The view from Mount Arrowsmith was spectacular on that sunny Wednesday afternoon. The six of us had driven to the end of a dusty MacMillan Bloedel logging road before trekking up a rugged hillside to the place that Terry and I had chosen a few days earlier.
Terry carried the loaf of bread she had baked, I had a bottle of red wine. Mark, the oldest in the merry band, came with his leather bound book and cup. Ann and Sharon picked flowers along the climb and Mike of Comox gathered some fallen pine branches. Once up at the grassy lookout, it was easy work to pile the branches over twin tree trunks and create a makeshift table.
Mark’s friend Zach offered his services a month earlier but we told him we had some planning to do. First there was a bus trip San Francisco where we bought some special clothes, then a visit to that creative guy in downtown Vancouver and of course, we needed to decide on the songs and readings.
Mark said we’d better get started…everything was ready.
And then, time stood still and a magical transformation occurred.
The pine table became an altar, Father Mark read from his Bible, the bread was blessed and broken, the wine was poured into the chalice, songs were sung and the gold rings that Terry and I had designed in Gastown were exchanged….and…we were married at the top of the world.
Happy 40th Anniversary Terry.
AML
Michael
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
THE YEAR THEY CRACK CANCER
Below is an article that was sent to me by Dr. Mark Quigg of Collingwood, Ontario. I think you will find it worth a few minutes of your time.
The mechanisms of cancer are still mysterious. That will soon change.
With luck 2012 will be the year cancer is cracked. Not cured. Not by a long chalk. But understood systematically in ways that will bring cures much closer.
The reason is that cheap, rapid gene-sequencing technology means cancer genomes can now be processed on an industrial scale. The International Cancer Genome Consortium, a group of gene-sequencing laboratories scattered around the world from Cambridge, England, via Cambridge, Massachusetts, to Shenzhen, China, therefore plans to look at several hundred samples from each of 50 types of tumour, to compare them with each other and with healthy tissue from the patients’ other organs. That will allow oncologists to sort the needles of causation from the haystacks of confusion in the messed-up DNA that most tumours have.
Cancer, from an evolutionary point of view, is a cell reverting to type. Most living organisms are individual cells. Such cells can behave completely selfishly because each of them contributes directly to the next generation. Multicellular organisms, though, are different. Most cells in a multicellular body (a human being, for example) have a supporting role in reproduction, not a direct one. They assist the gonads in making sex cells and in finding and mating with members of the opposite sex. That is not a problem in Darwinian terms, since the DNA in non-sex cells is identical to that in sex cells (except that in any given sex cell there is only half as much of it). Non-sex cells thus propagate their genes collaterally. For a body to work, the non-sex cells must subscribe to a self-denying ordinance that curbs their own reproduction. That ordinance is enforced by genetic mechanisms which control the cycle of cell growth and division. These genes have been installed by natural selection over the millennia: without them non-sex cells would reproduce wildly, and organs and tissues would become chaotic—in other words, cancerous.
Cells are not sentient, and do not know they are restricting their own reproduction for the greater good. So if one of the anticancer genes mutates, the cell it is in may reproduce more than it is supposed to. The more mutated anticancer genes there are in a cell, the more it will reproduce. Natural selection will thus take over and drive things in ways that are not good for the body, even though they are very good (in the short term) for the mutated cells. Cancer cells, in other words, behave a lot like their distant unicellular ancestors.
Identify the cancer-causing mutations, and you might be able to develop drugs specifically tailored to deal with such reverted cells. This has already happened. Gleevec, a treatment for chronic myelogenous leukaemia, and Herceptin, a treatment for some types of breast cancer, are both specific to particular mutations. So is vemurafenib, a new drug against malignant melanoma.
The problem is that identifying the relevant mutations is hard. Because evolution has come up with many anticancer mechanisms, for a cancer to take hold properly requires several mutations. That is unlikely to happen unless the mutation rate in a cell is abnormally high. A common factor in cancer is an overarching mutation in the DNA-repair mechanism. Lack of proper DNA repair allows mutation to run riot, increasing the chance that several anticancer genes will be affected, but also hiding those mutations in a plethora of others that have no relevance to cancer formation. The former are the needles that oncologists wish to identify. The latter are the haystack.
A tissue of lies?
Comparison of healthy and cancerous tissue from the same individual will show which genes have mutated. Comparison of the sets of mutated genes from different examples of the same tumour will show which mutations are coincidences, and which are causes. Not only will this tell drug-developers where to concentrate their efforts, it will also test a theory that is gaining ground among oncologists. This is that classifying cancers by tissue type is fundamentally wrong, and that they should be classified by genetic mechanism, no matter where they occur in the body. Once the consortium has finished its work, it will be clear whether that is a good way of looking at things, or whether, by contrast, particular types of tissue usually become cancerous in their own, distinct ways, with only minimal similarities between one tissue and another.
As of October 2011, 39 laboratories had signed up to analyse 20 types of cancer. The rest should find labs soon. Though the last “i”s will not be dotted and “t”s crossed until 2015, by the end of 2012 the consortium’s data co-ordination centre in Toronto will be awash with results, and drug companies will be able to start wading in and picking out promising targets. Turning the new knowledge into treatments will still take a while. But the size of the task will suddenly be a lot clearer.
