Leaving / Rejoice, by Will Stanton

[This is the last posting submitted by Will Stanton. — Editor] 

Leaving

He was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1991.  We knew the inevitable end; we just did not know when.  Each passing day, each passing year, was, in its own way, leaving.  We both understood that.  Some acquaintances told me, “Why don't you leave him?”  I would not, not that way.  I stayed.

I did not cry as a child.  My mother told me that, and we both pondered my difference from other children.  Of course, I felt emotion, but nothing seemed to drive me to tears.  That changed later.  A special someone came into my life who truly mattered - - - and then left.  It was the leaving that changed me.  As the famous 19^th-century, authoress George Eliot stated,  “Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.”

I always have been sensitive to others, perhaps unusually empathetic and caring.  That increased significantly after his leaving, both with people whom I knew, and also even fictional characters in movies.  If, in viewing well presented stories,  I become particularly attached to characters who have deep bonds with each other, I apparently identify with them, at least subconsciously; for, if they part from each other, either in having to leave or, perhaps, in dying, emotion wells up within me.  Such deep emotion comes suddenly and unbidden.  When a good person dies, leaving the loved-ones behind, the emotion catches within my gut.  When loving, deeply bonded people part ways, never to see each other again, that, too, deeply moves me.  Again, quoting George Eliot: “In every parting, there is an image of death.”

I admit it: I never have come fully to terms with reality, with mortality.  And, I'm not like so many who choose to hold deep-seated beliefs that this world is merely a stepping-stone to a so-called “better world,” beliefs based upon common indoctrination and, perhaps, upon fear and hope,  Oh, I don't mind so much the afflictions and death of inhuman humans, those whose cruelty and dire deeds harm others.  But, it is the good people, the loving people, people who have contributed so much to the betterment of humankind, whose leaving distresses me.  I would be so much more content if they (dare I say, “we”?) did not have to leave.

I understand and feel the passionate, poetic lines of Dylan Thomas:

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

So, with these thoughts of mine being presented close to All Souls Day (or in German, “Allerseelen”), with the cold days of December soon upon us, I prefer my thoughts to dwell, instead, upon our happier memories of May, our younger days, as expressed in the final lines of Hermann von Gilm poem, “Allerseelen”, “--- Spend on my heart again those lovely hours, like once in May.”

© 23 July 2016  

Rejoice

This presentation of mine today is very personal, and the first important comments are very blunt.  So, hang on, I appreciate your patience in my telling.  It deals with my medical condition over the last several years and my current frame of mind, which has developed, and perhaps even improved over time.

Among other conditions, my three major problems — mega-killer immune system killing off all my clotting blood platelets down to zero, large granular-T-cell leukemia, and the great possibility of developing blood-clots in any organ, brain, or in the circulatory system, — could kill me at any moment.  So little is understood about these conditions, and especially in my extreme case, that the medical staff are writing papers about me.  I consider that a dubious honor.

Yet, here is where I rejoice.  My attitude to all of this has changed markedly over the last few years.  When I first was diagnosed with these major problems, I was, of course, surprised, shocked, and dismayed.  Yet, a whole team of oncology doctors and nurses went to great, extended effort to treat me.  For a short time, it seemed to work.

Then a couple of years ago, I suffered a truly major event when it seemed that no treatment would ever help.  With each episode, the efficacy seems to diminish.  Many people might totally despair and wish to suffer no more.  I did not quite despair, but I was profoundly disappointed and felt resigned to my fate.  So yes, I did think about simply driving up to the mountains some cold night, park on some high point, and gaze at the mountain scenery until I fell asleep.  Of course, I never did.  I still have some pleasures and satisfactions in my life.

Well here again is where I rejoice.  Despite my circumstances, my whole mind-set has changed and improved.  I do what I need to do with St. Joseph’s Hospital the various Kaiser clinics, and all the doctors and nurses.  But, it is what I do and think and feel outside of all of that which is actually making me happy.

