Twelve Footers

Waves

2010-04-27T09:42:00.010-05:00

When I started this blog about a year ago, I wrote: "This is a journey about the love that two daughters, one wife and many others have for a man named Bill."

And that is exactly what this blog has turned out to be. I just finished re-reading all the 95 posts. From diagnosis to death, I chronicled. I had my computer in hospitals, at restaurants, in airports, in my bed. Tears fell on the keyboard. At times I'd sit and stare into the sky for minutes or an hour before I wrote a single word. Sometimes words poured out like champagne on New Year's Eve. This blog's been a way for me to process, grieve, share and remember. It might seem like something we'd want to forget. But death has a funny way of bringing people together and shining a spotlight on the joy in your life -- even when the joy seems to be like a needle in a haystack.

The themes in the blog have been simple and straightforward -- love, loyalty, family, humor. Also illness. Struggle and suffering. Change. I didn't set out with any expectations, and we weren't sure how the story would end. I feel good just knowing that I was able to keep writing throughout my Dad's battle with brain cancer and record our family's experience. I feel good not necessarily because we'll go back someday and read this blog. But because the act of writing helped me more fully live in the fleeting moments I had with my Father. It's that simple. What a gift.

A few months ago I started reading about Buddhism. My dear friend Jenny loaned me a book called The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, by Sogyal Rinpoche, and I've read various other articles and stories. I'm a novice in Eastern religions, but it seems to me they have a healthy attitude about this collective life we lead. We are all inextricably connected -- to each other and to the natural world around us. As most people, I can buy into that.

Perhaps a more difficult concept to accept: impermanence. Look around you at the trees, your mini-van, your dog, your house, the coffee shop, your bicycle, even your family -- none of this will last. Every single one of these and all other concrete physical things will fade. They all lack a lasting, inherent, stable existence.

This sounds sad. But if you look deeper into both impermanence and interconnectedness, you find a great hope and, as Rinpoche said, "you will find ... (a message) that opens your eyes to the fundamental nature of the universe, and our extraordinary relationship to it."

Rinpoche goes on,

Think of a wave in the sea. Seen in one way, it seems to have a distinct identity, an end and a beginning, a birth and a death. Seen in another way, the wave itself doesn't really exist but is just the behavior of water, "empty" of any separate identity but "full" of water. So when you really think about the wave, you come to realize that it is something made temporarily possible by wind and water, and is dependent on a set of constantly changing circumstances. You also realize every wave is related to every other wave.

I think this is a beautiful metaphor. I smile at its simplicity and profound meaning. It confirms my hunch that my Dad is with us. Everyone we lose is still here. Plus, its about water and waves, reminding me of Bill and his Beech Buoy.

I don't mean to get bogged down in any one perspective, but I know many religions have this same string of thought. And I feel I've summoned my own personal spiritual perspective. I've watched two parents die of cancer. Bodies, I know, deteriorate. We lose weight, we stop eating, our organs quit, our eyes sink into our faces, we curl up and die. Then people around us -- with bodies still intact, movable limbs, six senses -- feel that incredible sense of loss. We feel it in our core. We're hit with the reality of impermanence like a punch in the gut. But our core holds intense feelings for the core of the person we "lost." Our core is shaken, but our core endures. It does not die. Buddhists call this core "nature of mind," Christians call it God. I'll just call it the bridge to my parents.

So, Dad, I love you. Thank you for everything. I know on some level you still hear my words. I am happy to have spent so many good years with you, with our family. You've armed me with a way to live a good life.

My first blog entry was also called "Waves." This blog, like a wave, will end. But your story, like the wind and water, will not.

Spring

2010-03-22T11:05:00.011-05:00

The red-winged blackbirds have returned. Mary Jane and I heard the first song of the season on one of our warm days here last week. It was just a few days earlier than Aldo Leopold's noted arrival of this winged harbinger in my wildlife phenology calender. Grass is greening, buds swelling, bulbs pushing up through cold dirt. In a few weeks we'll install a raised bed in the yard for veggie gardening. Our church will soon build a chicken coop and MJ and I will be Chicken Care Coordinators for a flock of 10 laying hens.

Soccer season is underway with Anna's team -- the Snarps -- having their first practice last week. MJ's yet-unnamed team will start soon, with Scott coaching.

Charlotte had her second birthday! They celebrated in style, and we'll do another celebration when we visit Maryland in just a week. Can't believe she's 2 already ...

Anna had 10+ inches cut from her hair and donated it to Wigs 4 Kids in honor of our dear, brave friend Ally Barnett. I am a proud mama. Also a sad mama as I bagged up 10 inches of THICK and beautiful sandy blond locks and sent them away. Mary Jane also got a short cut for spring to complement that cherubic face of hers.

Scott and I both continue to train for our respective races. He's doing a 20-mile hilly run at the end of May, and I'm doing a sprint triathlon in June. Scott will also soon build nice big shelving units for the girls' rooms. We're researching a new purchase, something close to Bill's heart -- cars. Looking at a hybrid Toyota, among others. As Bill would say, make sure it has "good safety record and performance!"

I have also been busy keeping up with several freelance contracts (check out the Driftless Food System project).

As a family, we're participating in/raising money for the American Brain Tumor Association at a Joggin for the Noggin race on April 17.

And plans are in place for summer camping and travel -- starting with Maryland on March 27 .

All this is to say, Life Goes On.

We work, play and make plans. I'd say I am doing well, but with a caveat. There's just an emptiness I carry in my heart. I don't want to go as far as to say there's a cloud hanging over me, but let's just say light fog follows me around. Or maybe I'm just in a fog at times. My Dad was such a big presence in my life. Almost everywhere I look, everything I think about, brings back a memory. He influenced me so much more than I realized. And now all I have are those precious memories and his legacy, which is large, yet it's not him ... As Heather said, "I just feel like I want to hug him."

Grief never goes away -- I still grieve for my mom, who died 9 years ago. But it does lessen over the years and becomes more of a dull ache versus a sharp pain. And you measure your happiness against it, appreciating life's goodness that much more.

I've so appreciated all the cards, phone calls, e-mails and friendship. They keep me grounded in goodness versus wallowing in a pool of sad. When I start to wallow, I think, "No. You've got it good. You had it good. You had two awesome parents." And I truly believe that. For almost 30 years I had a mother like no other. Sue Beecheler. For 38 years I had a father that could beat out the best. Bill. I do -- absolutely -- allow myself to mourn, to cry, etc. But wallowing, no. There are too many gardens to plant, trips to take, kids to hug, friends to laugh with, too much cycling and swimming and running, too many books to read and songs to sing, too much love to be had.

Sing, red-winged blackbird, sing!

Mail doesn't stop

2010-03-11T09:24:00.005-06:00

Do you realize how many phone calls it takes to erase someone from a consumer existence on earth? Canceling credit cards, bank accounts, memberships, subscriptions, utilities. I don't know how many times I've had to say, in response to why is this being canceled, "He died February 23." or "He's deceased." I haven't come close to crying during these calls because they feel so superficial, but I've felt angry. Many people on the other end of the phone have offered condolences. Some have not. Some have been rude and questioned Dad's death. I suppose they're used to scam artists. One person asked if my Dad would take a survey and I said, "He can't because he's dead and as far as I know, dead people cannot take surveys."

I've also had Dad's mail forwarded to my house.

Now, every day I'm reminded of Bill. I see an older guy quickly walking down the sidewalk -- think of him exercising. See a red sports car -- Bill. Hear a certain song -- Bill. Eat a meal I know he'd love -- Bill. It's constant. And most of these reminders bring slight sadness but also a smile to my face.

However, the mail ... sitting down and opening all the stuff Dad would have touched just a short time ago ... This is a stab in the heart. Bill had a love/hate relationship with mail. He'd complain endlessly about junk mail and charity requests he'd get (because he gave to just about everyone who asked!). But he'd also spend a few hours a day going through every piece of mail, unlike many of us who recycle half before even opening it. So as I go through all the letters/bills/notices with William or Bill Beecheler on the front, I'm brought to tears. I picture him sitting at the kitchen table, facing his woods, opening letters to the tune of the Today Show in the background on TV. He'd probably have his walking or working clothes on, ready for the next part of his day. Or he'd be in his chair in the evening, half asleep, quietly cursing his third letter in as many weeks from the World Wildlife Fund.

As I went through his mail the other day, one particular parcel really tore me apart. Dad got his 2011 membership cards for Boat U.S. This is a boat owners association offering services and discounts. The card is blue and white with a red curvy stripe and lighthouse buoy at the top. "William C. Beecheler, Member since 1991." The accompanying letter says, "Welcome Aboard!" It rips me up, thinking about the upcoming boating season without the Beach Buoy and Captain Bill on Lake Erie. Truth be told, I'm writing this with tears streaming down my cheeks.

But I'm doing okay, as are Heather and Linda. Grieving is about tears and sorrow and pain but also about moments void of suffering. In the midst of tears, you don't think you'll even get those moments, but they come and you enjoy them all the more.

I've downloaded new tunes on my iPod (check out Vampire Weekend!), watched the kids scooter and bike outside as snow melts and spring actually makes it way to Madison, spent lunches and evenings laughing with friends, attended an environmental film festival, watched the kids faces light up at the school Fun Fair, began planning family vacations in northern Wisconsin and at national parks, planned for a raised gardening bed in my backyard, and signed up to be a chicken care coordinator as our church builds a coop and adopts 10 laying hens! (Mary Jane was begging to get chickens in our backyard. I thought the neighbors might frown upon that, so this was our second option. MJ has never been so excited.)

My Dad would want nothing less for Heather and for me than for us to live full, happy lives. That's what I'm focused on, during those non-suffering moments.

I've also started to go back and read all the entries from this blog, which I started way back in May 2009. I'll be wrapping up Twelve Footers soon.

a poem

2010-03-04T20:00:00.002-06:00

We chose this to go in the program at Bill's funeral services:

A Parable of Immortality

I am standing by the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails
to the morning breeze and starts
for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch until at last
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sun and sky come down
to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, "There she goes!"
Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side and
just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone

at my side says, "There she goes!"

there are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready
to take up the glad shout:
"Here she comes!"

-Henry Van Dyke

love lives on

2010-03-01T20:28:00.009-06:00

I got these thank-you notes today that read, "Love lives on, in little kindnesses and gentle words." We've be on the receiving end of so many kindnesses -- big and small -- and heard a book full of gentle words.

"People are so nice."

Dad would often say that. There were about 500 friends and family members that came to to say goodbye to Bill on Thursday and Friday, despite inclement weather. Some I knew well, some were familiar names or faces, some I met for the first time. One quiet man walked up, shook my hand and expressed his sympathies. "So sorry, I don't recognize you," I said.

"I'm Elliot. I did your Dad's lawn care." Elliot said my Dad was a favorite customer. Elliot would arrive for work and Dad would take him to the barn to show his latest toy or talk about cars. "Before I knew it, an hour would go by. Your Dad was such a friendly guy."

Dad's dental hygienist came and expressed similar sentiments. As did his church youth leader from 50+ years ago, the secretary at his insurance agent's office, bus drivers he knew when he was on the school board. So many times I heard, "Your Dad was so much fun." or "We had good times together." or "He enjoyed his life and helped me enjoy mine." One of his cousins said it was my Dad that made her finally decide to buy a red convertible. Not surprising!

A large contingent came from Lorain Products (or Emerson as it's now called, after numerous name changes). Dad took a buyout from his company just in time, right before a wave of layoffs. Morale dipped as more people lost jobs -- jobs that are few and far between in northern Ohio. But even after Dad left, he maintained friendships, visiting the company regularly, taking chocolates for the ladies on Valentine's Day. His Lorain friend Kathy showed up at the visitation and recalled how he even brought candy to her house after she retired. So many people from that company expressed how much it meant to work with my Dad. He was not only dedicated and reliable and dependable. One man told me, "Work was tough at Lorain sometimes. There was a lot of pressure. But your Dad ... He gave us a lot of joy."

The same was said by his friends from Firelands school board.

Bob Plow, one of Dad's longtime friends and colleagues from Lorain, told a story about how he and my Dad took a trip in one of Bob's tiny airplanes. My Dad was on the school board at the time, and they were flying over an area where the district wanted to build a new school. My Dad wanted aerial photos to promote the project. Shortly after take-off, Dad whipped out his briefcase, opened it up, and took out Cokes and peanuts, saying, "We have now reached our cruising altitude. You are permitted to unfasten your seat belts and move about the cabin. Enjoy your flight!" That story struck me. Wherever he was, my Dad shared joy and humor. He packed it in to his full life.

As my Aunt Marj said, "Your Dad always gave 110 percent. He lived more in 65 years than most of us will if we live much longer than that."

Another friend to pay respects was David Sinclair, longtime Lorain colleague (who incidentally accompanied my Dad on a business trip to Germany to visit me while I studied in Europe. Several friends from that time recently recalled how much fun we had with Dad.) David wanted me to know that my Dad, although known as a company clown, was very well-respected at Lorain Products. "When we wanted to get something done, we'd let people know that if they didn't make the grade, we'd send Beecheler their way." Just hearing Dad's name would whip people into shape.

As painful and gut-wrenching as it was to see my Father in a casket, to see my children and my sister uncontrollably crying, to see Linda's desperate tears and to be myself convulsing with a deep anger and sorrow ... the funeral services were uplifting at times. Just knowing how many people loved Dad, were influenced by him and will miss him -- that meant something to us all.

And I realized how much I take after my Dad, how much I also love people.

My dear high school friends and their parents came to the services, brought over meals and reminisced about times with Bill, one friend saying how my house was her second home. My friends Kim and Judy ... I've known them since kindergarten. They were there when my Mom died and again for Dad. Same goes for many of Heather's high school friends. (One of Heather's friends remembered dancing around our kitchen with Bill!)

Our large family of Borns and Beechelers. My aunts Donna and Marj and Renea and my oodles and oodles of cousins. (Thanks, Jared, for plowing Dad's driveway multiple times last week!) They loved Dad. My Uncle Bill reminded me how when my mom first started dating Dad -- who came from a large town -- the farm boys called him "City." He took the teasing in stride and learned to fix every piece of equipment on that farm. Uncle Bill said one day their granary burned down. The first thing my Grandpa -- "Pa" -- said, was, "We need to call Bill Beecheler at work and get him down here." Uncle Bill thought Dad would never be able to get away from his demanding job at Lorain Products. And he was skeptical that my Dad could help. The electric system had burned to ashes. But, of course, my Dad left work and worked all night on that granary. "It was unbelievable, but your Dad re-built that whole electric system. He flipped a switch, and it worked. He was a genius."