Geoffrey Carr: science and technology editor, The Economist
The mechanisms of cancer are still mysterious. That will soon change.
With luck 2012 will be the year cancer is cracked. Not cured. Not by a long chalk. But understood systematically in ways that will bring cures much closer.
The reason is that cheap, rapid gene-sequencing technology means cancer genomes can now be processed on an industrial scale. The International Cancer Genome Consortium, a group of gene-sequencing laboratories scattered around the world from Cambridge, England, via Cambridge, Massachusetts, to Shenzhen, China, therefore plans to look at several hundred samples from each of 50 types of tumour, to compare them with each other and with healthy tissue from the patients’ other organs. That will allow oncologists to sort the needles of causation from the haystacks of confusion in the messed-up DNA that most tumours have.
Cancer, from an evolutionary point of view, is a cell reverting to type. Most living organisms are individual cells. Such cells can behave completely selfishly because each of them contributes directly to the next generation. Multicellular organisms, though, are different. Most cells in a multicellular body (a human being, for example) have a supporting role in reproduction, not a direct one. They assist the gonads in making sex cells and in finding and mating with members of the opposite sex. That is not a problem in Darwinian terms, since the DNA in non-sex cells is identical to that in sex cells (except that in any given sex cell there is only half as much of it). Non-sex cells thus propagate their genes collaterally. For a body to work, the non-sex cells must subscribe to a self-denying ordinance that curbs their own reproduction. That ordinance is enforced by genetic mechanisms which control the cycle of cell growth and division. These genes have been installed by natural selection over the millennia: without them non-sex cells would reproduce wildly, and organs and tissues would become chaotic—in other words, cancerous.
Cells are not sentient, and do not know they are restricting their own reproduction for the greater good. So if one of the anticancer genes mutates, the cell it is in may reproduce more than it is supposed to. The more mutated anticancer genes there are in a cell, the more it will reproduce. Natural selection will thus take over and drive things in ways that are not good for the body, even though they are very good (in the short term) for the mutated cells. Cancer cells, in other words, behave a lot like their distant unicellular ancestors.
Identify the cancer-causing mutations, and you might be able to develop drugs specifically tailored to deal with such reverted cells. This has already happened. Gleevec, a treatment for chronic myelogenous leukaemia, and Herceptin, a treatment for some types of breast cancer, are both specific to particular mutations. So is vemurafenib, a new drug against malignant melanoma.
The problem is that identifying the relevant mutations is hard. Because evolution has come up with many anticancer mechanisms, for a cancer to take hold properly requires several mutations. That is unlikely to happen unless the mutation rate in a cell is abnormally high. A common factor in cancer is an overarching mutation in the DNA-repair mechanism. Lack of proper DNA repair allows mutation to run riot, increasing the chance that several anticancer genes will be affected, but also hiding those mutations in a plethora of others that have no relevance to cancer formation. The former are the needles that oncologists wish to identify. The latter are the haystack.
A tissue of lies?
Comparison of healthy and cancerous tissue from the same individual will show which genes have mutated. Comparison of the sets of mutated genes from different examples of the same tumour will show which mutations are coincidences, and which are causes. Not only will this tell drug-developers where to concentrate their efforts, it will also test a theory that is gaining ground among oncologists. This is that classifying cancers by tissue type is fundamentally wrong, and that they should be classified by genetic mechanism, no matter where they occur in the body. Once the consortium has finished its work, it will be clear whether that is a good way of looking at things, or whether, by contrast, particular types of tissue usually become cancerous in their own, distinct ways, with only minimal similarities between one tissue and another.
As of October 2011, 39 laboratories had signed up to analyse 20 types of cancer. The rest should find labs soon. Though the last “i”s will not be dotted and “t”s crossed until 2015, by the end of 2012 the consortium’s data co-ordination centre in Toronto will be awash with results, and drug companies will be able to start wading in and picking out promising targets. Turning the new knowledge into treatments will still take a while. But the size of the task will suddenly be a lot clearer.
Geoffrey Carr: science and technology editor, The Economist
Friday, July 20, 2012
LIFE LESSONS
A kind e-mail this morning from good friend Rob Sedran made my day. It read in part…
Hi Mike
How are you these days? Hope everything is ok on your end. The amount on your plate this year has gone from a 9" styrofoam size to a 12" Chinette.
Rob
Rob is the funniest guy I know and one of the kindest. His thoughtful message made me realize that working with 12" Chinette can be demanding but it is far more enduring and meaningful than the flimsy world of Styrofoam.
Indeed, the last few months have been hectic. No sooner had my visits with Jacques ended than my mother’s health began to fail. At ninety two, it’s hard to bounce back when you’re down.
My experience with Jacques was remarkable and has taught me many life lessons. Let me share three with you.
1) Life is finite…use it well.
As I sat with Jacques and worked with him on his eulogy just two weeks before his
death, I was struck by the realization that his time was almost up…that he was
measuring his life in days, not in years.
No, it hasn’t made me want to draw up a bucket list but it has made me appreciate that
every day is a gift to be used wisely. If you don’t have your own agenda, someone else
will give you theirs.
2) Laugh more.
I’ll never forget how Jacques continued to joke around right up to his last day. In fact,
as he got closer to the end, he got funnier than I had ever seen him.
