Beltane and the Moon of Sorrow
My friend Dave beat cancer. But, it killed him yesterday. As I mentioned a while back, Dave had glioblastoma, an aggressive brain cancer. He went years past the average lifespan after diagnosis, sixteen to eighteen months, living into the sixth year.
And he lived until he died. He ran a fifteen mile race at altitude in the mountains of British Columbia last year. He continued to work with his wife Deb at their boutique fitness center, On the Move Fitness. My last training session with him was December 12th. Then, the coronavirus hit, shutting them down.
My first time working out at On the Move was in early 2017 after my knee replacement surgery. I needed a personal trainer to help me get back in shape. Deb and Dave worked as a team and sometimes I’d have Deb, sometimes Dave. They gave me a new workout every 6-8 weeks, walking me through it, then two days later, checking my form. Afterward I’d go home and use it until it came time for a new one.
At some point Dave and I discovered we were cancer survivors. My PSA’s were good. His scans had gone from once a month to every three months. We both felt good, talking about dodging the bullet. Then in March of last year my PSA went up. I told Dave during one of my visits to On the Move.
He commiserated. Then, the next time I saw him he said a routine scan had found something. Our recurrences happened at about the same time. We discussed how a recurrence was scarier than the diagnosis. It means the cancer’s not giving up.
Well. Neither were we. Radiation was the treatment of choice for both of us and we shared radiation stories. I just want to live, so I’ll keep it treating it as long as I can, he said. Me, too.
For Dave, though, there came a time when more treatment would have forced a choice between cognitive function and healing. He and Deb chose to forgo treatment at that point.
This morning I received a message that included this from Deb: “Dave passed away peacefully yesterday afternoon, here at home. The windows were wide open, the aspen leaves were dancing in the breeze and a big gust of wind came along. I believe he chose that moment to leave, since he always loved the wind and it made him feel alive.”
The Moon of Sorrow.