For one, just in a week of being out of the hospital and being able to go home on October 28^th (mind you, with some misgivings of the medical staff), I accumulated as much as fifty hours of accomplishing important tasks that, otherwise, would have been neglected and not gotten done.  In addition to being able to take care of bills and other daily obligations, I was here to go through the five days of repeated efforts to repair my broken furnace (thank God, the Denver temperature was unusually warm), the six days to deal frustratingly with Comcast to get my email back working so that I could communicate with family and friends, and to have one other repair done.  Now, if you understand, I felt satisfaction and actually rejoiced that I was able to complete those tasks.

Secondly, I have spent much of my home-time going back through some of my older, more interesting essays and stories for Telling My Story, carefully editing, and (most fun of all) locating and inserting delightful, augmenting images within the text.  I print them for myself, house them in plastic sleeves, and file them in several notebooks, separated by subject.  Yes, I do find great pleasure in this.

Third, at home, I have the pleasures of my fine piano, my TV, my computer, and all the comforts at home.  And on Sundays, I am able to go with my friends, whom I call “the usual suspects,” to a particularly good Perkins restaurant, have a particularly delicious breakfast, and then play the card-game called “Samba,” a form of canasta at my dining-room table.  That simple ritual is a welcome pleasure and provides me with comfort more than people may realize.  I, especially, have the pleasure of sharing that with my friends.

Good friends, kind friends, are the most important of all these factors.  I am truly appreciative and perhaps even ecstatic to have these warm-hearted encounters with my friends, more than they may realize.

And, that brings me to what finally makes me rejoice.  At this advanced age, with this, yet another, bout of terrible affliction, I finally have accepted my situation, doing what I need to do but not fighting the reality of it.  I have developed over time a more relaxed, philosophical feeling and attitude that “what will be will be.”  I am very thankful that, despite my condition, I feel little pain, very much unlike so many other unfortunate people.  I rejoice in my cheerful, positive, interactions with people, medical staff and very good friends.  My positive, uplifting connection to very good friends is, perhaps, my most powerful treatment, my greatest joy.

Thank you, all my kind friends.

© 15 Nov 2016 

[This is the last story (his “Good Bye”) Will Stanton read to the Telling Your Story group on 21 Nov 2016.  Sadly, he passed into history and memories on 1 January 2017.  He is sorely missed. — Editor]

About the Author 

25 Apr 1945 - 1 Jan 2017

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories.  I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones.  Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

Smoking, by Will Stanton

James died of lung cancer. They took out part of his lung. Then, it spread to his brain, and they had to operate on his brain. It spread more throughout his remaining lungs. He suffered for six years. I cared for him. He struggled hard the whole time. I understand that he struggled so hard because he did not want to leave me alone. He felt leaving was a betrayal. He said so as he lay dying.

When he was very young, a long time ago, his father (who always addressed James by his middle name) warned him, “Howard, never take up smoking.” His father was a terribly poor Georgian and did not know how to read; but, in his own way, he was very wise. And, this was long before the tobacco companies finally were forced to admit that smoking kills. Sociopaths as they were, those tobacco-men made billions of dollars over many years, selling an addictive poison. And, poor James fell for it. After all, everyone in the movies was smoking. Everyone smoked on the streets, in the shops, and in the work-places where James went.

Later in San Antonio, James was eagerly accepted into the classy social crowd, which is not surprising. James was exceedingly handsome, intelligent, and charismatic. Everybody wanted James to come to their parties. Of course, there always was lots of booze, and it was regarded as the smart thing to smoke. Everyone else was, so James started smoking, too. With so much influence from all his good friends, why would he heed his father's early warning?

I can't say that I was much wiser. I never bothered to take up smoking and, as a consequence, did not really know much about it. This was still before the cigarette drug-dealers admitted that smoking could cause cancer.