If you’ve got a good joke or story…share it. Here’s mine.
Immediately preceding Jacques’ funeral mass, it was announced that his eulogy would
be read in English…by me.
I was more surprised than anyone when I heard my name announced. I thought I was
supposed to do the first reading, that the eulogy was being handled by Jacques’ family.
As I approached the lectern, the facilitator whispered,
“Where’s your copy of the eulogy? I only have a French version.”
My heart skipped a beat. True, I’ve been working on my French but this was not the
proper venue to reveal the limited extent of my progress. After a few moments, the facilitator
found an English copy of the first page of what I knew was a two page message.
I forged ahead with the eulogy but as I my reading neared the bottom of the page, I
slowed, realizing that I might have to wing page two in a few moments.
Much to my relief, as I finished the page, the facilitator inexplicably came forward and
thanked me before calling on Jacques’ sister Bernadette to do the reading in French.
I’d been rescued.
Thankfully, the facilitator’s listening skills that day were on a par with my French
translation skills as she later explained she thought I had finished.
I certainly hope Jacques didn’t mind the mix up.
3) Trust in the plan even when it seems to be going off the rails.
When Jacques was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he continued to hope for a
reprieve, for a miracle. When it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen,
he bravely surrendered his body to his disease but at the same time resolved
to embrace God’s new plan for him. What an inspiration.
With a CT scan in a few weeks to check up on the status of my lymphoma, I too must
continue to trust in the unfolding plan for Mike 2.0
And speaking of plans, the memorial service for Jacques in Toronto is tentatively scheduled for the afternoon of Saturday, September 8 at the Jerrett Funeral Home near Yonge and Steeles.
Hi Mike
How are you these days? Hope everything is ok on your end. The amount on your plate this year has gone from a 9" styrofoam size to a 12" Chinette.
Rob
Rob is the funniest guy I know and one of the kindest. His thoughtful message made me realize that working with 12" Chinette can be demanding but it is far more enduring and meaningful than the flimsy world of Styrofoam.
Indeed, the last few months have been hectic. No sooner had my visits with Jacques ended than my mother’s health began to fail. At ninety two, it’s hard to bounce back when you’re down.
My experience with Jacques was remarkable and has taught me many life lessons. Let me share three with you.
1) Life is finite…use it well.
As I sat with Jacques and worked with him on his eulogy just two weeks before his
death, I was struck by the realization that his time was almost up…that he was
measuring his life in days, not in years.
No, it hasn’t made me want to draw up a bucket list but it has made me appreciate that
every day is a gift to be used wisely. If you don’t have your own agenda, someone else
will give you theirs.
2) Laugh more.
I’ll never forget how Jacques continued to joke around right up to his last day. In fact,
as he got closer to the end, he got funnier than I had ever seen him.
If you’ve got a good joke or story…share it. Here’s mine.
Immediately preceding Jacques’ funeral mass, it was announced that his eulogy would
be read in English…by me.
I was more surprised than anyone when I heard my name announced. I thought I was
supposed to do the first reading, that the eulogy was being handled by Jacques’ family.
As I approached the lectern, the facilitator whispered,
“Where’s your copy of the eulogy? I only have a French version.”
My heart skipped a beat. True, I’ve been working on my French but this was not the
proper venue to reveal the limited extent of my progress. After a few moments, the facilitator
found an English copy of the first page of what I knew was a two page message.
I forged ahead with the eulogy but as I my reading neared the bottom of the page, I
slowed, realizing that I might have to wing page two in a few moments.
Much to my relief, as I finished the page, the facilitator inexplicably came forward and
thanked me before calling on Jacques’ sister Bernadette to do the reading in French.
I’d been rescued.
Thankfully, the facilitator’s listening skills that day were on a par with my French
translation skills as she later explained she thought I had finished.
I certainly hope Jacques didn’t mind the mix up.
3) Trust in the plan even when it seems to be going off the rails.
When Jacques was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he continued to hope for a
reprieve, for a miracle. When it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen,
he bravely surrendered his body to his disease but at the same time resolved
to embrace God’s new plan for him. What an inspiration.
With a CT scan in a few weeks to check up on the status of my lymphoma, I too must
continue to trust in the unfolding plan for Mike 2.0
And speaking of plans, the memorial service for Jacques in Toronto is tentatively scheduled for the afternoon of Saturday, September 8 at the Jerrett Funeral Home near Yonge and Steeles.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
THE PATRIARCH
“Are you here for the Cairn funeral?”
The question posed by the dutiful funeral director was directed at an elderly couple as they entered the McKinley Funeral Home in Chatham.
“Yes, we’re here for the Jake Cairn wake,” replied the silver haired woman.
“Step right this way then. The Cairns are just over there, in the room to the left.” He waved them forward with his right hand in a smooth motion that reminded me of icing a cake.
I was bewildered.
I had heard Jacques affectionately called Jake by his brother Roger and his sister-in-law Marcia and then it dawned on me that in an English community like Chatham, it made some sense to anglocise Carron. I wondered briefly if I should start introducing myself as Mike Dowell.
An hour earlier that Friday evening, Terry and I had accompanied Jacques’ sister Fran to the funeral home. My trepidation about such places quickly vanished as we were made most welcome by the graciousness of Jacques’ three sisters, the friendliness of his six brothers and the politeness of his many nieces and nephews in attendance.