For Dad, fixing stuff was fulfilling, and his way of showing he cared for all his many people.

"People are so nice," he'd say.

I can't neglect to mention four of the most important people in my life: Alli, Jen, Kelly and Janel. I met these women in 1990 in a freshman dorm at Miami University. Over the years, we've shared births and marriages and deaths. We've traveled together, danced together, cried and laughed uncontrollably, shared inside jokes. We're sisters. Well, in the most adverse winter weather, these friends drove in from Chicago, Michigan and southern Ohio to be there for me on the day of Dad's funeral. (They all left busy lives behind, including Janel leaving a child with leukemia and Alli leaving a new baby.) They looked so lovely, and I can't express how good it felt to hug them. (And thanks, too, to my college friend Kate who has provided so many comforting words and such nurturing support.)

People.

Upon arriving back in Madison, I faced more good people. My dear friend Shelley rallied our neighborhood to be there for us. Aside from sending flowers, they all donated to hospice in my Dad's name, left a generous landscaping gift certificate for us to plant a garden in memory of Dad, and now they are taking turns providing meals for our family of four. Humbling. Oh, and Shelley and Amy CLEANED MY HOUSE while we were away. Incredible.

So I feel an overwhelming sense that I carry on my Dad's gratitude for his friends and family. His presence is missed in such a large way. This vacancy will not be filled. But his love lives on in so many people -- including me.

Tribute from the girls

2010-02-28T20:12:00.002-06:00

We're back in Madison.

I'm still in disbelief that my dad is gone. Just trying to absorb it all so I can share my thoughts. In the meantime, here are some other tributes for Grandpa Bill:

From Anna, age 9

My grandpa was the best grandpa ever. He taught me how to ride my tricycle, my bike, and my scooter. He was really funny and thought everything I did was great. When he was teaching me to ride my bike down a hill, I fell down and got a bloody lip. The next day, my grandpa fell and got hurt too! He was happy for what I did and was supportive. He was always willing to help and to play. He could fix a lot of things, like my bike and my bitty baby high chair. He was a really great grandpa and I’ll always remember him.

From Mary Jane, age 6

Grandpa was really good. He let us do a lot of things. But it still feels like he’s with me. He’s always going to be the best grandpa on earth. Whenever I was afraid he always helped. He taught me a lot of things. He taught me bike riding. I got to ride on his motorcycle! I like to go out on the boat with Grandpa. He was awesome.

A touching tribute to Bill

2010-02-26T18:38:00.003-06:00

I'll have more to say soon about the past few days, but I can't neglect to thank our amazing friends and family -- those who came to the funeral services and those who kept us in their thoughts while we were here. I'm overwhelmed and speechless about the outpouring of kindness and sympathy.

More details and thoughts later, but for now, here's what Scott had to say about Bill at the funeral service. It was an amazing tribute to my father.

Captain Bill

All of us are here because we were touched by the life of Bill Beecheler.

Many of us here were also touched inappropriately by Bill Beecheler.

But that’s Bill. He loved life and he lived it the way he wanted to, whether you liked it or not. Fortunately for all of us, he gave us far more than we were ever able to give him.

Bill was self reliant. He was a prankster. He was resourceful, strong willed and focused. He was a dad, son, brother, uncle, grandpa, brother-in-law, husband, father-in-law and Power Man. He was giving, fun-loving and dedicated to his family, work and friends.

Bill loved boating, especially his various Beech Buoy power boats that made multiple trips to Kelley‘s Island, Put-in-Bay and numerous other destinations both far and near. And god forbid if even a scrap of dirt got on the boat, or you wore the wrong shoes. Bill was there with a paper towel to pick up every scrap and a forceful reminder about the proper soles for the Tiara.

Bill loved cars, from all the ones he owned to the ones he bought and sold for friends and family. Sometimes there was no place Bill was happier than in the garage taking a car apart and putting it back together the way it should have been assembled in the first place. I think we’ve all had to deal with trying to figure out car alarms installed by Bill that even the auto dealers can’t bypass.

Bill loved animals, like his cat Elsa and dog Cher. He gave generously to the Cleveland zoo and animal rescue projects.

Bill loved giving, not just to numerous charities but to his family and friends as well. He once anonymously paid a co-worker‘s health insurance for a year. He loaned money so a relative could go to college. He also loaned money to both Lisa and Heather so they could make down payments on their houses.

Bill loved work, from his 33 years at the various incarnations of Lorain Products, to helping out on the Born family farm, to innumerable projects at the homes of friends and family members, and even those who barely knew him but were connected in some way with those he loved. His co-workers at Lorain Products could always count on him to deliver chocolates on Valentine’s Day and Sweetest Day, even sometimes at their homes after they had left the company.

If there was a light switch that didn’t work, or a door that squeaked, or a tractor that wouldn’t start, Bill would fix it. And even if there were things you didn’t want fixed, if Bill thought something was wrong, the tool box was coming out and your day was booked.

He had all the skills that are perfect for passing down to a son. But maybe someone knew that would be too big of a burden for any male offspring to bear, so Bill was blessed with two daughters and three granddaughters.

Bill loved his family. And unlike many men of his generation, he wasn’t afraid to show it. Bill was one of the most emotional, gregarious and loving, men I knew. He knew how to hug.

Bill was born in 1944 in Lorain, the son of Carl and Ella Beecheler. He grew up spending time with his dad and step brother Robert, learning from them how to take things apart and put them back together in proper working order. He learned how to boat from his dad, taking numerous fishing trips on Lake Erie in their Lyman.

Bill met Sue shortly after graduation from Admiral King High School in 1962. In many ways, they couldn’t have been more different. Bill was from a small city family, had no college degree, and was working his way up the ladder with a blue collar job at Lorain Products. Sue was from a large farm family, a graduate of Miami University and a teacher.

Luckily for me and Chuck, Bill and Sue fell and love and soon had two girls: Lisa in 1971 and Heather in 1975. No offense to all the wonderful women gathered here today, but I do not believe there are any two more beautiful women in this world than Lisa and Heather.

Bill and Sue soon built their home on land owned by Sue’s family, on what became Bill’s pride and joy at 50902 Becker Road. Bill and his brothers-in-law, and Sue, spent countless hours, days and weeks clearing the woods to build the house. Bill was there every step of the way, either doing the work himself or berating those hired to do what little he couldn’t, pointing out their transgressions to the eight of an inch.

By 1975 the work was largely done and the Beecheler family was home: Bill and Sue and little Lisa and Heather.

Bill loved his family, to be sure, but he had too much energy just for them. He had to share it with the community. He worked all day at Lorain Products, building a career that would eventually take him all the way to manager of quality control before retirement in 2000. He spent his nights with a side job fixing corn dryers on farms as far as three hours away, tucking away every spare nickel and dime to invest in bigger and better boats for his family. He joined the Firelands School Board, eventually serving as president. Bill spent as much, or more, time getting to know the janitors and bus drivers as he did the teachers and administrators. To him, titles and college degrees meant little or nothing. It was the person’s character, and their knowledge of a car’s working parts, that mattered most.

While work and public service were a large part of his life, Bill never wavered from his dedication to his family. He took them skiing, teaching Lisa and Heather how to work the downhill. They went camping, sleeping in the back of a pickup truck in what at the time may have been uncomfortable but in later years would provide deep and meaningful memories. He continued to work on the house, building a barn with such focus that even when he accidentally hit himself in the head with a hammer, falling off the roof in the process, he kept on hammering until the job was done. Then he went to the hospital for stitches.

Given how beautiful his two daughters grew up to be, Bill was put in a difficult position when it came time for them to start dating. But he came up with an approach on how to handle the various boys who started coming around the house with more frequency. Instead of getting to know them or trying to divine their true intentions, Bill simply ignored them. If they talked to him, he walked away. If they asked what he was doing, he would grunt. Mostly he just stayed in the garage. He told me later he wanted them to be afraid of him, to know he was there, but to realize that he had no time for them, in the hopes that eventually they would just go away.

That approach didn’t work for me and Chuck. We stuck around.

The first time I met Bill, when Lisa and I were dating in college in 1993, he drove down to Miami in a 1980 blue Ford Mustang with his wonderful mother Ella Banas in tow. Bill loved his mother. He cared for her into her old age, frequently bringing her to his house for dinner, including her in family gatherings, and even taking her and her friends out on the boat. He was a dedicated son and she loved him wholeheartedly in return.

The first time Chuck met Bill he was put to work immediately, waxing the entire bottom of the boat, a hard and thankless job. Just consider it son-in-law hazing. Chuck must have passed the test.

Bill insisted on being the MC at Lisa and my wedding reception and, as the videotape proves, there was no better dancer once the music started. He danced like he lived: with abandon.

He even managed to fix a flat tire for one of the wedding guests the next morning. Just last week, 15 years after the fact, that friend sent me an email saying how he still remembers how Bill made sure the tire was fixed and the car was safe before it hit the road for the drive back to Illinois.

Bill was always there.

He was there for Sue when she needed him most, never wallowing in misery, but still finding time to travel, boat and keep on living. Ten days after she died Bill’s first grandchild, my daughter Anna, was born. Bill was mourning the loss of his wife, but guess who was the first visitor to our Lincoln, Nebraska, hospital room? If you guessed Bill, then you’re at the right funeral.

He stayed with us for a couple weeks, running wires and fixing things. That’s one of the best ways he showed his love. He also bought us a new car, which was another way he showed his love. I have owned four cars. One of them I bought with Bill, one of them Bill bought for me, and the other two I bought from him at a deep family discount. Even when he was sick this summer, living with Lisa and me in Wisconsin, he was researching cars for our family to buy, eliminating any that had a poor safety record no matter how popular.

Three years after Anna was born, Bill returned to be there for Mary Jane’s birth. The night Lisa went into labor, I calmly awoke Bill to let him know I was taking Lisa to the hospital. He jumped out of bed, threw the sheets off, and sprang to attention, wearing nothing but his tighty whities. He was prepared, even though I wasn’t ready for that image.

Just two years ago Bill was blessed by the birth of his third granddaughter, Chuck and Heather’s daughter Charlotte. He was also there shortly after she was born in Annapolis, Maryland. He worked on innumerable projects for Chuck and Heather as well, most recently putting in a brand new kitchen in their house. It was one of Bill’s last, and most beautiful, pieces of work.

I want to say a few words about Linda, but anything I say will not do justice to what she meant to Bill and our family.

After Sue died, all of us were certain that there was no other sane woman on the planet who would fall in love with Bill. But then came Linda.

She and Bill knew each other through her husband Phil. Linda and Bill reconnected after Phil and Sue died and soon became inseparable. They shared a love of boating and adventure. They filled each day to the max, taking whatever life could throw at them and embracing it, running toward the next adventure and not just sitting back and letting things come to them. Bill found a new lease on life with Linda and welcomed her wonderful son Lee into his life. He showed his love by making Lee help him chop wood.

Bill and Linda traveled the world, they explored the Great Lakes, they watched Bones and House. They lived and they were happy.

This May Bill and Linda moved in with Lisa and me for three months. The day after he moved in, I ran my first marathon, dedicating it to Bill and wearing his name on my shirt. He came out for the race, catching me at various spots, and even getting in on the action, running alongside me for a few hundred feet. We embraced, he was smiling ear to ear, and when his feet failed him, he walked back with the spectators, sad that he couldn’t keep up for longer.

The fact that he was there and ran with me is one of the greatest memories of my life.

I, along with all of you, cannot imagine what life would have been like without Bill Beecheler in it. And it’s hard to think of how it will be without him.

He showed that life was meant to be lived. And not just on vacation days or weekends. But all the time. Every minute. Because friends, you never know when your time is up.

The last time I saw Bill 11 days ago I knew he didn’t have long to live, but I was certain I would see him again. His last words to me weren’t, “Pray for me,” or “You’ll probably never see me again,” or anything negative. He simply said, “You’re great.”

No, Bill, you’re great. And for those of us left behind, we can take solace in knowing that all the kitchen remodels, all the rewiring projects and all the other general maintenance that has been neglected for centuries in heaven will now finally get done.

Details

2010-02-23T20:03:00.002-06:00

Here is Dad's obituary. In it you will find information about the visitation and funeral on Thursday/Friday as well as memorial fund suggestions.

To send cards to Linda:

Linda Mahar

50902 Becker Road

Oberlin OH 44074

Thanks again so much. Your friendship has brought us so much comfort. I'll continue to post in the next days as I can.

I keep thinking about Dad tapping me on the shoulder this morning. He died at 3:43 a.m., and I woke up in Madison from a deep sleep at 3:47 and felt strangely comforted.

Rest in Peace, Bill

2010-02-23T08:55:00.002-06:00

The world lost an astoundingly good man today. We mourn his death and celebrate his life.

William C. Beecheler
June 22, 1944 to February 23, 2010

He died peacefully in his home with Linda and Heather by his side.

Scott, the kids and I will leave for Ohio today. The services for Bill will be Thursday and Friday. I will keep you posted on the details.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for following this story, which continues with Bill's legacy being left with so many people touched by him.

Dadddy

2010-02-21T09:38:00.013-06:00

Bill is in quick decline. The hospice nurse asked Heather today if Dad was the type of person who likes to get things done. YES, she replied. That's him. He's dying just like he lived.

Heather and I are amazed at the providence involved at this point. When Mom died, I was there for 8 weeks taking care of her. Heather came a few weeks later and stayed after I left, a few weeks before Mom died. I was eight months pregnant, having early contractions, and I left to have the baby back in Nebraska where Scott and I lived. (Mom died Jan. 14, 2001, and Anna was born Jan. 24.) Heather was there with Mom at the time of her death. I don't know that I could have handled it like Heather. She's a quiet angel on earth. And here she is again with Dad at the end. I don't know if I'll make it there in time, but Heather will be there with him and Linda. And that comforts me. I'm also comforted to know that I was there last week for Dad, during a trying emotional time for him. I'm a jabber-mouth, so I talked and listened to Dad's worries and tried to calm his fears. Heather and I each have roles to play. Not that we like these roles, but we'd do anything for our parents.

