

I assure you, he would have never done it.

I also assure you that he died with dignity.

Despite being young, I remember it very clearly. My grandparents were visiting from out of town. It was a Monday of a 3 day-weekend and it was also my 11th birthday. We were going to go to the Coast to celebrate. I was so looking forward to it. I fell asleep the night before with butterflies in my stomach from excitement and I awoke the next morning feeling rather ill: there was commotion in the house and it didn't sound good. I could hear my mother frantically on the phone with the emergency operator. My father, though conscious and lucid, was paralyzed on one side and unable to speak.

One of the first responders to our home was our former neighbour and a friend of my father. Assessing the situation, he asked my father if he recognized him. One tear slid down my father's cheek -- it was his way of saying, "yes". My brother and I watched all of this from a distance and were eventually ushered out of the room. After my father was loaded on the gurney and was being wheeled away, our uncle told us to say goodbye. I don't remember if I did or not. I'd like to think that I did, though, as it was the last time I saw my father conscious. He slipped into a coma later that day and peacefully died three days later, with my mother at his side.

It was most certainly a dignified death.

Those three months from my father's diagnosis till his death were amazing, though difficult -- in retrospect, I value every single moment of them. Assisted suicide could have taken that away from us. Sure, we knew he was dying. Hell, he knew he was dying. And it was hard. There were hot, angry tears, and screams of frustration -- there were even moments when I wished that he wasn't my dad and that I wasn't part of this family. But there were the sweet moments, too -- the quiet, family moments. Being at bat in a softball game and hearing my dad shout out my name in support. (This is especially meaningful, because I sucked at softball.) Board game nights in the evenings and even yes, doing homework while my dad was looking on. My dad was using every moment to make memories with us. And in his living - and even in his death - I learned so much from him. I am forever grateful and I wouldn't trade a minute of those last three months. I know that he wouldn't have traded them either...

My Dad and me.

*****************************************************************************

Not that it's so unlike me to digress, but I actually logged on to share an audio clip. Our priest, and dear friend, Fr. Tom, was on the radio yesterday discussing his diagnosis of Stage IVb esophageal cancer and sharing his thoughts on the I-1000 measure, the so-called "death with dignity" initiative. We are all very hopeful for Fr. Tom. But living with such a diagnosis does give him a unique perspective to discuss this measure. Before going on the radio, he wrote on his blog, "I ask the Lord to bless my words as I will speak against the initiative and for life, mercy and compassion." Those of you who know Fr. Tom can attest that his words are always guided by the Holy Spirit. His time on the radio was no exception -- if anything though, his words were even more filled with grace. If you haven't already heard his 1/2 hour interview on the "Conversations with Fr. Bob" radio show, you can listen to it (or podcast it) here. I encourage you listen; it's truly amazing. And of course, please do keep Fr. Tom in your prayers.

Cancer Sucks (And Prayers for Fr. Tom)

Our priest, and dear friend, Fr. Tom Kraft, OP announced this week that his cancer had further metastasized after a very hopeful 2-month, "chemo-vacation". He starts chemo again on Monday. The news, in and of itself, didn't really come as a surprise to those of us who know Fr. Tom and see him regularly: he'd lost weight in the past couple of weeks and well, he just somehow seemed a bit fragile and frail lately. Still, I cried when I read his blog posting sharing the news. It's one thing to suspect (and then hope and pray like crazy that you're wrong) and completely another to see those awful words in type staring you in the face. Yes, I cried. And I still find myself periodically crying at the most unexpected and inopportune times.

Fr. Tom is a man of deep faith. He still, somehow, finds the strength and courage to utter - and believe - the words, "Thy Will Be Done". I am in awe of him. He is so amazing. I, on the other hand, can no longer seem to get through the Lord's Prayer without crying these days. It's that damn phrase: "Thy Will Be Done". I want to pray it with sheer and utter conviction, but rather find myself caught up in a swirl of angry thoughts usually centering around the idea of "it's just not fair". And honestly, it isn't fair. It sucks. Cancer sucks. Watching someone you love suffer totally sucks. It really isn't fair. (Having been through this many times in my life, it doesn't get any easier either -- neither easier to handle, nor easier to understand.)

All I really understand is that there's nothing that I can do to control any of this. But I can pray. Fr. Tom's vision is fixed firmly on the Lord. Even though my heart is full of angst, I can honour my friend by setting my sights firmly on the Lord as well. So, I turn to the Lord, Our God, and pray that He has mercy on my friend, Fr. Tom. I pray, too, that our Mother, the Mother of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, will wrap her loving arms around our dear Fr. Tom in this, his time of need, and give him comfort and strength to face the days ahead.

When Fr. Tom was first diagnosed in February, his fellow Dominican brothers organized a novena to Blessed Teresa of Calcutta with the intention of his healing. The prayer spread like wildfire quite literally all over the world, with people who love Fr. Tom praying it in all the corners of the earth. I believe that it was this prayer, and the intercession of Blessed Teresa, that garnered Fr. Tom his 2-month "chemo-vacation". (Fr. Tom has a special devotion to Mother Teresa and even met her once!) So, with this in mind, the Young Adults at Blessed Sacrament chose to reinstate the novena. We began praying it on Thursday evening and will continue to pray it every day until our dear friend, Fr. Tom, is healed. If you find it in your heart, please join us in this prayer for our beloved priest and friend.