A beautiful collage of pictures of Jacques and his family was on display as well as a book of photos and best wishes from Jacques’ retirement party from Brebeuf College four years ago.
The funeral took place in Pain Court at noon on Saturday. Although Jacques’ hometown just outside of Chatham is too small for a Tim Horton’s or even a gas station, it is big enough to support a beautiful Catholic Church, Immaculee Conception, whose walls resounded this day with the joyful operatic singing of Anthony Cavaiola from Brebeuf College. Not only did Anthony sing hymns in English and Latin, he also warmed the hearts of the Carron family with a French hymn at the Offertory.
The funeral mass was preceded by the reading of the eulogy Jacques had prepared with me weeks before. The beautiful drawings depicting attitude and gratitude, Jacques’ anchors, adorned the church altar as I read the English version of his last words. What an honour indeed although I wish someone had given me a heads up about my special role in the ceremony before I was pressed into service.
At the conclusion of the Mass, his sister Fran was asked to approach the altar and sign Jacques’ name in a book of remembrance for all the deceased members of the Immaculee Conception church family. Then his brother Roger came forward to take Jacques’ ashes and lead a procession up the main street of town to the family plot in a large grassy cemetery, Jacques’ final resting place. Such processions have been a unifying tradition in Pain Court for generations and I was touched the family’s outpouring of affection for their dearly departed brother.
Upon our return to the church, a light lunch greeted the 150 people who were in attendance. Somehow, I almost missed the spread as I was busy talking with Larry Vindischman and Peter Cromien, retired colleagues from Brebeuf. Larry is in his own cancer battle these days fighting multiple myeloma and I promised that I’d visit him in Windsor before his 70th birthday in August.
As I surveyed the hall just before Terry and I left for home, I realized that Jacques had been the superstar of the Carron family. He was the one who lived in the big city, who had travelled the globe, who had the successful professional career. He was the one who had taught his brother Ivon and sister Bernadette when they were in high school in the seventies; he was the one who had always been there with a shoulder for a brother to lean on, a hand to wipe away a tear for a sister, a sage word of advice for niece or a nephew, and a good bottle of wine or two to enliven a family reunion. Indeed, Jacques was the family patriach ...and he will be sorely missed.
The question posed by the dutiful funeral director was directed at an elderly couple as they entered the McKinley Funeral Home in Chatham.
“Yes, we’re here for the Jake Cairn wake,” replied the silver haired woman.
“Step right this way then. The Cairns are just over there, in the room to the left.” He waved them forward with his right hand in a smooth motion that reminded me of icing a cake.
I was bewildered.
I had heard Jacques affectionately called Jake by his brother Roger and his sister-in-law Marcia and then it dawned on me that in an English community like Chatham, it made some sense to anglocise Carron. I wondered briefly if I should start introducing myself as Mike Dowell.
An hour earlier that Friday evening, Terry and I had accompanied Jacques’ sister Fran to the funeral home. My trepidation about such places quickly vanished as we were made most welcome by the graciousness of Jacques’ three sisters, the friendliness of his six brothers and the politeness of his many nieces and nephews in attendance.
A beautiful collage of pictures of Jacques and his family was on display as well as a book of photos and best wishes from Jacques’ retirement party from Brebeuf College four years ago.
The funeral took place in Pain Court at noon on Saturday. Although Jacques’ hometown just outside of Chatham is too small for a Tim Horton’s or even a gas station, it is big enough to support a beautiful Catholic Church, Immaculee Conception, whose walls resounded this day with the joyful operatic singing of Anthony Cavaiola from Brebeuf College. Not only did Anthony sing hymns in English and Latin, he also warmed the hearts of the Carron family with a French hymn at the Offertory.
The funeral mass was preceded by the reading of the eulogy Jacques had prepared with me weeks before. The beautiful drawings depicting attitude and gratitude, Jacques’ anchors, adorned the church altar as I read the English version of his last words. What an honour indeed although I wish someone had given me a heads up about my special role in the ceremony before I was pressed into service.
At the conclusion of the Mass, his sister Fran was asked to approach the altar and sign Jacques’ name in a book of remembrance for all the deceased members of the Immaculee Conception church family. Then his brother Roger came forward to take Jacques’ ashes and lead a procession up the main street of town to the family plot in a large grassy cemetery, Jacques’ final resting place. Such processions have been a unifying tradition in Pain Court for generations and I was touched the family’s outpouring of affection for their dearly departed brother.
Upon our return to the church, a light lunch greeted the 150 people who were in attendance. Somehow, I almost missed the spread as I was busy talking with Larry Vindischman and Peter Cromien, retired colleagues from Brebeuf. Larry is in his own cancer battle these days fighting multiple myeloma and I promised that I’d visit him in Windsor before his 70th birthday in August.
As I surveyed the hall just before Terry and I left for home, I realized that Jacques had been the superstar of the Carron family. He was the one who lived in the big city, who had travelled the globe, who had the successful professional career. He was the one who had taught his brother Ivon and sister Bernadette when they were in high school in the seventies; he was the one who had always been there with a shoulder for a brother to lean on, a hand to wipe away a tear for a sister, a sage word of advice for niece or a nephew, and a good bottle of wine or two to enliven a family reunion. Indeed, Jacques was the family patriach ...and he will be sorely missed.