Just like they did everything for us. Dad's gifts to his children are immense. He's our hero. But let's not sugar-coat it too much, even at this point. Dad, like the rest of us, has his faults. And my relationship with him is far from perfect, like all relationships. In fact, at times it was downright difficult. We're both stubborn and opinionated and we sometimes think we have all the answers. Dad used to have quite a temper, and he settled for nothing less than perfection in many areas. We locked horns frequently through the years.

In April 2009, just weeks before he was diagnosed with brain cancer, we had one of our disagreements. Dad was in Madison for Easter. He was putting French doors on our office. The project was intense and required a lot of woodwork and calculations. Bill was getting tired. The kids were loud and rowdy and getting in his way. "I should have hired this out to someone else," I thought while making dinner as I listened to Dad cursing in the next room. "Dad, for God's sake watch your mouth. The kids are right here!" I told him. "Well, do you want these damn doors on or not?" he replied. But eventually the doors were hung -- to perfection. And they look lovely. And Dad felt proud and we hugged, and I took his picture in front of yet another home improvement triumph.

The beauty of our relationship is that we work through the conflict, we don't hold grudges, and there's never been any question about the extent of our love for each other. I'm sure Heather would say the same thing.

Below is an essay I found in a box of old stuff while at home. I think I was in junior high when I wrote this. Dad always signed his name "Dadddy" on cards, with three d's. Not sure where this originated but we'd often call him "Dadddddddy," stretching out the word as some kind of quirky family joke.

DADDDDY

by Lisa Beecheler

My dad is a great father who has taught me a lot. I remember when I was only five years old and my dad was running beside me teaching me how to ride a bike. Even though I fell into a ditch full of water and cried and complained he never gave up on me. Eventually I learned how to ride that bike and when I did my dad smiled and said "That's my girl!"

A few years later my dad took me skiing. After barely conquering the bunny hill he decided I was ready for a "real hill." He took me to the top of what I thought was a huge hill. It was snowing hard up there, but my dad gave me a reassuring smile and said, "See you at the bottom!" and was gone! As I stood there bewildered, tears running down my frozen cheeks, I tried to remember everything my dad had taught me. At first I thought I'd never make i t down, but needless to say, I did! When I finally reached the bottom, there was my dad. Standing there, he smiled and said, "That's my girl!"

My dad always has had a lot of confidence in me. Because of the feeling he gives me when I 'm around him I feel I can conquer anything. Not only has my dad taught me practical things like riding a bike and skiing, he has also taught me things about life. For instance, he has taught me to work my hardest in school and to give 100% in everything I do. He enforces his beliefs by attending all of my school activities. I'll never forget the feeling I had when I had to give a speech in front of all my classmates and their families. Before I got up to the podium I was so nervous but then I remembered who was sitting right beside me, my dad. As I stood up there, all eyes on me, my knees knocking, I could almost hear my dad's reassuring voice, it gave me the confidence to begin my speech. After finishing my flawless speech [Note from 38-year-old Lisa: Wow, I wish I had that confidence today!] I stepped down from the podium and there was my dad. Looking so proud, he gave me a big hug and said, "That's my girl!"

I'll always know that no matter how old I am my dad will always have something new to teach me, and when I accomplish any new goal I'm sure that when I look over at my dad he'll have a big smile on his face and he'll say, "That's my girl!"

Down, but not out

2010-02-21T07:55:00.000-06:00

Back in Madison. Numb. I wish I could say, "I was so happy to get home!" But it's bittersweet because I left Dad. Truth be told, I have no emotions and feel like I'm in shock. Like I just survived a plane crash. Maybe a good night of sleep will bring me around. Transitions are tough. And it was one helluva week.

A few hours after I posted my last blog, the hospice doctor told my dad, "It won't be days, but it probably won't be months," and that was shocking. What does a man do when told he has weeks to live? He cries. Holds his loved ones. He worries about who will take care of them, even though they're all adults. Although I respect that doctor, I wish he wouldn't have been so specific. I mean, why try to put a number on someone's days? He can't know. It doesn't seem to be comforting. Dad knows he's dying of cancer. Isn't that enough? Linda and I hugged Dad and wept and wept. The spirituality guide from hospice shared some peaceful thoughts. What can you say?

To add to this soup of depression, yesterday hospice delivered a hospital bed to Dad's living room. He can't go up and down stairs anymore. A little over nine years ago, Dad, my sister and I nursed my Mom through to her death on a hospital bed in that same living room, in the same spot. I had to leave the house when the bed was delivered. When I stepped in the room and saw it set up just like it was nine years ago, I had an out-of-body experience. My heart physically hurt. Is this a cruel joke? Then of course what made it worse was leading Dad in that room when it was time for bed.

"What?" was all he could say. He's lost a lot of thinking capability, but he sure as hell remembers what happened the last time a hospital bed was in this room. We might as well have put him to bed in a coffin.

I'm sorry if I sound completely negative. I advise you to go watch the Olympics or some comedy if you haven't already given up on this entry! I thought about not writing but then decided to keep it real. Some days are harder than others. Some days you feel uplifted even in the worst of times. Some days, you just don't. And that's okay.

But even today I can muster up some good stuff. Like Linda. Linda lost her first husband to cancer about 11 years ago. Her husband Phil and my Dad were going to start a business together before he died. While at first it was difficult to see my Dad with another woman, Heather and I quickly got over it and fell in love with Linda. She's a school nurse and has a son, Lee, who's a real gem. My bro. On that dreadful day they delivered the bed, Linda took charge. She plows through emotion and gets the job done. I cower in the corner or escape to run errands. Linda makes the bed beautifully -- like it's at a B&B. She gathers things from around the house to decorate the room -- family pictures, a lighthouse she and Dad got on vacation, a TV so they can watch movies together. She stays upbeat. "Lisa, look at this great wheelchair to use around the house. It's so lightweight and it folds up!" She wakes Dad up by smiling and kissing his cheek and sweetly saying, "Good morning, sleepy head! Time to get up!" Linda loves my Dad. Period. This is what you do for people when you love them.

Another positive thought: What I was able to do last week was spend a lot of time talking with, or mostly to, Dad. I recalled how he taught me to ride a bike and I swerved right in a muddy ditch. Dad laughed. He remembered. I pointed to the side yard and said, "Remember all those grounders you threw me over there?" He nodded and said, "Yeah. You worked." Yes, I did, because Dad was yelling, "C'mon, bend those knees and get the glove on the ground! Thatta girl!" I brought out some picture albums and pointed to family vacations, relatives, picnics. "There's Mom, your wife Sue. Look at those goofy glasses and hair!" He smiled. He laughed again when I pointed to this hilarious shot of him laying on his stomach looking face-to-face with one of our pet cats. Bill: always hamming it up.

And to end this blog on a high note: When I walked in the door of our house in Madison, I picked up the kids and squeezed them. I achingly miss them when I'm away. They are my rays of sunshine. And MJ's first comment? "MOMMY! You look younger and your neck looks longer!" I'll take it.

It's been a while. I wish I had better news.

2010-02-15T19:32:00.039-06:00

Anybody have an elixir for a broken spirit? Aside from a cure for cancer, Captain Bill could use a shot of that.

But I'll back up a bit. First, apologies for the long hiatus from blogging. I know many of you have asked for updates (even offering to write for me). Although we all suspected this wouldn't be a fairy tale, it's been tougher than I thought to live through and write about it. I'll do the best I can at this point. (Props again to my dear friend Janel for her blogging courage and prowess ... http://all4ally.blogspot.com. Sometimes I read her words and feel like she's saying what I need to say. So thanks, Babe.)

Dad's tumor is growing. It originated on the left side of his head, above his ear. After two brain surgeries, radiation and chemo, summer in Madison, setbacks and seizures, and intermittent batches of good news, an MRI showed that the tumor was under control. Captain Bill's shipmates breathed a sigh of relief. Could we actually beat this? No such luck. A few weeks ago, when Heather was in Ohio, Dad had another seizure and ended up in the hospital. Another MRI showed that the tumor had in fact grown into the frontal lobe. The doctors told Dad that his original prognosis of one year from May 2009 is a reasonable estimate.

The frontal lobe. This is where we mammals derive our higher mental functions. This is the place we park our long-term memories that are not task-based. The frontal lobes are considered our emotional control center and home to our personality. One study from the Centre for Neuro Skills said, "It has long been known that some patients with frontal lobe damage have significantly changed personalities." We're seeing that. This ugly tumor in Dad's frontal lobe is raising hell. His emotions are all over the map. One minute he's irate about the smallest detail -- a light left on too long. The next minute he's weeping and apologetic about his condition. His speech and understanding are severely limited. And the bitch of it is that he's fully aware of his losses. This is a recent conversation we had -- sitting face-to-face as I held his hand:

Dad: How am I gonna do this?

Me: I don't know, Dad. It's so hard. You're doing the best you can.

Dad: No, how am I gonna DO this? I don't know how to DO it.

Me: It's not your fault. We didn't ask for this. There's nothing you need to do, Dad.

Dad: But just laying in a bed ... I don't know how to do that. How can I DO that?

Me: Let's not look too far ahead. Let's think about being together. We'll do what we need to do together -- you, me, Heather and Linda.

Dad: I just love you.

Me: I know. I love you, too. You've told me you love me my whole life. So I know.

After my conversation with Dad, I said, "Dad, can you give me a massage?" So I sat on the floor in front of him, in his chair. He gently rubbed my shoulders and commented about the left one being tight. "Yeah, it is Dad. It's sore." I think helping me was the highpoint of his day. He seemed content -- and himself -- for a minute or two.

He's devastated about losing his independence. Bill is a man of action. He wants to "do" something about this. He does not want his daughters or wife putting on his socks or having to give him a shot of Lovenox in the gut every morning. (Who would?) Bill still wants to be the guy to fix your car, take you for a boat ride, take you on his motorcycle, haul wood for the fire, tease you in good fun. He dreads people hovering over him, feeding him and giving him pills and shots. He's spent 9 months fighting this disease like hell, only to get to this point of hopelessness. My Dad's courage, his optimism and humor, his fierce determination -- it's drying up. He just wants, in his words, "To go outside. To look at my woods."

He can still walk, but the gait is turtle slow and it's tough for him to get out of his chair. He still eats on his own, still takes care of his basic needs. But he sees what's coming. And I hate it as much as him. Linda and I met with hospice on Tuesday. They marched in like an army of angels -- nurse, social workers, spirituality guide, doc. As much as I dread that "H" word, there's nothing else in the world like that organization. You feel like you have another extended family to care for you and your loved one.

And speaking of family, I know many of you are concerned about my lovely step-mom, Linda. She's holding up amazingly well. Because she's an amazing woman. But she could sure use your words of encouragement. Same for my strong and beautiful sis.

I should mention that I'm writing this from Ohio. I got in on Feb. 12 and will leave tomorrow. Scott was in last weekend and left Monday. (Heather comes in next week.)

I knew from the moment I hit the ground in Cleveland that this would be a pivotal week. Dad's good friend Joe picked me up from the airport. Joe's an ex-Marine, soft-spoken and big-hearted. He's helping his single-parent son raise his granddaugther, 2-year-old Shyla, and she was in the back seat with me while Dad and Joe were up front. Dad had little to say, not even too excited to see me -- so uncharacteristic of the Bill who in the past would fly up to the terminal in his Spec B and give me a big bear hug, lugging my luggage and asking about my trip. In that back seat, my head suddenly felt like it was in a vice. I felt a pit in my stomach. I turned to Shyla, who just woke up from a nap in her car seat. I smiled at her sweet face framed by a pink coat and bouncy blond curls. She smiled back and reached out a fat hand, which I quickly grabbed, fully expecting her to snatch it away. But we held hands almost all the way to Oberlin.

And those are the kind of moments I'm hanging on to right now. Looking out at Dad's property, blanketed with snow. Trees stand at attention, getting ready to bud. Talking to my sis. Reading e-mails from friends: "Just checking in." "Hang in there." "Tell Bill we love him." "Nice to know you're smiling from time to time." Feeling Scott's love and loyalty -- and knowing his purchase of a block of 15-year-old Wisconsin cheddar awaits me! Talking to Dad's neighbors, who I've known my whole life, about elderberry pie and horses and winter trips to Florida. Hearing a friendly voice mail from my cousin Mel. Reading. Chatting on the phone with a friend/colleague about our book venture. Watching Lindsey Vonn tear up that downhill run in Vancouver. Music, like an awe-inspiring concert at Finney Chapel in Oberlin. Cousin Molly sending me hilarious Facebook IMs. Eating dark chocolate and drinking red wine -- daily. Running, running, running on a dumb treadmill in Dad's basement. Listening to Mary Jane on the phone: "Mommy, we played a fun new game in gym!" Getting a note from Anna about our upcoming hunt for a family dog: "Mommy, we need to check out the humane society."

Life in bloom.

Oh, and this prime example of family humor and loyalty:

Cousin Gary: Hey, Lisa. Calling to see if I can visit Bill this afternoon.

Me: Oh, we've got hospice coming. Can you call another day? Plus ... you should know that Dad's really been upset and hasn't been excited about visitors.

Gary: Well, I'll call back. But he's got no choice. I'm visiting. I'll have to come kick him in the nuts.

And I shouldn't neglect to mention that Dad's had his share of good moments, despite it all. His brothers-in-law and Scott took him out for breakfast last weekend. His posse. Scott and I took him to the botanical gardens in Cleveland, and I think he enjoyed the tropical heat and lush greenery. (I know I did!) We walked around Oberlin, and Dad shopped for Charlotte's birthday and stopped at an art gallery where he bought me a pair of earrings made of shiny old guitar picks. I took Dad out to lunch with friends, and he laughed a little. His friend Frank stopped by with ash Wednesday Paczcis ("poonch-keys"). We rode around in his sporty Spec B as, from time to time, Dad would mutter, "Punch it," and at the risk of getting a ticket, I'd put the pedal to the metal. "This car hauls ass," he'd quietly say with a slight grin.