Hero Monk Extraordinaire

This past weekend, I not only had the great opportunity to reunite with many of my grad school friends, but I had the honour of hanging out with my good friend, Br. Matthew Augustine Miller, OP.

aka Hero Monk Extraordinaire

aka Jerk (by his own admission - he put it in my phone)

aka Dummkopf (the latest title bestowed on him by Br. Raymond, OP)

Hero Monk - Br. Matthew Augustine, OP

It was amazing, really, to see Br. Matthew Augustine (I call him Matt) in his own turf, at St. Alberts Priory in Oakland. The Priory, the Chapel, the library, and the grounds are all absolutely amazing! How blessed they all are to have such a place in which to spend their formative years of priestly education!

Our mutual friend, Chad (also a seminarian) and I were planning on joining Matt for Mass at St. Alberts. Mass was at 9:30 am and we had a 45 minute drive to get there. To me, this was already impossibly early. Then, Matt suggested we join them for Morning Prayers at 8:30 am. After spending the evening with my grad school friends, I went to bed at 3:45 am that night (morning) and got up at 6:30 am in order to make it in time. It was painful, but so totally worth it. Dominican Morning Prayers are BEAUTIFUL!

After Morning Prayers and Mass, we had breakfast with the rest of the monks, and then ran around the Priory grounds a bit before taking to the streets of Oakland on foot. It was a beautiful, sunny, clear, crisp afternoon. We both enjoyed strolling around a bit, eating AMAZING organic ice cream, and otherwise being silly and doing nothing of any real consequence. On our walk, though, we did find this sign in a thrift shop window that we felt accurately represented us:


And if anyone needs any confirmation of the accuracy of this sign, you needn't look any further than this following photo of these two rockstars:

Me and Matt (aka Hero Monk) hanging out in St. Albert's Priory

Unofficial Reunion

Grad school was fabulous. It was a wonderful time in all of our lives. It was hard work, and there were often a lot of tears (especially on my part), but somehow, we all managed to have fun anyway. Not just any kind of fun, but crazy, off-the-wall antics that made people wonder if anyone in their right minds would actually bestow a Ph.D upon us. It was the same crazy antics that earned us all nicknames like, "Butch", "Bals" and "Bubba". And again, made people wonder if anyone with such a nickname would actually graduate. Well, graduate we did and with our Ph.Ds no less...

Yes, grad school was fabulous, but it was a really long time ago, too.

A lot of life has happened since then.... births, death, marriages, new jobs, new boyfriends, big moves, etc... Sometimes, life gets the best of us and we don't talk as often as we'd like, but somehow that doesn't really matter. We'll all still be friends no matter where we live or how often we chat.

This weekend, we had an unofficial reunion in Mountain View, CA. It was so crazy to see all those old familiar faces in the same room again. And it was fun, oh-so-much-fun! We all looked a bit older and maybe (hopefully?!) a bit more mature, too! But other than that, we didn't miss a beat! I love these guys!

One Year

Today is 17 September 2008.

It is a significant day.

One year ago today, on 17 September 2007 Auntie Becky, my Mamma Hen, was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer. It was a diagnosis that made everyone who knows Auntie fall to their knees in prayer. Cancer is scary. And pancreatic cancer?! Well, that's even scarier. And Stage IV pancreatic cancer?! Absolutely terrifying! The one year survival rate is abysmal.

That's just what makes 17 September 2008 so special.

Forget the statistics and survival rates. Today is not about numbers. Today is about Auntie Becky and the amazing person that she is. Today is the celebration of a year well lived! Ever since I have known her (dare I say Sept 1995?!), Auntie Becky has had a crazy live-life-to-the-fullest attitude. She is amazing and has instilled that attitude in all of her students. This year has been no different. Auntie has been traveling, teaching, and doing whatever-in-the-hell-it-is-that-she-wants-to-do. Auntie Becky?! She rocks! Holla'!

Here is a photo from Auntie's friend, Fr. Tom C.S.C., taken on a Biology Study trip in Australia in 2005.

Auntie happily posing next to a termite mound.
(Seriously. Just who in their right mind would be happy standing next to a pile of bugs?!)

And more recently, here's a photo of Auntie Becky checking out the Redwoods in California this summer:

Auntie and a drive-thru Redwood tree!

Nothing in this past year has abated Auntie's crazy live-life-to-the-fullest attitude. Actually, if anything, at least judged from an outside perspective, that attitude has been strengthened. Auntie Becky is one of the most amazing people I have ever known. (This is not a secret, any one of her multitude of students could tell you that.) But this, year?! Wow, this year, Auntie proved herself to be more amazing than ever. Like I said earlier, she rocks!

Please pray for Auntie Becky. Pray for her miracle! And pray, too, in thanksgiving for her relatively good health this past year. We're all looking forward to celebrating 17 September 2009 and many, many more 17 Septembers to come!