Friday, July 13, 2012
ATTITUDE AND GRATITUDE
When Helen and Sean read the words attitude and gratitude in my blog back in March, Jacques’ response to his initial cancer diagnosis, they were inspired to embrace the challenge that their family faces.
They live in Montreal. Helen’s mother was diagnosed with stage four non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma years ago and has battled her cancer successfully for the past fifteen years.
Helen’s mother’s story inspired me in the very early days of my cancer time and encouraged me to never give up hope.
Helen and Sean have a two year old son Peter who has recently been diagnosed with autism. Our hearts and prayers went out to them when we heard the news.
However, far from being overwhelmed by this turn of events, they have accepted their son’s future with an attitude of hope for the success of his treatment and a spirit of gratitude for his uniqueness.
Helen said that it was Jacques’ use of those two words that resonated with her and Sean as they set out on their road less travelled.
When I shared this story with Jacques just weeks before his death, he was thrilled to think his words, his touchstones in life, could help a couple he had never met.
Today, maybe you too can use the words attitude and gratitude to make a difference in the way you look at your life.
Let those two words, Jacques’ legacy, be part of your journey today.
They live in Montreal. Helen’s mother was diagnosed with stage four non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma years ago and has battled her cancer successfully for the past fifteen years.
Helen’s mother’s story inspired me in the very early days of my cancer time and encouraged me to never give up hope.
Helen and Sean have a two year old son Peter who has recently been diagnosed with autism. Our hearts and prayers went out to them when we heard the news.
However, far from being overwhelmed by this turn of events, they have accepted their son’s future with an attitude of hope for the success of his treatment and a spirit of gratitude for his uniqueness.
Helen said that it was Jacques’ use of those two words that resonated with her and Sean as they set out on their road less travelled.
When I shared this story with Jacques just weeks before his death, he was thrilled to think his words, his touchstones in life, could help a couple he had never met.
Today, maybe you too can use the words attitude and gratitude to make a difference in the way you look at your life.
Let those two words, Jacques’ legacy, be part of your journey today.
Monday, July 9, 2012
A PRIVATE FUNERAL
Jacques’ funeral arrangements have been delayed because of a family wedding last Friday.
Originally, Jacques had planned that his commemorative service be held in Toronto before his funeral in Chatham. However, as his passing occurred in July when many of his Toronto friends are on holiday, it only made sense to proceed with the funeral first and then arrange a commemorative gathering in Toronto later.
Jacques had hoped that the funeral in Pain Court would be a private family affair. In fact, one of his final wishes was that the funeral Mass be conducted in French.
The family trusts that all of his Toronto friends will respect Jacques’ request for a private funeral in his home town. His family is very appreciative of your prayerful support over these past few months and are most gratified to read kind words of condolence from so many of their brother’s former students, colleagues and friends.
Know that they are looking forward to meeting you at Jacques’ commemorative service which will take place in August. Details to follow as they become available.
Originally, Jacques had planned that his commemorative service be held in Toronto before his funeral in Chatham. However, as his passing occurred in July when many of his Toronto friends are on holiday, it only made sense to proceed with the funeral first and then arrange a commemorative gathering in Toronto later.
Jacques had hoped that the funeral in Pain Court would be a private family affair. In fact, one of his final wishes was that the funeral Mass be conducted in French.
The family trusts that all of his Toronto friends will respect Jacques’ request for a private funeral in his home town. His family is very appreciative of your prayerful support over these past few months and are most gratified to read kind words of condolence from so many of their brother’s former students, colleagues and friends.
Know that they are looking forward to meeting you at Jacques’ commemorative service which will take place in August. Details to follow as they become available.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
THE CURSE OF ROOM 309
Late night telephone calls to our house usually fall into one of two categories. They’re either from our nighthawk friend Wai Chin inviting us to a family party or from a close relative with news that can’t wait til morning.
However, a call last Tuesday night was of a different sort.
“Hi sir. It’s Andrei. I just got the results from my biopsy. It’s confirmed. I’ve got Hodgkin’s lymphoma and will begin treatment soon. I’ll see my doctor next week to set things up.”
Suppressing my emotions surrounding Jacques’ death that afternoon, I tried to keep a blue sky demeanour.
Andrei is my protégé of sorts. A graduate from Brebeuf College, I still remember a request he made eight years ago as we walked along Bayview Avenue on our way to the grad breakfast.
“Mr. Daoust, I want to be a math teacher like you. Can you give me some texts so I can start building a set of math reference books?” he asked with a naive confidence that suggested his teaching career was a fait accompli.
Well, Andrei achieved his goal and, much to my delight, became my replacement when I retired two years ago. He took over my classroom, Room 309, a room I used shared with Ana, a religion teacher at the school.
Ana recently had successful surgery for a stage one thyroid cancer. Now Andrei is engaged in his own cancer battle.
What an unfortunate series of coincidences…or is Room 309 the sinister common denominator here? We’ll probably never know.
In any case, Andrei is very optimistic about his prognosis and I offered him my support and experience when he begins his chemo regime. Ana and I are doing amazingly well.