When I met James, his affect was that of a very educated, elegant gentleman. When he smoked, that was just part of his persona. For him, of course, it was a deep-seated addiction.

So, for his birthday, I gave him a gold Tiffany cigarette lighter and a gold cigarette case. In my ignorance, I became an enabler.

Several years went by, and James developed a chronic cough. He went to see a doctor, who told him, “I don't like the architecture of your lungs.” I shall never forget those words. James had developed chronic bronchitis and was ordered to stop smoking. Within just a few days, James' face no longer looked so gray, but the damage was done.

In 1991, James came home from the doctor and told me the news: he had lung cancer. He cried. All I could do then, and for the rest of his life, was to stand by him, to help him in every way I could. Some acquaintances actually asked me, “Why don't you leave him?” I was shocked. How could I? I took care of him for six years and was with him when he drew his last breath.

Those final days happened already two decades ago; yet, in some ways, it seems like just yesterday. The years have gone by; I have grown older. When I think back, we had some good years together, fourteen out of twenty. But I keep wondering, “What would it have been like to have continued together to this very day in good health?”

© 6 July 2016

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

All My Exes Live in Texas by Will Stanton

Who the heck came up with this topic?  Just because the title rhymes doesn't mean that every member of the Story-Time group will have something worthwhile to say about it...and, in my case, certainly nothing serious.  I've read the lyrics of the Shafer and Shafer song, and I can't say that the song has any memorable quality to it, regardless of whether the song is sung by George Straight or Marvin Gay.

To begin with, I don't have any exes.  I had just one partner of twenty years before he died of lung cancer, and I don't consider him to be an “ex.”  Besides, if I did have exes, the kind of person I would have associated with, as sure as hell, never would want to move to Texas.

Oh, I'm sure that a few of the people in Texas are very nice and have something to offer humanity, but I have to say the the ones that I met on a couple of visits left me unimpressed.  Now, maybe this statement is too much of a generality, but it appeared to me that the only things the Texans whom I met were interested in were money, power, food, and sex...and maybe in that order.  They practiced a form of Texan chauvinism, viewing outsiders as suspect, probably even un-American.

The Texan culture (to use that term loosely) seems to consist of strident guitars, pounding drums, cold beer, and line-dancing.  The Texas Two-Step probably was devised by quickly avoiding cow paddies out on the prairie.  Yes, I know that Houston has an opera, but I suspect that its oil-rich patrons gave tons of money to Carl Rove to help him execute the 2000 George-Bush junta that placed him the Presidents' office.

After eight years of W, along with a plague of senators and congressman from that lunatic asylum, I cringe at even the hint of a Texas accent.  I recall when a Texas senator (who expressed his dislike of faggots) had the hubris to consider running for President.  He naturally went to his base, the N.R.A., for a speech.  One of his statements, and his thick Texas drawl, remain indelibly printed in my memory.  He said, “Ah own more guhns than ah need, but not as minny as ah wohnt!”  I suppose he thought that this sentiment qualified him to be leader of the “Free World.”

In case any of you needs assistance in interpreting Texan speech, there is, in fact, a Texan-English dictionary.  For example, “ohll” is that black stuff that they pump out of the ground.    And, “Yurp” is that place east across the ocean.

I'll tell you what - - how about culling out those Texan senators and congressmen who are scary, delusional nut-cases and making them all exes.  Get them out of Washington and send them back to Texas.  Then if they want to secede, let them.  Let them try to make it on their own without all the federal services and benefits that they claim are a commie intrusion upon their freedom.  The next time a hurricane devastates their coastline cities and industries, let them try to make it on their own.  Or, maybe they can ask Mexico for help.

I have one more suggestion: how about all those people throughout the nation who have had the misfortune to have made terrible choices in selecting partners sending all their exes to Texas?  Get them out of the country and put them where they belong.  We could call that program “Keep America Beautiful.”

 © 17 December 2013 

About the Author   

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories.  I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones.  Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.