When I go back to Madison, my goal is to get Dad's slides scanned on my computer. I hope for my next visit we can sit and look at old pictures. We're so lucky to have a boatload of happy memories. Thanks in large part to my Mom and Captain Bill, his hard work, his dedication to family, his zest for life.

Plowing

2009-12-28T20:29:00.005-06:00

I'm with Dad in Ohio. The girls and I flew in on Sunday. We climbed the skies over Madison to look down at a white blanket across Wisconsin. We descended in Cleveland over a bleak, brown landscape. But last night and today the snow fell and brightened things up around here.

Even though Dad's doing well, re-entry into his world is always a bit of a shock. This whole situation still seems surreal. I can't help but think back 8 months when Dad and Linda came to Madison for Easter. Dad installed French doors in my office, we tooled around town, life was good. Then on May 2, I was at my computer doing some work. It was a Sunday. Scott had taken the kids to church and to run errands. He suddenly burst in on my peaceful moment and said, "Your dad had a stroke." Linda had called him. Of course the rest is history -- we learned it wasn't a stroke, it was brain cancer. Two brain surgeries, rounds of radiation and chemo, seizures, hospitals, Dad's move to Madison, tears, a long list of medications, doctors and nurses and therapists ... Did this all really happen?

It must have, because Dad has aged about 30 years since April.

Today Dad had a good day. His pain from the cracked rib was minimal, he was in a decent mood and his speech and comprehension were at about a 75 percent. I know, I should be glad. But, like I said, re-entry is tough. Instead, today I couldn't help but focus on how much things have changed. This morning we took the kids to Toys 'R Us to spend their gift cards from Linda. HUGE treat for the girls. They wanted Grandpa to come help them find their loot, but he didn't even want to join us. The pre-May Bill would always be up for any activity with his girls -- even shopping! I had to practically force him to ride along. Then we get in Linda's Prius and dumb me forgot how to turn it on without using a key. It's strange enough that I'm the driver with auto-man Bill as passenger, but Dad couldn't quite remember how to run this car either. Pre-May Bill lived for cars, took them apart and put them back together, tinkered with engines as if they were toys.

It's just little things like this that illustrate the big losses. But even among the wreckage, you can still see bright spots ...

We got about 5 inches of snow, so I offered to plow Dad's driveway, which is long and large. Pre-May Bill wouldn't have dreamed of having me invade his space and take over his chores. But Dad just said, "Sure, go ahead." So I put on Dad's Carhartts and Linda's work boots, tromped in the snow to the barn and found the plow. The tractor wouldn't start but I knew from Dad's (nagging) lessons that I had to use the choke. Got it running, brought it up to the garage, and Dad put air in the front left tire. Started plowing and got stuck. "Go get the chains. You need the chains," Dad said. So back to the barn to look for the chains, which I couldn't find. Dad found them and brought them up to the garage. I jacked up the back of the tractor as Dad tried to explain how to put chains on the wheels. Between the two of us, we did it. Mostly I did it, with Dad's direction.

Then I plowed the whole damn driveway. And I was proud of myself. Dad stood in the garage watching me for the longest time. When I finished he laughed and said, "Lisa, you did it! You did great!" That's what made me proud, my Dad telling me that I did something well. You're never too old to be patted on the back by a parent. The rest of the day he smiled at me and mentioned how neat it was to see me plowing. "Lisa, I am impressed."

What was once second nature to him is now impossible, yet he's still such a great man that he's able to applaud me for doing a half-ass job.

So while I mourned the loss of that pre-May Bill, I was also grateful to have any kind of Bill. He may not be plowing driveways or driving me around in the snow or doing all the many manly things he used to do, but he's still an amazing man to me, and I love him.

Message from Linda

2009-12-23T09:18:00.002-06:00

Dad fell a few days ago and cracked a rib. As if he needed that. But I just talked to him this morning, and he seems -- somehow -- to be in good spirits. He's looking forward to our visit in a few days. The girls and I fly to Cleveland on the 27th to stay for a full week! So let's hope that means more frequent updates on the blog.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas to all. Here's hoping my dad sees some good days. Here's wishing my friends and family and those everywhere who are sad or suffering find some light in their lives.

And here's a note to all from Linda:

"I could not get to Christmas cards this year, but I want to thank everyone for all their encouragement, contact and well wishes to Bill and to me throughout these past months. Our hearts are constantly warmed by the thoughts of our families and friends who love Bill and reach out to us with thoughts, cards and visits. While I did not get the cards sent I certainly want everyone to know you are a real blessing in our lives and have made our difficult times much better and our good days really shine. We warmly wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

News from latest appointment

2009-12-10T08:06:00.005-06:00

On December 8, Dad had his monthly appointment at Cleveland Clinic. Always tense waiting for results. But results are good! The tumor is stable! No signs of growth and in fact a diminished size in the area that they are following.

The docs explained that Dad's symptoms of slight confusion and speech/comprehension challenges are actually lingering affects of radiation, which killed both good and bad cells. So three months out from his last radiation treatment, he should not be getting any worse in those areas, and may get better. More good news!

Medication regime continues to be complicated, and docs are doing their best to make a chemical cocktail for Dad -- his anti-swelling meds, anti-seizure meds, etc. -- that is therapeutic yet doesn't adversely affect him. He's been experiencing mood swings and muscle pain. And he lapses in and out of a good realm of communication. Some days he speaks so clearly and understands everything you say. Sometimes his speech is garbled and he can barely have a conversation. It's so tough to know why this is happening. Docs are trying to wean him off the steroid (Decadron) because that definitely has long-term negative affects. But decreasing that dosage has given him a variety of problems. It's a constant struggle.

Docs also gave him additional PT, OT and speech therapy. This is more good news! Dad thrives when he's working to improve himself. It makes him feel good, and that alone is worth it. We've also hired a nurse -- Nurse Larry -- to stay with Dad three mornings a week and help him with various chores and errands. Dad was quite resistant to this at first -- no one likes to lose their independence -- but he's getting used to the idea and I think has enjoyed Larry's company.

So all of the above is a nice Christmas gift for us.

However, Dad was depressed after that appointment. It's been difficult to explain to him his prognosis, and we haven't really done so -- why would we? Nobody can know for sure where this will go. But on Tuesday, the doctors talked in detail to Dad about the fact that he still has a cancerous brain tumor that they cannot remove with surgery. Dad wasn't fully aware of this. He said to the doctors, "I know I have a grade 4 tumor, and isn't that bad?" They responded that yes, it's not the best scenario, but that Dad's responding so well to treatment -- better than they expected. Docs put the MRI scans on the computer to show Dad the 1-inch area that's affected in his brain. This is the first time he'd seen any scans. Linda said he was pretty shocked. Nothing like being hit in the head with the fact that you have the worst kind of brain cancer.

But I talked to him yesterday evening, and he seemed a bit better. Still talking about the dire situation, but was able to perk up when I told him that the girls and I would be spending a week with him after Christmas, then Heather and Charlotte will probably come out for a week in January.

At Thanksgiving, Heather and I dug out old slides from the 50s through 80s. Dad has hundreds of them. What a tremendous gift it was to sit with Dad and see so many images of our happy life together. Skiing, boating, vacations, all our old pets, school days, work days, extended family, building a house, making a home together. Dad expressed over and over how happy he was to see those slides. So I brought the whole load of them back to Madison, bought a slide scanner and am going to put them all in digital form for him. Hope to have a bunch printed out and in a photo book for Christmas. Heather is doing the same thing with old pictures. I think we really feel a great need to tell Dad just how much he means to us.

Act of love

2009-11-30T10:59:00.013-06:00

Back in Madison, but thinking about what a lovely time we had with Dad and Linda. Bill was beside himself with happiness, having his 6 girls (and 3 guys!) around him. He seemed to have good energy, GREAT appetite and amazing ability to communicate. I thought it would be a struggle and frustrating for him. No. He had no problems hopping right in the middle of conversations, and cracking jokes left and right.

He did look kinda rough -- as you can see from some pictures, below. He's still got the black eye from his fall, and he's all puffed up. It's from the steroids. He's still on 6 mg and probably won't be kicked back on the dosage. Linda will hear more on that at his Dec. 8 appointment. But he looks worse than he feels!

A highlight for Heather and I (and Bill) was the opportunity to record almost three hours of interviews with Dad through the StoryCorps program. From the website: "Since 2003, over 50,000 people have shared life stories with family and friends through StoryCorps. Each conversation is recorded on a free CD to share, and is preserved at the Library of Congress. StoryCorps is one of the largest oral history projects of its kind, and millions listen to our broadcasts on public radio and the web."

The StoryCorps motto is: Listening is an Act of Love. And now I totally get that.

If you listen to NPR on Friday mornings, you'll hear StoryCorps snippets that will make you cry. I am a big fan of this project and was totally excited to be able to record Dad and his stories about boating, skiing, working, kids and wives, school, cars, his parents, life and death, so much more! I wasn't sure how it'd go, since Dad's had a hard time with his speech. But wow. He talked our ears off, made us laugh and cry and both at the same time. I should get the CDs in a few weeks and will try to share some stuff.

Another highlight was spending an evening with the Borns at Aunt Donna’s house on Saturday evening. It’s only about once a year that I get to be together with mom’s family. Heather and I grew up having about 10 aunts and uncles and 20+ cousins within a 10-mile radius of our house, so our extended family became our nuclear family. And they’ve embraced Dad and helped him through all this stuff. So, thanks Aunt D., thanks all you Borns. (Jason, I still don’t buy the LTD story…..)

Enjoy the pix!

Thanksgiving and beyond

2009-11-27T17:42:00.004-06:00

Dad's napping after another long day capped off with turkey leftovers. Thanksgiving lived up to its name around here. Bill soaked up every moment with his family him. We all did.

I started the day with another run on the rails-to-trails path down the road from Dad's house, in the small town of Kipton. Tried to just clear my mind before returning home to a cooking frenzy. Heather, Linda and I then rolled up our sleeves and spent hours in the kitchen preparing the turkey, stuffing, cheesy potatoes, sweet potato casserole, green beans, salad and homemade cranberry sauce. Linda bought the desserts from her school's culinary program -- those are some talented young chefs!

As Heather said, Dad's great to cook for because he'll say he loves just about anything you put in front of him. But this truly was a scrumptious meal. We started off by tipping back some special whiskey that Dad and Linda brought back from Scotland. Smooooooth stuff. One of the many things I love about my Dad is his ability to truly enjoy things and talk about them as he's doing it. He really savored that shot and explained exactly why -- even through his somewhat limited speech.

After our big meal, we wobbled around for a few hours, watched football, played with the kids, then dug into dessert and more wine. And more wine. And laughing, sitting at the table with candles. Talking about how happy we were to be in this moment and all together.

Truly a day to give thanks.

Today brought some cold weather, but it didn't deter us from heading to Castalia for a visit to a place called Back to the Wild. It's a wildlife rehabilitation and nature education center. Dad and Linda had been there once before. Through bitter wind we walked around to see eagles, hawks, the most beautiful owls, pheasants, bobcats, kestrels, and a bunch of snakes and turtles. Dad was totally engaged -- he loves animals -- and asked our guide a bunch of questions.

Near one of the eagle areas, Dad started looking down at the brick pavers with names of donors engraved. "Look, Lisa, here it is." Turns out he donated to this place in his mom and my mom's names. He found his brick. So we took a picture and he said something like, "This is a really worthy place for animals." And it was. Dad's generosity never ceases to amaze me.

Well, must go. Linda's son (my step-bro!) just arrived, and we're going to watch some old slides tonight. Life continues to be good.

Ohio, day 2

2009-11-25T20:26:00.003-06:00

Wish the weather were better, but it is November 25 in northern Ohio. At least I got to take a run on the Kipton path today, through some light drizzle.

Dad's doing well. He's been patient with three wild girls tearing around his house. So has Linda, who, by the way, is incredible. Her positive attitude is tempered with just enough realism to make Dad and the rest of us feel comfortable and so thankful for her presence in our lives. It's been relaxing just to sit at the kitchen table, drinking tea with Dad and watching the girls draw pictures. We talked about Christmas plans, lighthouse lamps, food, jobs, Elsa the cat. And we just laughed.

Had fun playing Pictionary with Bill. Dad's never been a game player -- that was always mom's role. But he sure enjoyed playing with me, Heather and Anna and MJ. He jumped right in to guess and even drew some pictures, one pretty good one illustrating the word "toupee." Afterward he looked at his drawing and said, "Geez, that doesn't look at all like a man's head!" I took some good pictures but of course don't have the right technology to upload them to the blog.

Also have to share pictures from a trip to Uncle Jim's. Heather and I took our girls to the farm today. They're definitely city kids! Didn't like the smell of manure! And Mary Jane was freaked out by the hay barn with all the holes in the floor. Anna and I climbed to the top of the stacks and talked about how Heather and I and all our cousins spent so much time in this barn, horsing around, riding bales from top to bottom. Surprised we didn't have more broken bones among us. The girls also got up on the big tractors. Charlotte was ready to drive them through the fields!

Tomorrow's the big day. We'll have a simple Thanksgiving dinner at Dad's. Heather and I did grocery shopping at IGA in Oberlin today (and saw our lovely cousin Erica!), so we're all set.

Part of me feels like I should be sad or depressed. But I'm not. I'm not thinking too far ahead, just enjoying these days. Thankful.

Back in Ohio

2009-11-24T21:24:00.002-06:00

After an uneventful 8-hour drive, we made it to Henrietta Township late this afternoon. Things look unchanged here on Becker Road. Dad's yard is impeccable, the woods has settled in to fall mode, the cars and motorcycles and scooters and truck are tucked away in the barn.

I thought it might be an emotional reunion for me. The last time I saw Bill was when I escorted him to his seat on a small plane taking off from Madison, back in August. I had to get special access to accompany him all the way to his seat, and I so wanted to fly with him! I remember feeling like a parent sending her child away. The tears that day were heavy.

But Dad opened his front door with the biggest smile plastered on his face, and that just put me at ease. "Oh, here they are! Lisa!" The guy was elated to see us and gave me the first of many bear hugs dispensed throughout the evening, accompanied by, "It's just so great to have you here."