Fighting cancer can be a grim business but a recent piece in the Toronto Star gives every reason to stay positive. It states;
“Every minute, someone in Ontario is diagnosed with cancer, says Paul Alofs, president and CEO of the Princess Margaret Hospital Foundation. But progress is being made. In North America during the 1960’s, one out of three people survived a cancer diagnosis. Today, it’s two out of three.”
Let’s continue to be engaged in the battle against this dreadful disease and keep believing that we will conquer cancer in our lifetime.
However, a call last Tuesday night was of a different sort.
“Hi sir. It’s Andrei. I just got the results from my biopsy. It’s confirmed. I’ve got Hodgkin’s lymphoma and will begin treatment soon. I’ll see my doctor next week to set things up.”
Suppressing my emotions surrounding Jacques’ death that afternoon, I tried to keep a blue sky demeanour.
Andrei is my protégé of sorts. A graduate from Brebeuf College, I still remember a request he made eight years ago as we walked along Bayview Avenue on our way to the grad breakfast.
“Mr. Daoust, I want to be a math teacher like you. Can you give me some texts so I can start building a set of math reference books?” he asked with a naive confidence that suggested his teaching career was a fait accompli.
Well, Andrei achieved his goal and, much to my delight, became my replacement when I retired two years ago. He took over my classroom, Room 309, a room I used shared with Ana, a religion teacher at the school.
Ana recently had successful surgery for a stage one thyroid cancer. Now Andrei is engaged in his own cancer battle.
What an unfortunate series of coincidences…or is Room 309 the sinister common denominator here? We’ll probably never know.
In any case, Andrei is very optimistic about his prognosis and I offered him my support and experience when he begins his chemo regime. Ana and I are doing amazingly well.
Fighting cancer can be a grim business but a recent piece in the Toronto Star gives every reason to stay positive. It states;
“Every minute, someone in Ontario is diagnosed with cancer, says Paul Alofs, president and CEO of the Princess Margaret Hospital Foundation. But progress is being made. In North America during the 1960’s, one out of three people survived a cancer diagnosis. Today, it’s two out of three.”
Let’s continue to be engaged in the battle against this dreadful disease and keep believing that we will conquer cancer in our lifetime.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
AT PEACE
Jacques’ journey ended peacefully at 2:30 pm this afternoon, surrounded by his sister Fran, his brother Roger, sister-in-law Marcia and myself.
What a special blessing it has been to be a part of Jacques’ life as well as his death.
Though I can’t help but feel sadness for his family and friends, know that this day is also a time of joy and celebration for all who believe in a loving God.
I can still recall his phone call in late March when Jacques informed me of his cancer diagnosis. It was March 26 to be exact and my blog entry entitled Soyez Fort Mon Ami seems prophetic in hindsight. I wrote:
“Jacques left me with two words at the end of our poignant conversation…attitude and gratitude. He is fully aware how important it is to keep a positive attitude during this challenging time in his life. His gratitude for this badly wrapped gift from God is a wonderful testament to the strength of both his faith and his character.”
In retrospect, Jacques has been faithful to his word. His positive attitude was in evidence right up to the end of his life. He was never afraid of dying, in fact, his biggest concern was that his illness would upset some of his family and dear friends.
His spirit of gratitude for a wonderful life was remarkable throughout his cancer battle. Never was he angry or despondent about the cancer cross that destroyed the very fibre of his being. In fact, he used his cancer time to reflect on his fruitful teaching career, his globetrotting junkets, his rich friendships, his opportunities to embrace life. His generosity was evident right up to a few days before his passing as he arranged a generous financial gift to help Father Hawkins and his ministry in India.
Jacques’ garden continues to flourish and bear fruit and so must we.
Thank you Jacques for allowing me to share your struggle, to help you with your cross. It’s been an honour and a privilege.
I will miss you, mon ami.
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race,
REST IN PEACE
What a special blessing it has been to be a part of Jacques’ life as well as his death.
Though I can’t help but feel sadness for his family and friends, know that this day is also a time of joy and celebration for all who believe in a loving God.
I can still recall his phone call in late March when Jacques informed me of his cancer diagnosis. It was March 26 to be exact and my blog entry entitled Soyez Fort Mon Ami seems prophetic in hindsight. I wrote:
“Jacques left me with two words at the end of our poignant conversation…attitude and gratitude. He is fully aware how important it is to keep a positive attitude during this challenging time in his life. His gratitude for this badly wrapped gift from God is a wonderful testament to the strength of both his faith and his character.”
In retrospect, Jacques has been faithful to his word. His positive attitude was in evidence right up to the end of his life. He was never afraid of dying, in fact, his biggest concern was that his illness would upset some of his family and dear friends.
His spirit of gratitude for a wonderful life was remarkable throughout his cancer battle. Never was he angry or despondent about the cancer cross that destroyed the very fibre of his being. In fact, he used his cancer time to reflect on his fruitful teaching career, his globetrotting junkets, his rich friendships, his opportunities to embrace life. His generosity was evident right up to a few days before his passing as he arranged a generous financial gift to help Father Hawkins and his ministry in India.
Jacques’ garden continues to flourish and bear fruit and so must we.
Thank you Jacques for allowing me to share your struggle, to help you with your cross. It’s been an honour and a privilege.