Dad's speech and comprehension are surprisingly good. I was prepared for stilted conversation, but Bill had no problem communicating. Missed a few words here and there, but what the hell! I probably did, too. I'd say his appearance is a bit disconcerting. Steroids and maybe some more water weight gain have puffed up his face again to proportions we saw during the summer at its peak. He's like a chipmunk with full cheeks. So hope we can figure out how to get the swelling down.

Otherwise, Bill seemed content, cheerful, healthy. His happiest moment was giving Linda her pair of diamond earrings to match the ones he gave to me and Heather. "Well, now I have three happy women." I think those were Linda's Xmas gift. But he just couldn't wait. Dad's always been about pleasing the ladies! And a perfect Bill moment was when he yelled at Scott for sitting an empty beer bottle on the kitchen shelf: "Whoever put this here, you need to know they go out in the recycling, not on the counter!" It's comforting to know some things never change.

Of course I can't go on without mentioning the joy in seeing my sister and Chuck, and the cousins reunited. Charlotte followed around Anna and MJ like a puppy, and they absolutely adore her every move. Those three were inseparable. And Linda looks great. She's a strong and wonderful woman.

It's only be a few hours with Bill so far. Hopefully much more to report in the coming days.

'Tis the season for ...

2009-11-20T08:30:00.007-06:00

Car shows and corn dryers! Heard a few snips on the radio this morning that reminded me of Dad and his varied life and talents.

Car show season kicks off early next month in LA. By January and February, rust belt cities will host their odes to all things auto. I'll have to ask him, but I wonder if Dad's ever missed a car show in Cleveland, or maybe even Detroit? He's gone with me, Heather, Mom, Linda, Gene, Joe, Lee, uncles, cousins, friends. I think once he took my grandma! There's a long list of people who've suffered through... I mean enjoyed his company for the 8+ hours he spends inside a huge arena of engines, slick brochures, rockin' music, grease and scantily clad women. (Hhhhhmmmmm, come to think of it, maybe he's not there for the cars ....)

Dad loves to see his old favorites -- the models he's owned or wished to own. And he's just as excited to learn more about concept cars and hybrids. If you go with him, plan on taking a backpack of survival gear because he WILL stay all day and into the night. He will talk to half of the sales people and get his picture taken with half the ladies standing around in bikinis. I haven't been to a car show with Dad in a long time, but I have heard reports from each show, each year. Here's a few pix of Dad and his beloved Prowler, just to emphasize his auto love and as a wish that he makes it to Cleveland or Detroit this winter. When he does, I will join him.

It's also harvest season across the Midwest, which means farmers better be getting their corn dryers in working condition. For years and years, Dad had a company called Beecheler Electric. This could have started when he was a kid, fixing appliances in his Dad's shop, but I know he had this company throughout our childhood and adolescent years because Beecheler Electric always sponsored my softball teams.

Dad of course had a full-time, high-stress job in the telecommunications industry for 30+ years. As if that wasn't enough, he spent many weeknights and weekends through each fall as the lone employee of Beecheler Electric, venturing far and wide to fix corn dryers. This was a self-taught skill, as far as I know. I think he must have learned on Uncle Bill and Jim's farm. But I just know there were many days he'd get home from his 8 to 6 job, eat a quick dinner, and drive -- sometimes for hours -- to fix a corn dryer on-farm. He'd get home anywhere from 10 p.m. to 3 a.m., then wake up and put on a suit and tie to head for the office again.

Dad recently told me how much money he made fixing corn dryers. It was enough to buy a nice boat and then some. Corn dryers are not inside a barn. They're free-standing in the middle of the all the weather elements. So through snow, sleet, freezing cold wind, dark, Dad was out there for hours and hours with his toolbox. I wonder what he was thinking besides, "Damn, it's cold and I'm tired!" Knowing him, he just thought, "Hey, this is what I gotta to do get ahead. No problem. At least I have legs, arms and skills." My Dad makes me feel very, very lazy. And thankful, in this season of thanks, for all his hard, hard work. He's an inspiration to me.

This isn't a picture of Dad fixing a corn dryer, but it's him in one of his work jackets on a winter day in front of his barn.

Fortifying

2009-11-15T13:41:00.005-06:00

Dad gave me a beautiful pair of diamond earrings for my birthday. Someone drove him to a jewelry store and he picked them out and sent them to Madison. "I wanted you to have something really nice, Lisa, because you are just so great." I think Heather got a similar gift/sentiment in October.

I'm torn up.

Linda sent us an e-mail a few days ago that laid out the plain truth -- dad's deteriorating and probably not going to get much better. He'll have good and bad days, but possibly never really good days. And lately the bad seem to outnumber the good. His nurse clinician at Cleveland Clinic told Linda this is common progression for brain cancer. Linda thinks it's time we start looking into hiring a nurse for Dad when she's not around -- to keep him safe. When he feels okay, he's doing things like getting up on a ladder ... not a good idea. And Linda's health will soon suffer, too, if she doesn't get some help.

I'm torn up because I am so far away, unable to help. I quit my job -- for a variety of reasons -- but that should give me more flexibility to go stay with Dad for weeks at a time during the next months. To think about leaving my girls and Scott for weeks at a time ... But in church this morning my mind drifted during the sermon and I just kept thinking, "Lisa, start fortifying yourself."

Listen, I'm not trying to say the end is near or there is absolutely no hope (although hope seems to be fleeting). But I've got to face reality and muster strength to face whatever may be ahead for our family. I know so many people going through similar struggles. And I know there are millions of others going through even grander struggles. It's not like we're the first humans to be challenged. But I'm feeling particularly weak at the moment. I'm angry and incredibly sad. And tired. I want to get together with my sister and her family and Dad over the holidays and just laugh and enjoy. I don't want to look cancer in the face. But ... no choice in the matter.

Nine years ago this fall we started fortifying ourselves to face Mom's death. I was 7 months pregnant with Anna. Heather was newly engaged. Fall's always been my favorite time of year. It was Mom's favorite time, too. I can still hear her humming around the house, making her list of fall duties. She loved raking leaves and gathering the Borns for the holidays. She loved waking up at 4 a.m. on Thanksgiving to make a turkey. When we faced that awful fall of 2000, I thought I'd never again be able to enjoy this season. I started seeing it as the time of year when everything starts dying.

But it actually didn't take long for me to see that fall is the beginning of harvest season when seeds are born, fields are fed compost and things in general are prepared for a short nap before that burst of life in spring. So the end is also the beginning.

Again, I'm not trying to predict what's going to happen to Dad. Damn, maybe he will be cured! Wouldn't that be something??? Only someone as unique and stubborn as Bill would beat this bitch-of-a-disease.

Some good days

2009-10-28T20:15:00.003-05:00

Please put Linda in your prayers. Sounds like she's doing okay, but she was diagnosed with shingles -- just what she needed! It sounds like they are under control and she's much better now, able to go to work.

Linda also provided this update on Dad via e-mail:

Just a quick note to let you know I think your dad is doing better. The weekend was still difficult but since Monday I am seeing a real difference. Better speech and also better writing, thinking, recall and personality qualities like humor and joking and not the tearful or negative mood. It must be the medicine making a difference. Also less edema in ankles and just all around I see improvement. Some of these are subtle changes, but still when I look at all the things, it is better. Physical therapy said he did not need them -- speech comes today I believe, and that should help.

We start today on only 4 mg of Prednisone (Yeah!) so that could be a factor. He spent several hours on mail and from the looks he did okay with that. I am so relieved. I am eager to see what the doctor thinks. The tumor board was to review his tests this week.

I talked to Dad today and echo what Linda, Heather and Scott have said: He sounds better -- more cheerful, laughing, not as emotional and better with his speech. In fact, today he spoke more full sentences than I've heard in quite awhile, including use of two big vocab words!

First, I told him Mary Jane's been sick and he responded that he felt bad about that, but, "At least she is building antibodies in her system." Way to go, Bill. Regaining some words.

We also talked about me leaving my job, which has been a major source of stress for the past several months. He knew the background, but I finally opened up and shared the whole story with Dad. As he's always been, he was there for me:

"Lisa, don't let this guy demoralize you!" (Demoralize! Good one, Dad!)

Dad boosted my spirits and confidence with just a few simple words: "Lisa, you're my girl. You're a great lady."

So remember when I said a few blogs ago that my days of getting advice from Dad were over -- guess I was wrong.

Dad told me to stay strong, have confidence in my work. Stand up for myself and stand up for what's right. "That's what I've taught you."

And he has. We ended with a laugh when he added, "Don't be exactly like me, but just very close." (tee hee!)

So maybe it's the change in his medication regimen, maybe his brain is healing from the trauma of the last six months. Whatever it is, I'm grateful Dad is seeing some good days. After what he's been through, he deserves a boatload of them.

Home again

2009-10-22T14:02:00.003-05:00

Bill's back on Becker Road! It's a beautiful time of year in my hometown, like many other places. So I'm glad he's out of the hospital, able to look out the window at his trees.

Linda said Dad's discharge papers did list him as having a seizure, which would explain his fall and black eye. But I guess the primary problem was a seizure medication that has been giving him an array of ugly side affects. So docs decided to wean him off Vimpat and replace that with another seizure medication. Dad will be on seizure meds for the rest of his life. Seizures are one of the worst side affects of this kind of cancer. You just have to learn to control them if possible, and live with it.

Talked to Dad this morning, and he was cheerful, cracking jokes. Aunt Donna was there with him because a physical therapist was scheduled to stop by and assess household risks, such as stairs. So Dad was on the phone with me making jokes about Donna. They've known each other for about 40 years, so ribbing back and forth is totally acceptable.

"Yeah, Donna's here. She's gotta take care of me. Make sure I'm alive."

(Donna laughing in the background.)

"She's wearing a short skirt and looks real sexy!"

"Oh, Bill!" (More laughing from Aunt D.)

I got to talk to Aunt D. on the phone, too. She was like a second mother to me growing up. I had a few second families since we lived within 10 miles of 10 aunts and uncles (and a haywagon load of cousins). Heather and I grew up crossing fields to get to relatives' houses for play or food or just to join my mom, who'd drink gallons of coffee with her family each week.

Aunt Donna, especially, was a mother hen and took good care of all us crazy cousins. She kept us fed and kept us in line. She also had some terrific Halloween parties. Donna and Bill (and their kids Jason and Molly) lived in an old farmhouse built in the 1860s. Aunt Donna and Uncle Bill still live there, and Uncle Bill farms with Uncle Jim. The farmhouse is beautiful. Aunt D. has spent years going over every corner with polish, adding antique furniture, re-doing floors, hanging old spoons and utensils on the kitchen walls. I love that house. But when we were kids, we were all infatuated with and fearful of the cellar. It was a cellar, not a basement. Low ceilings, dirt floor, stone walls -- and dark. So Aunt D. invited us for Halloween parties in that cellar, where we witches and ghosties bobbed for apples and scared ourselves silly, and Uncle Bill would take us for hayrides.

This time of year it's fun to think about those parties, about mom raking acres of leaves, about Dad doing the final grass mowing, about those vibrant reds and purples and yellows and oranges in the woods where we grew up. I'm glad Dad's there to keep enjoying it.

Small setback

2009-10-19T08:04:00.002-05:00

Bill's back at Cleveland Clinic. On Friday, he fell in the middle of the night and gave himself a black eye. Linda rushed him to the ER, and they thought it might have been another seizure. But it looks like he's having side affects from one of his seizure medications -- Vimpat. He's doing well at the hospital and possibly going home today. Doctors will be weaning him off Vimpat, thank goodness. I know these drugs are life-saving, but at high levels, like Dad's taking, they can be toxic.

I've talked to Dad several times. He's trying to stay positive but can't help but be discouraged with setbacks.

I'll keep you posted...

Phone call on a rainy day

2009-10-15T13:33:00.005-05:00

Home from work today. Not feeling too good. Going through a job transition, and thought I would give Dad a call. He's always provided me with advice when times get tough and has been especially helpful when it comes to career questions.

Dad worked for Lorain Products/Marconi/Emerson (a telecommunications company) for 30 years. He started on an assembly line and retired in middle management. So he's seen it all, and done it all! He's not shy about telling stories that reveal his faults and at the same time he's happy to regal you with his tales of victory over tyrannical bosses and his steps up the corporate ladder. He worked hard for his company.

Through my own working years, I've appreciated his advice.

Back to my phone call. It didn't turn out how I'd hoped. First, I think I woke the poor guy up from a nap, although he tried to tell me he was doing a puzzle:

"Oh, hi Lisa. I'm just exercising my exercise. It's good for your brains." From that I surmised he was talking about the puzzle.

"Dad, what kind of puzzle is it?"

"Oh, you just take all these numbers and they don't go through the gates. It's hard to do. 1,000 puckles!"

"That sounds hard. Is it a lighthouse puzzle?" (Linda or Heather told me this.)

"Oh, what do ya call it? What do ya call it? ..."

"I think it's a lighthouse, Dad."

After this exchange, I thought career issues would be too confusing. But he did end with a clear statement: "I counted and I have five more lighthouses. I'll be glad when I get it done!"

We then talked -- in chunks -- about Mary Jane's upcoming birthday, about him cutting back on a certain medication, about his visit with my Uncle Bob and Aunt Mary from Florida, and about how he feels okay and how glad he is to have Linda. He's good. He gets up every morning at 6 a.m. and still does his exercises.

But this conversation was another step in what I call "shifting reality." This is tough stuff. After 30+ years, I realize that my Dad will probably not be the person I'll go to for advice anymore. Maybe this will change! But for now, Dad and I will talk about other things. I'll dig in my mind's archives to use all the advice he's given me in the past. Mainly I'll just follow the example he's set.

At the end of our chat, I told Dad he sounded good and I was glad he was doing well.

"Oh, I think I should be better, but Linda says I'm doing really good."

Clear as a bell.

Guinea pigs

2009-10-09T10:24:00.004-05:00

Heather was home with Dad for about a week. Dad couldn't hide his glee from having his littlest girl with him. They did some work. (Heather was going to mow the lawn for Dad, which is a big job. Dad probably has an acre of lawn. But he hopped on the mower to show her how he wanted it done and ended up doing it himself. This after not feeling well in the morning due to monthly chemo...) They chatted, took walks. Maybe Heather can provide a full blog/report?

It was Heather's b-day on the 6th, so Dad took her to a local jewelry/art store and let her pick out a beautiful necklace. Dad is constantly thinking of other people, how to make them happy. Seeing his ability to help people shine makes him feel good, as it should. Linda made a birthday cake for Heather and they celebrated. Dad's celebrated 34 birthdays with Heather, 37 with me. That's pretty incredible when you think about it. He was there in the beginning, and he's still here. Heather sent me some pictures from family albums that I thought I'd share to show a snapshot of happy life in the Beecheler family.

Thinking about my life goals lately -- career, family, etc. Tossing around the idea of getting a PhD, writing a book, travel. But once all that stuff swirled in my head awhile, I thought of Dad, looking back at his life. I bet he'd say his greatest accomplishment is Heather and me. And I realize that my only real goal is to grow a healthy, happy family, like he did.

These pictures really say a lot if you look closely. Heather and I often fought like cats and dogs (maybe it was more like kittens and pups), but we loved each other deeply. We had a very silly adoration that included code words, made-up songs and just goofiness. I look at my two girls with a "deja-vu" as they sing their own compositions, call everything "funky," and call me "momster."

You can look up in that second pic and see Heather's ghingham yellow sheets and flower wallpaper. Is that the funniest shot or what?! Anna and MJ have held on to this guinea pig shot like it was a signed picture of Zac Efron (for Anna) or Luke Sywalker (for MJ). Living on an acreage Heather and I had pets galore -- cats, dogs, rabbits, turtles (temporarily, until we released them in the neighbor's pond) sheep, goats, a few cows. Now my kids beg me for "Just one guinea pig!!!" We'll see...

Dad made sure we had happiness, whatever form that came in at the time, even it it squealed and ate carrots and lived in a cage.

Spiders

2009-10-08T10:12:00.004-05:00

My friend Janel writes in her blog religiously. Sometimes she'll skip a Friday night, but otherwise she provides the many followers of her daughter Ally with constant news, anecdotes, prayer pleas, thank-yous, pictures and honest commentary on Ally's battle with leukemia. Like hundreds of others, I'm a loyal follower and read her blog daily. I'm saddened by it, but also inspired by her, Ally and their army of family and friends rallying around one little 7-year-old girl.

Why haven't I -- as a writer, without a sick child, with a need to address my family's battle, with a promise to many folks to share Dad's news -- been able to blog?

I've brooded over this for weeks now since my dad left. Tell myself I don't have time, too busy with work, kids, life. Tell myself there's nothing to say -- I only talk to Dad on the phone and he's not physically here for me to observe.

Truth is I have lots to say (those of you who know me well aren't surprised at that!). But I haven't had the courage to say it. Or, rather, I haven't summoned my courage.

I hereby summon my courage.

I did need some time off after the Summer of Cancer. When Dad left I went from feeling empty to depressed to angry and then started to pretend this nightmare never happened. Then I talk to Dad on the phone, hear his muddled speech and mourning of his old life. Hear doctor reports from Linda (everything is still okay), hear reports from Heather's visit ...

Guess what -- it hasn't gone away. Dad is still battling brain cancer.

And onward we all go. Heather from Maryland, me from Wisconsin and Dad and Linda back in Ohio. We are all trying to integrate our "normal" lives with the cold, hard truth that Dad's disease is still with us. That's difficult, but we have to blend everything together and experience the highs and lows together. Otherwise, life -- with all it's wrinkles and ugliness and joy -- walks on and you're left holding a bunch of empty hours.

I hope I haven't lost too many followers. But, I am going to do my best to continue to document our story since it's kind of like breathing for me. Can't hold my breath much longer.

This same thing happened to me when Mom was sick: By the end of the summer with Dad, I started wondering if I had health problems. Just felt tired and weak. I felt like I aged 10 years in three months. In September, a group of my dear Madison friends did a team triathlon. They rocked it! I was supposed to join the fun, but felt totally inadequate. But the day of the race was beautiful -- I decided to take a long bike ride in honor of my pals and as a promise to commit to exercising and feeling strong again. I rode out on the trail to Sauk City in the early morning. The air was a bit cool, colors popped on the landscape like an oil painting. The muscles in my legs cooperated with my need for speed. My mind cleared. I peddled out about 8 miles and turned around.

On the way back, I saw an illusion. Either an illusion or just a splendid gift. Rounding a corner, with a hillside on my right that faced the rising sun, I widened my eyes to hundreds and hundreds of spider webs, glowing. I doubt I can adequately describe the scene, but for a good 1/4 mile, I was met with these glittery, silver webs glued to grasses like banners. I imagined each web as an important person in my life, holding a sign: Go, Lisa! Go Heather and Linda! You can do it! Three cheers for Bill! We love you all! It was truly a spiritual experience. I keep thinking, "I wish I would have thought to take a picture with my phone." But, it was so surreal, it could have been a strange mirage and the picture would have shown an empty hillside.

This vision is all the more important and meaningful because I remember Dad's cancer at one time being described like spiders or webs or vines streaking through his brain. So to me, the hillside spiders represent a way to turn the cancer into something positive, and hopeful.

My hope is more frequent blogging, documenting happy and sad. My posts from here on out might be a bit different than those in the past. But they are what they are, and it's not required reading. :)

More to come soon on Bill.

Still chugging along

2009-09-25T11:57:00.003-05:00

Another update from Linda:

We heard from the Bill's doctor's nurse tonight (Sept. 22), and Bill's lab work looks good. He has felt terrible for 5 days -- dizzy, double vision, weak, discouraged and grouchy...couldn't talk right and trouble understanding. Was it medicine, was it the decrease in Decadron? We don't know but the good news is Bill feels much better today. Nurse Mary said that is the way it is. There are ups and downs and hopefully this up will last.

Despite feeling like a truck ran over him, Bill wanted to get out, and we did. We rode the Cuyahoga Valley Railroad and had a lovely early fall day going to Peninsula for an afternoon. Bill rested under a tree and watched the river and I walked to some shops. Some photos of our day are below.

Did I tell you I work with great people at the JVS? They are the best co-workers, bosses and friends. When Bill had all his pills mixed up, I asked to leave and ran home mid morning from our busy clinic and straightened out the confusion and called our wonderful neighbors Pat and Bob Fraunfelder to make house calls on Bill. It all worked out fine. We are truly blessed and grateful for all the help and understanding.

Staying busy

2009-09-14T20:00:00.004-05:00

Dad and Linda have enjoyed friends and family and even some "field trips" ... Some notes and pictures from Linda:

This first picture is Jerry's party. It was so good. The Born's have all been so wonderful -- many thanks to Jerry for hosting the great party. Also, their daily visits and support are helping Bill through many rough spots with great love and laughter. Bill has loved his visits to the farm and talking with the guys.

Joe Plezia organized a lunch for Bill with a great food (as always) and did all the cooking as well. Delicious, and a fun time celebrating Gene's birthday. We are so fortunate to have these great friends and it meant so much to Bill. We were going to go to Joe's, but Bill was not feeling real well so Joe packed everything up and we moved the gathering to Bill's deck and had a lovely afternoon.

This picture is from the Cushman (motor scooter) meeting with his great friend, buddy and the husband of his cousin Carol, Al Murphy -- or "Murph," as Bill calls him.

The next shots are from the zoo -- one of Bill pointing out his mother's name noted on a plaque from a donation he made for her and another of giraffes that Bill loves and has fed and petted many times. Over the years we have adopted many animals (gorillas, hippos, giraffes, wolves, tigers were some of his favorites) and love and support the zoo, especially enjoying all their educational programs.

It has not been easy for my Dad. The pictures tell one story; his daily experience tells another. He gets depressed and is mourning the loss of his prior life. He wants to do many things that he just cannot do right now. He's still incredibly frustrated with his communication difficulties. But in spite of all these challenges, he moves forward. He and Linda, as they always have, embrace life.

I have conversations with him on the phone and try to engage him in things to take his mind off the cancer -- the kids, cars, and just today: Ironman Wisconsin. Scott and I and the kids went downtown Madison yesterday evening to see uber-athletes compete in the 2.5-mile swim/112-mile bike/26-mile run that ended at the Capitol Square in downtown Madison. It was truly amazing to watch these Iron men and women cross the finish line. Dad was astounded as I told him about the race, and he kept saying, "Geez! Wow! No kidding!" He had a bunch of questions, and it felt like old times -- an easy conversation with my Pops. My Ironman.

Life goes on

2009-09-10T09:22:00.004-05:00

Greetings from Wisconsin and apologies for the lag in blogging. I must admit that I needed a break. Having Dad back in Ohio, it took us cheeseheads awhile to get back into our routines. Now we have the kids in the school, cool weather and the return of another fall.

As for Dad, he's back to his routines on Becker Road, too. He's enjoyed re-connecting with family and friends and of course Linda. It sounds like his favorite activity has been making daily treks to the farm to see Bill and Jim and "roll the cob" with them. Dad feels best when he can be independent and people treat him like the old Bill. He's emphasized over and over that he doesn't want to be coddled. He's happy getting his own meals, tinkering with stuff around the house, reading, talking on the phone and making those trips to the farm.

This morning there was an incident during his farm walk -- he got dizzy and fell down. It sounds like my old bus driver picked him up in the school bus and brought him home. His neighbors and Uncle Bill have checked in on him, as have Heather and I via phone, and he seems to be okay. We'll continue to monitor him throughout the day, but sounds like it was just a weird glitch. Things like this discourage him, though. Bill wants to be Bill and just do his thing. Of course the disease may have other plans now and then. He'll keep fighting it. Ups and downs, ups and downs.

Heather and I have plans to see Dad each month at least through November. September, he'll be back in Madison for a week for follow-up MRI and appointments with his UW team. October, it sounds like Heather's planning a visit to Ohio. Then November, Thanksgiving with the Born family and a week at Dad's house.

I've had some time to reflect, but not enough time. I need to gather thoughts like ducklings and let them follow me around for awhile until I'm ready to lead them to the pond (blog). It's a lot to absorb. Four months ago, pre-brain tumor, things seemed pretty simple. Now, not so much.

Back to Dad -- Here's another plea to give him a call and/or visit. You would brighten his day, and there's not a man that shows his gratitude better than Dad. So you'd feel good, too.

Welcome Home

2009-09-01T18:07:00.004-05:00

Hi, friends and family! It's Heather, your "surprise guest blogger." I am honored to be writing to you all about Dad's first weekend back on Becker Road. Chuck, Charlotte and I (oh, and our dog, Amelia too) decided to drive to Ohio to help Dad get settled in back home and to attend a welcome home party for Dad thrown by my Uncle Jerry. It was really a nice weekend. The best part was seeing how well Dad is doing and how happy he was to be home. Dad said when he first got home he "didn't know where anything was", but with in a day or so he was back to all his routines and giving all of us instructions on using the alarm, sorting trash (from recycling to burning to dumpster, there's a spot for each piece of trash!), and yard work. I was happy to take his instructions, for a change! Physically he is really strong. One morning we walked all the way to the farm and back (about a mile round trip). Dad said he plans to resume his morning walks, so be sure to watch for him on Becker Road and stop to say hi if you see him!

The Born family was very excited to have Dad back home. Everyone wanted to see him, so my Uncle Jerry offered to throw a welcome home party in Dad's honor on Sunday. Leading up to the party Dad was a little worried about being able to communicate with his family (due to his continued speech difficulties). We all assured him he'd do fine and that the family would certainly be patient with him. And of course we were right! Dad had a really great time at the party. So many of the Borns came to welcome him home. Dad enjoyed joking around with all of my uncles and hugging and kissing all my aunts and cousins. Anyone who knows Dad, knows that he loves to be "ribbed" or teased. In Dad's eyes, the more you tease him, the more you love him. Believe me there was a lot of love going around at the party! When we got home Dad said "I know they all love me because they were really riding me." Dad went on to say that he didn't want anyone to feel sorry for him, he wants to be treated as he always has been. So, when you see Dad don't go easy on him!

It was sad to leave Dad today. But I felt good knowing he's back home, where he belongs. The summer in Wisconsin was the right choice for Dad and all of us. He was close to the hospital for treatments and we got to spend a lot of time together as a family. But seeing him back home, sitting in his favorite chair, puttering around in the garage, walking down Becker Road, was great. As I sit and write this post in Maryland I know Dad and Linda are together, at home, and that makes me smile.

A hard goodbye

2009-08-27T07:42:00.002-05:00

Bill's now en route to his home on Becker Road. Just got back from the airport, where with a note from his medical team, I was able to escort him to the gate and even on the plane to help stow his carry-ons. He didn't really need my help ... but it gave us extra time together and he didn't have to sit at the airport alone.

Man, was I emotional. Dad arrived in Madison on May 23. That was 96 days ago! Three months of living with someone and you get used to having him around. Sure, we had our moments, but for the most part we just enjoyed each other this summer. After three months, to have to hug Dad goodbye on a small plane with people around me jockeying for seats and storage ... that was tough. The cheesy, sad elevator music playing in the background at the airport didn't help. Nor did the fact that the last time I saw my mom was in an airport. I can still see her crooked smile and her waving at a big, pregnant me from afar. But somehow I managed to hold back tears and helped Dad get on his way. Then, I called Heather and cried, cried more at home, prayed, talked to my mom, wrote Dad a postcard, ate a yummy nectarine -- and now I feel okay.

Onward.

I can't reflect too much on the summer right now ... more to come.

A few notes on Dad's return: I think it will take some time for him to adjust. He IS the same person he was when he left months ago, but he's also changed. He's a bit slower and has difficulty communicating. This is the toughest part for him, and Bill's nervous about how well he'll be able to listen and talk to his friends and family. It got to the point here where we could almost read his thoughts, or at least extrapolate where they'd be going enough to have a conversation. We might be talking about our options as we look for a new car and he might say something like, "Did you see the safe?" which we would correctly interpret as Dad asking us about the safety ratings of a particular vehicle. It's totally possible to have a conversation with Bill; it just takes some patience. I know you will all help him feel comfortable. The best way to do this is to talk in short sentences, slowly. You don't have to speak any louder than normal. But he digests information best in small chunks.