I will miss you, mon ami.
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race,
I have kept the faith.
2 Timothy 4:7
REST IN PEACE
JACQUES
JUNE 19,1946 – JULY 3,2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
JACQUES MARCEL MARCEAU
When you can’t cry, you laugh. Just when you think you’ve had enough of sadness, inexplicably, there’s joy.
I had a wonderful visit with Jacques this morning. Though he’d been asleep for hours, he awoke when I entered his bedroom. What a gift.
“Good to see you’re still here my friend,” I began.
He motioned to me to raise him up a bit. In hindsight, I realize that’s my task these days, to lift his spirits.
“Are you in pain?”
Jacques threw up his arms and in his best Marcel Marceau imitation, pretended to be hanging from a cross. He's accepted his suffering. It’s his life now.
“I realize why you’re still waiting here Jacques,” I said, determined to keep the mood light. “There are two people upstairs who are still planning a party for you.”
“One of them is Brother Maher. Remember how he loved food. Well, he’s in charge of the menu."
Jacques beamed with delight. Brother Maher was the principal at Brebeuf College when Jacques started teaching there. Undoubtedly, Brother was the most generous person I’ve ever met but not the most organized.
“Getting a meal off the ground for you seems to be a real challenge for Brother” I added. “He probably wants to go with his favourite, Chinese food, but I don’t think the higher ups agree with him."
"And of course, the second person is Emmanuel. He's taking care of the drinks," I continued now seeing that Jacques was fully engaged in my tale.
Jacques and Emmanuel Bernard taught French together at Brebeuf for many years. Always the life of the party, I’ll never forget Emmanuel’s account of his jogging exploits. He bragged to me that he was running at least 6K every day.
I so was impressed until he told me that at the 3K mark, he would stop at a local watering hole for a few wobbly pops before finishing his run. A bon vivant to be sure.
Jacques was actually laughing as I told him the jogging story.
Unable to speak clearly now, he has resorted to spelling key words in the air with his index finger to communicate.
M..A..P.. he spelled out resolutely.
“You want a map?” I guessed.
Jacques shook his head and started over.
M..A..S..K
“You want a mask Jacques?”
He nodded and pointed to his closet door. I was lost. What was he trying to say? A moment later, Marcia entered the room and deciphered that Jacques wanted to get out a mask from the cupboard, a death mask that he must have used for Mardi Gras.
“Jacques, we won’t be needing any death mask today,” I responded, somewhat horrified.
He then burst out in the biggest smile as if to say, gotcha. What a rascal! Now I was the one laughing.
“R..U..C..O..M..I.. ” Marcel Marceau asked.
“Of course I’m coming tomorrow,” I replied.
As I left, he grabbed both my hands tightly and I could feel for a moment that he was taking my strength and the strength of all who have supported him in thought, prayer and deed for these past few weeks.
A joyful death is a wonderful blessing.
Keep praying for Jacques’ joy.
A demain mon ami.
I had a wonderful visit with Jacques this morning. Though he’d been asleep for hours, he awoke when I entered his bedroom. What a gift.
“Good to see you’re still here my friend,” I began.
He motioned to me to raise him up a bit. In hindsight, I realize that’s my task these days, to lift his spirits.
“Are you in pain?”
Jacques threw up his arms and in his best Marcel Marceau imitation, pretended to be hanging from a cross. He's accepted his suffering. It’s his life now.
“I realize why you’re still waiting here Jacques,” I said, determined to keep the mood light. “There are two people upstairs who are still planning a party for you.”
“One of them is Brother Maher. Remember how he loved food. Well, he’s in charge of the menu."
Jacques beamed with delight. Brother Maher was the principal at Brebeuf College when Jacques started teaching there. Undoubtedly, Brother was the most generous person I’ve ever met but not the most organized.
“Getting a meal off the ground for you seems to be a real challenge for Brother” I added. “He probably wants to go with his favourite, Chinese food, but I don’t think the higher ups agree with him."
"And of course, the second person is Emmanuel. He's taking care of the drinks," I continued now seeing that Jacques was fully engaged in my tale.
Jacques and Emmanuel Bernard taught French together at Brebeuf for many years. Always the life of the party, I’ll never forget Emmanuel’s account of his jogging exploits. He bragged to me that he was running at least 6K every day.
I so was impressed until he told me that at the 3K mark, he would stop at a local watering hole for a few wobbly pops before finishing his run. A bon vivant to be sure.
Jacques was actually laughing as I told him the jogging story.
Unable to speak clearly now, he has resorted to spelling key words in the air with his index finger to communicate.
M..A..P.. he spelled out resolutely.
“You want a map?” I guessed.
Jacques shook his head and started over.
M..A..S..K
“You want a mask Jacques?”
He nodded and pointed to his closet door. I was lost. What was he trying to say? A moment later, Marcia entered the room and deciphered that Jacques wanted to get out a mask from the cupboard, a death mask that he must have used for Mardi Gras.
“Jacques, we won’t be needing any death mask today,” I responded, somewhat horrified.
He then burst out in the biggest smile as if to say, gotcha. What a rascal! Now I was the one laughing.
“R..U..C..O..M..I.. ” Marcel Marceau asked.
“Of course I’m coming tomorrow,” I replied.