Speaking of your communication with Bill, here's your official invitation to call him and visit him on Becker Road! You should know that starting Sunday, he'll be taking a second round of chemo. He'll only take it for five days, but it sounds like a pretty toxic medication that might leave him sick for awhile. So perhaps give him until that second weekend in September to recover. I know that he'll want to re-connect with friends and family, though. So he might just call you! Also, Bill's been real proficient at napping. So morning calls/visits might work out best, or even up until about 2 p.m., dinnertime or early evenings.

The blogging will continue ... look for a surprise guest blogger this weekend. Then Dad will be coming back to Madison for an MRI in mid-September, and I'll keep up with his trouble-making through phone calls with him and through Linda.

Phew ...

At the airport, Dad picked out an Automobile magazine to read on the plane and he wanted to treat me to some reading material, too. I picked a book called My Stroke of Insight by Jill Bolte Taylor. I heard Jill, a brain scientist, talk on NPR about how she had a stroke and lost her memory and ability to walk, talk, read and write in a matter of four hours. It took her eight years, but she made a FULL RECOVERY. Her stroke was on the left side of her brain, like Dad's tumor, surgery and treatments. In the book she talks about losing that logical, sequential left side of her brain and relying only on the intuitive and kinesthetic right side, similar to how Dad's operating. One review of the book says, "Transformative ... her experience will shatter your own perception of the world." I kinda feel that way about this past summer! But I'll still read the book.

Old World WI

2009-08-24T06:57:00.004-05:00

On Saturday we took our last Wisconsin field trip with Dad for the summer. This time we headed south to the world's largest museum dedicated to the history of rural life. Old World Wisconsin is a site of more than 500 acres of land dotted with 60 historic structures from the 19th century. To create the museum, researchers traveled the state to find, rescue and relocate farm and village buildings. Not only can you tour the working farms and village center, but you can talk with people on each site dressed in era costume who are performing the daily chores and rituals from that time period -- milking cows, tending the garden, making bread, washing clothes. Old World is a special place.

Our kids love to go there. In fact one mention of the name "Old World," and MJ and Anna run upstairs do don their own prairie costumes so that can have the full pioneer experience!

It was Dad's first time at OWW, and his comment "This is an awesome place" pretty much sums up his feelings for the day. To get around Old World, you can walk and/or take a tram that travels gravel roads from farmstead to farmstead. Although we did ride the tram, we did quite a bit of walking. Only at the very end of the day did Bill make a small groan that his legs might be a bit sore. Otherwise, he held up well and enjoyed seeing the sights, taking pictures and having lunch under big oak trees.

Here are some shots from the day:

Three more days until Dad heads back to Ohio after three months in Madison. Stay tuned for more on visiting Bill on Becker Road...

Final week in Madison

2009-08-20T07:11:00.007-05:00

Thank you and thanks again for continued card delivery! Cards from all over the country have included old pictures, long letters and even stickers for the kids (thanks, Tina!). Dad's always loved cards -- getting them and receiving them. So it's a special time of day when the mail comes and he sits down to open his letters. Reminiscing and laughing, he tucks each card away so he can look at it again later.

Yesterday Dad got a letter, card and pictures from his friend Laura. They were neighbors in Lorain on 2oth Street, where Dad was born and lived for about 20 years. The pictures showed Dad as a fat baby, tall adolescent on a bike and then a handsome young man taking Laura to the prom (and a few other dances!). He always wore his signature Bill smile. Laura, thanks for sending Dad some good memories.

Aside from opening mail, we've tried to keep things pretty low-key around here. No big field trips (although we're thinking of one for this weekend ...) Dad's been doing exercises that the docs gave him and practicing his speech. We take walks and he gets on his computer to check e-mail. He calls Linda and his friends and sometimes just sits outside on the Adirondacks, enjoying the nice weather we've been having. He watches the kids play and asks them 20 questions about the upcoming school year. We take our time during every meal. I got him a 500-piece puzzle that features a scene from Madison, so he's enjoyed working on that. Scott took yesterday and this afternoon off to help so I can do some school prep (we find out the kids' teachers today!). So Dad even spent time fixing a few things with Scott, and two nights ago they watched Gran Torino, featuring Clint Eastwood. Bill loves that movie and said, "That guy reminds me of me!"

I've spent time organizing and just thinking about logistics for Dad's departure on the 27th -- making sure he has enough prescriptions, figuring out plane logistics with Heather and Linda, taking him to get final labs in Madison and talking with docs before his final appointment here on the 25th.

I know Linda misses Bill, and I'm glad for both of them that he'll be home soon.

Quiet weekend

2009-08-16T07:23:00.003-05:00

In the beginning of the summer, BC (before cancer), Scott and I planned to take the girls camping to Blue Mound State Park this weekend. I didn't want them to miss out on the fun, so I sent Scott with the girls to camp while I stayed home with Dad. He's still on the road to recovery, but it's slow-going.

Physically, he can walk and has good balance, but it seems like he's aged 15 years in terms of his coordination and capabilities. For Bill, a man who lives by the joys of physical labor and activities, this is frustrating. Dad and I had a lot of time to talk this weekend. We ordered sushi Friday night and I made a dish from farmers' market food Saturday night, and we ate our meals under the red bud tree on Adirondack chairs in the backyard. Now, I look out the window at these chairs and will always remember them as "our place." Dad really opened his heart during our meals. We laughed about the past, Dad expressed his gratitude to me, Heather, Linda, Scott and so many others, and he mourned about getting this disease and what it's doing to his body and mind.

I would think that Dad would be most upset by the snail-slow pace of physical recovery. But I think he feels that he can slowly build his strength, and he's okay with that. He's more hurt by his speech impediment. The right words just won't always take that path from his brain to his mouth. He can communicate, and I think he does a fine job! But often he'll used the wrong word or say something that doesn't make sense. Under the red bud tree, it became apparent that this really upsets him and he doesn't want, as he said, "People to think I'm dumb." I tried to tell him that none of his friends think he's dumb, and in fact most people are impressed at how far he's come. "I know, I know," he said, with me adding, "Dad, you're allowed to be sad about this. It's rough." He's spent so much time being positive, I was glad to see him share his fears and sadness.

Dad and I have had a lovely weekend. Went to the farmers' market together, took nice walks in the pleasant evenings, hugged and told each other how happy we were to be together. But it was also a time of grief and reflection as we finally sat down together and thought, "How the hell did we get here?" Brain cancer. Only three short months ago life was smooth and good.

On Friday I got a letter from Karen in Georgia, a dear from of Dad and Mom's from way back. She sent a heartfelt note that brought me strength. She also sent three old pictures. In the first, I am a new baby lying on my back in a cloth diaper, clenching a chubby fist, with a grand smile and fat cheeks. A second picture shows another baby Lisa with a more sober (and funny!) look, swinging in one of those rickety old wooden baby swings, wearing a bonnet and booties. In the third picture, Karen's 2-year-old son stands next to my Dad, who is sitting on the floor holding me. In a sky-blue shirt, Dad's giving a mustache smile with his healthy hair sweeping across his forehead. Looking at those photos, I was in awe at the changes that occur in almost 40 years, but when MJ saw the last picture she sweetly said, "Grandpa looks the same!" Gotta love kids.

Before the kids left to go camping, MJ came outside where Dad and I were sitting and cried that her pink Mary Jane Croc broke. She held up the dirty shoe, and I was about ready to say, "Those have seen their last days, MJ." But Dad said,"Let me try to fix it." I thought there was no way...the plastic strap was ripped from its hole. But Bill got out his knife and with shaky hands, cut a new hole then put the strap back together. During the Croc surgery, MJ and I were both crossing our fingers, quietly watching him. As minutes went by we saw that he would be able to fix it. Never underestimate Bill!

Funny stuff

2009-08-13T11:53:00.004-05:00

You people are quick! Cards for Bill are slowly making their way from across the country to my mailbox. This means so much to him and makes him continue to feel connected.

Babs sent a sweet boating-themed card. A friend of my friend Janel -- this is someone I've never met, but she must be a special person! -- sent Dad a card from Dayton. Boating friends are coming through with good humor and fine penmanship, I might add. And long, lost friends from Lorain Products have jumped on the card wagon.

For example, Dick and Laura, colleagues from Dad's Lorain Products days, sent a long letter with several good Bill stories that really epitomized his (wacky) sense of humor, his entrepreneurial spirit and the way he wears his heart on his sleeve.

I hope you guys don't mind, but here's an excerpt from their letter:

I told Laura about the time probably in the late 1960s when (Bill) first grew a beard. For the benefit of Lisa, or anyone else who may read this note, in the 1960s the company was under the direction of the founder C.P. Stocker. To say the company dress code was conservative would probably be an understatement! All men were required to wear buttoned shirts with a tie, and the women had to wear a dress or a skirt -- no slacks. Although at that time in the 1960s facial hair was becoming quite stylish, no one working in the offices at Lorain Products wore a bear -- until Bill. In his usual "push the envelope" style, one day word spread among the young guys that, "Bill Beecheler is growing a beard!" While many guys were interested in growing a beard themselves, no one did immediately. We waited to see if Bill got reprimanded, or maybe even fired! After several weeks, during which Bill's beard could not have escaped the notice of the higher-ups, he shaved it off. I'm not sure if he was asked to, or if he felt he had made his point, but shortly afterward, others were growing beards. I'm curious, Bill, did anyone ever pressure you to shave that beard?

Funny. First because it's just hilarious to think that a beard was so risky ... I mean can you imagine all these young dudes whispering about Bill's beard? But also, I can't picture my Dad *without* a beard!

Anyway, thanks a bunch to Dick and Laura and so many others.

So I guess I should mention that Dad's back at my house! Hospital stay and rehab are behind him, and he's focusing on continued healing so he can make the trek back to Ohio at the end of August. More to come on that, because again I will enlist all of you wonderful friends and family to give him a warm welcome home. We are truly blessed to have you all in our lives.

Rehab

2009-08-10T08:43:00.004-05:00

Bill continues to make a good rebound after his seizure on July 28 and hospitalization since then. He's been at the in-patient rehabilitation unit for five days now and is scheduled to be released on Wednesday. When he first went in to rehab, the nurses told me it could be up to three weeks in the hospital. But he's improved so quickly that they think a week of rehab it all that he needs. (Although they love his enthusiasm and high spirits and hate to see him go!) Doesn't mean the cards won't still be important, for those of you responding to my request for a card shower. Just means that he'll get to read some at my house versus in the hospital.

We've all spent time visiting Dad in rehab. Scott's been a loyal supporter and is the most popular visitor in Dad's book. Yesterday Scott didn't make a stop to see Dad (you'll see why below), and Dad kept asking about him. Almost every time I'm with Dad, he makes a comment like, "Lisa, you got a good man!" And darn, I can't help but agree with him. Of course Bill also welcomes visits from Anna and MJ, who like to snack on hospital food (!), watch Grandpa's TV, ask the nurses for bandaids, or climb on Gramps in his bed:

Another visitor is my sis! Heather arrived Saturday and will stay for a week to hang out with Dad and help plan the next phase of his care. Heather's a gem. It's tough for her to leave Charlotte and Chuck, but she's a trooper (and I hope she bring them next time!).

Last night, Sunday, we asked for a pass so Dad could leave his rehab unit and join us at home for dinner. I made a carrot cake and Scott grilled burgers. It was good to see Bill back at the head of the table, eating up a storm. After dessert we sat around and chatted about work and rehab, a neighbor stopped by, and Anna read Gramps some books. Then he started nodding off and Scott took him back to the hospital.

Today we have a meeting with people in the rehab unit to talk about their recommendations for Dad's care after he leaves the hospital. We'll talk about when he might be able to go back to Ohio. He's never complained about being in Madison and in fact has had a nice time. But we all know in his heart he longs to see his friends and family and be back at the house on Becker Road. I will miss him when he goes, but I hope he gets his wish soon.

How about another card shower?

2009-08-06T07:43:00.005-05:00

Forgot to thank Dad and Linda's boating friends Gary and Debbie. Dad and Linda were scheduled to see them on their way home through Michigan to Ohio on July 29, but it wasn't meant to be. Instead, Gary generously flew to Madison on Tuesday morning to visit with Dad then helped Linda drive Dad's car to Detroit where she spent the night with them, heading home Wednesday morning. What nice friends.

Dad's in his rehabilitation room already! It's big, with his own private bath. Patients can leave their room with assistance and head to the cafeteria or community room to mingle with others. But mostly they are there to work -- 3 to 4 hours of intensive speech, occupational and physical therapy. I know I already mentioned this, but it's a pretty incredible program, right inside the hospital where he can still be monitored by his doctors as well as his therapy team. I'll give you more details as we see how it takes shape.

Token Bill, he has a good attitude going in to this program. But it's going to be tough. So I'm wondering if any of you wonderful friends and family out there would be willing to send him cards again. Yesterday when I was with him he asked if he got any mail. He misses his people back home in Ohio and surrounding areas. And now on top of that he's got a long hospital stay and rigorous rebounding ahead of him. I thought it would lift his spirits if I could bring cards in to his room and hang them up every day. (He has saved and re-reads all the cards from his b-day!) So if you have time to pick up a card and send, again, my address: 1202 Tramore Trail, Madison 53717.

Thanks much to all.

Another comeback

2009-08-04T07:06:00.004-05:00

Linda leaves to go back to Ohio today. She has to get ready for school. I know it's very difficult for her to leave Bill, and we'll sure miss her. But she will be back on Labor Day and at that time -- or perhaps late September -- she plans on taking Dad home with her. We've made these plans before and they didn't pan out, but that's where we stand right now.

Remember a few days ago, Dad couldn't finish a sentence? What a difference a day (or so) makes! Sunday I intended to take a "day off" from the hospital. (I spent time doing normal stuff like organizing kids' rooms and my office. I'm kind of embarrassed to admit how much joy this brought to me! It's all about control. I have no control over what's happening to my dad ... but I can sure defeat clutter, dominate dust and sort through clothes like an army sergeant ordering troops: Size 5, you go here! Size 8, over there!)

Anyway, I did end up going to see Dad Sunday night and was greeted with a clear and happy, "Hey, Lisa!" Then, we actually had some semblance of a conversation. What a feat. Coming from a static seizure and questionable prognosis to asking me about my job and knowing the day and date and talking to Heather on the phone. Sounds pretty uninspiring but I could barely contain my surprise and relief.