As I left, he grabbed both my hands tightly and I could feel for a moment that he was taking my strength and the strength of all who have supported him in thought, prayer and deed for these past few weeks.
A joyful death is a wonderful blessing.
Keep praying for Jacques’ joy.
A demain mon ami.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
THE LAST GOODBYE
When I visited Jacques yesterday, I parked behind a small white car ( I’m not good with car names) parked in front of his house. Couldn’t be the doctor I reasoned. Must be the nurse or a visiting family member.
Much to my surprise, Jacques’ backyard was empty when I let myself in. The silence was ominous.
I said a short prayer and then picked a few raspberries. They’re just starting to ripen.
A few minutes later, Fran, Roger and Marcia came outside along with an old woman who I assumed must be Margaret, Jacques’ ninety two year old friend.
Jacques has often talked affectionately about Margaret. They met years ago when he was teaching night school. Margaret, an Austrian born woman with a strong Germanic accent, was his most dedicated student and Jacques was taken by her passion for learning despite her advanced years. When Jacques’ time at Seneca ended, Margaret insisted that he take her on as a private student.
“I understand that although you enjoy reading French novels, you still don’t like speaking French,” I ventured.
“Unless one begins speaking French on one’s mother’s lap, the accent will never be quite right,” she replied as though reading from a textbook.
“Margaret has just said her goodbye to Jacques,” Fran interjected.
I had assumed Jacques had said all his goodbyes a few days ago but now realized that he had left the hardest one to the end.
“I don’t want to upset her with my condition,” Jacques had shared with me weeks earlier. “It will be so hard for her to take.”
She did appear distraught yet apparently didn’t need the Bounty dispenser like I did the day before.
To distract her from her grief, I asked her about her time growing up in Vienna. She talked about her family, her time right after the war when she lived in England and about her frequent trips to Paris.
I began to realize that Jacques’connection with Margaret was more than a simple friendship. It was Jacques’ connection with a kindred spirit, a lady who had seen the world and who had a special passion for all things French, from French literature to French churches, from French food to French wine.
Spending time with Margaret was Jacques’ weekly European visit, his communion with the birthplace of the French language and culture.
As Margaret left to drive home (apparently she doesn’t do reverse anymore…I guess nonagenarians only drive forward), she gave everyone a double kiss and was on her way.
Jacques didn’t wake for me. He is now taking morphine injections every hour. He does surface sporadically and is disheartened to still be trapped in his decaying body. Although a nurse visits daily, his family insists that they will manage things right up to the end. They are amazing people.
“ I won’t be visiting on Sunday,” I offered apologetically to the family as I prepared to leave. “ It’s Terry’s birthday and we are having our kids home for a party. I even baked a chocolate cake this morning.”
I felt embarrassed to own up to the fact that I would be celebrating this weekend.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Jacques wouldn’t want it any other way,” reassured Marcia.
I know she's right.
Much to my surprise, Jacques’ backyard was empty when I let myself in. The silence was ominous.
I said a short prayer and then picked a few raspberries. They’re just starting to ripen.
A few minutes later, Fran, Roger and Marcia came outside along with an old woman who I assumed must be Margaret, Jacques’ ninety two year old friend.
Jacques has often talked affectionately about Margaret. They met years ago when he was teaching night school. Margaret, an Austrian born woman with a strong Germanic accent, was his most dedicated student and Jacques was taken by her passion for learning despite her advanced years. When Jacques’ time at Seneca ended, Margaret insisted that he take her on as a private student.
“I understand that although you enjoy reading French novels, you still don’t like speaking French,” I ventured.
“Unless one begins speaking French on one’s mother’s lap, the accent will never be quite right,” she replied as though reading from a textbook.
“Margaret has just said her goodbye to Jacques,” Fran interjected.
I had assumed Jacques had said all his goodbyes a few days ago but now realized that he had left the hardest one to the end.
“I don’t want to upset her with my condition,” Jacques had shared with me weeks earlier. “It will be so hard for her to take.”
She did appear distraught yet apparently didn’t need the Bounty dispenser like I did the day before.
To distract her from her grief, I asked her about her time growing up in Vienna. She talked about her family, her time right after the war when she lived in England and about her frequent trips to Paris.
I began to realize that Jacques’connection with Margaret was more than a simple friendship. It was Jacques’ connection with a kindred spirit, a lady who had seen the world and who had a special passion for all things French, from French literature to French churches, from French food to French wine.
Spending time with Margaret was Jacques’ weekly European visit, his communion with the birthplace of the French language and culture.
As Margaret left to drive home (apparently she doesn’t do reverse anymore…I guess nonagenarians only drive forward), she gave everyone a double kiss and was on her way.
Jacques didn’t wake for me. He is now taking morphine injections every hour. He does surface sporadically and is disheartened to still be trapped in his decaying body. Although a nurse visits daily, his family insists that they will manage things right up to the end. They are amazing people.
“ I won’t be visiting on Sunday,” I offered apologetically to the family as I prepared to leave. “ It’s Terry’s birthday and we are having our kids home for a party. I even baked a chocolate cake this morning.”
I felt embarrassed to own up to the fact that I would be celebrating this weekend.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Jacques wouldn’t want it any other way,” reassured Marcia.
I know she's right.
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