I do not know how my Dad bounces back like this. He's done it four times now. I tend to think it's something in his genes. A will to survive. Fierce determination, belief in himself, eyes always on the prize. Yesterday he was asking about how he got here, dates, did he eat? "No, dad, you didn't eat for a few days." He was bummed about being asleep so long, "You mean I missed four days? Geeze!"

I explained to Dad the option of an in-patient therapy program. He'd be moved to another unit in the hospital where they have a gym and cafeteria. You spend 3-4 hours per day in intensive physical, occupational and speech therapy. And you get to wear regular clothes, yahoo! Most people might be depressed at the prospect of more time -- maybe a few more weeks -- in the hospital, but not dad. "That sounds great for me. I want to be rehabilitated."

This is how he's approached life. It reminds me of how it might have been for Dad and Mom to literally build there own home back in the 1970s. At the time, they had very little cash. But this didn't stop my Dad from planning a nice cedar house a wooded lot. He and Mom (who was pregnant with Heather) would go to the clearing on Becker Road every day after work and pound nails, haul boards, join in on the construction. I was there, too, running in the woods to find frogs and toads or eating my dinner on a table made from discarded lumber. My Dad's always set high goals, so why would it be any different now?

Hard day, answered prayer

2009-08-02T12:39:00.008-05:00

I know this blog is about Bill' story, but we're all a part of it. Yesterday was tough for me. But I'm allowed to have bad days, so I had one. I haven't seen my kids (in Cincinnati with grandparents) for almost 10 days, Scott left yesterday (to get the kids) and I'm grieving for my Aunt Barb and unable to attend her funeral today. And at the hospital yesterday, sitting in Dad's room, watching him struggle to eat, it was too familiar. His loss of personality this time around reminded me of my mom's experience fighting cancer. This comparison was too much to bear, so I grabbed my bags and practically ran out of the room.

On the drive home, I wept and cursed and prayed that God would help me to stop feeling alone and to just have faith. Still reeling, I called Heather. As usual, she had wise words. I moped around the house and got the mail. A letter came from "From the families of Troop 549." This is my Girl Scout troop that I co-lead with my friend Sherry. It will be the fourth year for our 9 girls. The families sent a gift card for a hotel get-away. The accompanying note had Psalm 62:8 at the bottom: Trust in Him at all times. I cried again, this time tears of relief. I've never had a prayer answered so directly!

I started to regain my trust as I took a long bike ride through beautiful countryside then came home, showered, and headed out to dinner with Linda. At cheesy Cheeseburger in Paradise, Linda and I both got silly from our delicious mojitos. We laughed and smiled and agreed that, in spite it all, it's been a great summer, and we're lucky to have each other as a family. Linda is amazing. She's optimistic about Dad's recovery and sees him improving day-by-day. She mentioned his physical strength, his history of comebacks and his willingness to fight. "That's good. We'll take that," she said.

This morning Linda and I went to church. Pastor Jeff stopped me after the service and asked that I read his sermon from last weekend. At first I thought this was an assignment since I missed church! (Kidding.) But Linda must have told him I was struggling. His instinct that his sermon would help me was right on target. Here's an excerpt:

Jesus' presence does not necessarily still wind and calm waves, and plant us safely on shore. To be honest, there are times when I wish Jesus would promise more than his presence. I wish for miraculous healing of people I love whose suffering breaks my heart. I wish he would say, “be healed, your faith has made you well,” but he doesn’t. Rather, he says, “It is I. Be not afraid.” Jesus' presence strengthens us with courage to stay in the boat and keep your oar in the water. Jesus’ presence strengthens us with courage to keep rowing through the night toward the light of the day. I long for healing. Nevertheless, I will take what I can get, and settle for courage, because without courage, we drift toward the darkness of despair.

So sorry no news on Bill in this blog. I'll see him later and give you an update. But for any of you struggling, and as a prayer for those who struggle around the world: Keep your oars in the water.

Hospital: Days 3 & 4

2009-08-01T12:40:00.013-05:00

Dad's still in the ICU but will possibly move to a general floor today, Saturday. Things always churn a bit slower on weekends in the hospital, so we'll see.

His progress is measured by baby steps, but he's moving forward.

Yesterday: He started making sense and even looked at his heart rate/oxygen monitor and said, "What is this?" He sat up for the first time again. He chuckled and grinned a few times (mostly at Scott!). He tried hard to make a conversation but just got the first part of most sentences, like "I guess that..." or "Actually, I think that you..." -- so we were never quite sure where he was going with his thoughts, but he was going somewhere.

Today: I came in and Dad greeted me with a hug! This is major. I sat at his side on the bed and he reached both arms around me and pulled me toward him, patting my back. We take these simple acts for granted until they become milestones, such as in cases like this. He also ate independently for the first time today. In fact it was funny because several nurses were eyeing his scrumptious-looking lunch. He responded, "Well, I better get to it before they do." And that he did.

It's tough to think about gaging someones acuity of body and mind by their ability to pick up a fork. But, hey, that's our reality and we might as well jump in, accept it and be proud of how far he's come. Remember, this is his fourth big comeback. After his initial seizure and diagnosis and each of two brain surgeries, he's had to struggle to relearn basic skills -- eating, talking and walking. And each time he's succeeded. We expect nothing less this time around because my Dad is a fighter.

On another note, yesterday afternoon I met with a lovely woman from the UW Foundation. She's a development director for the school of medicine here at the University of Wisconsin, trying to help raise money for a variety of research and teaching endeavors. I sat down and talked to her specifically about volunteering to do some writing for her work with funding GBM and cancer stem cell research.

I didn't get to blog about this yet, but a few weeks ago, Dad, Linda and I were privileged to visit with stem cell researchers here on campus and tour Dr. Kuo's lab with him. This was an incredible experience. Dr. Kuo is a neurosurgeon researching GBM. Read more about him and about cancer stem cell research at UW. Dr. Kuo's working in stem cell research to develop novel cancer therapies. One picture from a presentation helped bring this down to my English-major-brain level. A scientist showed a group of cancer cells in blue with a yellow cell in the middle labeled cancer stem cell (CSC). Check out the graphic on Wikipedia. Dr. Kuo is trying to target and kill these CSCs. Think of it as killing the messenger, which in this case you want to do. The CSCs are thought to actually generate tumors through the the stem cell process of self-renewal, versus regular tumor cells that are unable to generate new cells. Kill the CSC and the tumor eventually shrivels and dies.

So I thought as a ditsy Enligh major, if I can translate some of his work and profile him and his scientists for the general public, maybe it would help. Madison is magnet for stem cell research. And since I unfortunately have intimate knowledge of the havoc wreaked by cancer, I thought it made sense to get involved in this way. I gotta do something. I know Dad would be all for it.

Hospital: Day 2, and Door County

2009-07-31T06:20:00.026-05:00

Rough day yesterday, for several reasons, which I'll go into. Then I want to end on a positive note and tell you about our trip up north with Dad.

First, the world lost a wonderful woman on Wednesday night. My Aunt Barb passed away after a battle with kidney disease. She was 57, a brave and lovely lady. Please pray for Uncle Jerry and my young cousins Jillian and Jared and Jared's brand-new wife, Brynn.

Dad will be devastated when we tell him. He loved Barb. He always called her "My Girl."

Speaking of Bill, he's still at UW hospital, making snail-slow progress. For example: Wednesday he wasn't able to give doctors a "thumb's up" sign, and yesterday, he slowly lifted both arms six inches, thumb's up. I clapped when he did this!

The good news is that his seizure stopped. There's still a lot of activity on the left side of his brain, but doctors say it could always remain that way. So they're focused on finding the right pharmaceutical concoction for him that will prevent seizures and give him back mobility. Every doctor we've talked to said that Dad has a good chance of fully recovering from this episode. For us, that's difficult to see. We don't know if it's the drugs or recovery from the seizure, but Dad's not showing a ton of cognizance. He's starting to quizzically look around, follows some basic commands and moves all his limbs (still strong!). He knows us. But his verbal responses are slim to none: "Yeah," "Well...," "No," "Actually...," "I guess...," -- seems like he's trying to tell us something but can't coax the words out of his mouth. Although, he did greet Scott with a crystal-clear "Hi, Scott." When asked to name his daughters, he did say "Heather." And, strangely, as I was sitting next to him on his bed rubbing his arms and chatting, he looked me in the eye and said, "agriculture." Then he said it again! I'm guessing he was trying to ask me how my job is going. (I work at UW Extension for a farm program.) Funny how the brain works...

So after seeing Dad back to such a strong state, ready to go home, armed with news that the tumor is not re-growing, it's been a let-down to see him back to square one. Linda had an especially tough day yesterday, so please say an extra prayer for her.

Otherwise, Day 2 at the hospital was busy with docs, nurses, residents, students, aides and our pastor in and out of his room. We were even graced by a visit from Dr. Sillay, Dad's neurosurgeon, who really had no reason to see Dad other than his own personal concern. Dr. Sillay spent time with us talking about the EEG, reading brain waves, and reassuring us that these seizures can be controlled and Dad has a good chance of recovery. Dr. Sillay, Dad's hero, even got a laugh out of Dad when he talked to him about laying those wood floors in my office: "Mr. Beecheler, I see you were thorough and put down a subfloor before the wood." My Dad actually smiled and said, "Yeah, right!" Dr. Sillay knew about the subfloor because I gave him this blog address and he looked it up right there in the room on his iPhone. So now I'm nervous about my medical terminology, having a brain surgeon read the blog!

I'm sorry this blog is growing unruly, but I want to end by sharing some pictures of our brief trek up to Door County, which people call the Cape Cod of the Midwest. More water and more boating for Bill...

God bless anyone who's stuck with me in this verbose blog, but the next three photos deserve some explanation. Sunday during our trip was the day Dad went downhill. He was very quiet, irritable and tired, which eventually led to us driving home Sunday night in pounding rain, back to Madison, canceling his return to Ohio.

Just before we decided to leave, we drove to a state park. It was raining, but I saw a trail that led to the lake shore. I took it alone to see if it was something Dad and Linda could follow. It wasn't -- steep paths covered with slippery pine needles wound down, toward the beach, through forests and over rocky hills. I finally made it to the shore where previous hikers had been busy stacking stones. Scattered on the beach were these strange, man-made rock towers. They reminded me of Inukshuks that Linda and Dad described seeing in the North Channel when they took the boat to Canada. These Inukshuks were erected by Inuit people as navigational symbols, meaning "Stone that Points the Way."

Looking out at the lake, I felt a sense of defeat, thinking, "Here we go again. Dad's slipping." I looked up the shore north to see storm clouds. To the south the clouds were breaking to reveal the possibility of clear weather. What would the next hours, days and months bring us?

I built my own Inukshuk for Dad.

May this Inukshuk guide us on a safe journey.

Weathering another storm

2009-07-29T10:46:00.005-05:00

Sitting here next to Dad at UW hospital. Beautiful sunny day outside in contrast to how we are feeling.

Last night I'd made Dad and Linda a going away supper (served on my new yellow Fiestaware -- thought I needed more sun in my life). The first sign of problems was that Dad stopped eating before his plate was cleaned -- this never happens. We started talking about Dad and Linda's homecoming in Ohio, whether they'd still have some kind of get-together with friends since the wedding celebration was canceled. Linda suggested an informal open house. I asked Dad, "What would you think of that? Does that sound fun?" He looked at me with a strange gaze and said, "I...I...I...," unable to get any words out. That's when we knew something was terribly wrong.

We sat with him at the table, tried to help him talk, write, anything that would show us improvement in his neural status. Then all of the sudden a switch was turned on and he was back, saying, "That was weird. I couldn't talk. What happened?" But quick as he regained cognitive capability, he lost it again. And we headed to the ER at 7:30 p.m.

After about 7 hours at the ER, a few hours sleep, and 5 more hours at UW this morning, this is what we've learned:

Neurology is fairly certain Dad's having a sustained seizure. His symptoms, along with the loss of speech and lack of communication, have been slight shaking, nystagmus (rapid eye movement) and a sustained state of sleep. He's been out of it for about 12 hours now, only slightly responding to our loud yells of, "Hey, Dad!" or "Hey, Bill!" by briefly peeking at us. Oh, I guess he has said the words "Well," "Hi," and of course his signatures: "Ah, geez.." and "Thank you" to a friendly nurse. That's about it. But he seems to be totally comfortable and pain free. He's just like the Rip Van Winkle of Madison right now.

Why is he seizing? They don't know. His oncology nurse, a brilliant woman named Lori, just talked to us about some guesses. First, she said that this incident is highly unusually, something they would not expect. The seizures could be due to swelling in the brain as a result of the trauma from radiation and chemo. Could be something called tumor necrosis, which is essentially the tumor dying and causing irritation in the brain. The good news is the doctors' consensus that the seizures are NOT being caused by the tumor itself. Based on the two MRIs he's received in two days, there is no new tumor growth nor any signs of distress caused by a new GBM.

Where are we at? The key now is breaking the seizure so that his brain can start to recover. Lori did not think this would have any negative long-term affects on Dad, if they can break the seizure. Worse case scenario is that they would have to induce a coma and insert a breathing tube to break it, and that would mean a difficult recovery. But let's not go there yet.

Something Lori said stuck with us, "This is not a reason to give up hope."

Right now I feel more terrible for my sister who is in Maryland, wanting to be here and in the midst of a stressful time at work. Heather, Dad knows that you love him and we'll see you soon. Take care of yourself because that's what Dad would want.

Breaking news

2009-07-29T08:03:00.002-05:00

Dad's back in the hospital at UW-Madison. I was prepared to write a long blog yesterday about our trip to Door County, our early return due to some complications and then Dad's recovery and clean bill of health. Linda and Bill were scheduled to go home to Ohio today. But last night Dad became confused again, and we took him to the ER. Not sure what's going on, but we hope for just a bump in the road and pray for a return to smooth sailing soon.

Off to the hospital...

Project

2009-07-28T07:20:00.001-05:00

The doctors told Dad that the last few weeks of radiation would be tough. His exhaustion would peak. Of course, typical Dad, this is the time he picks to say, "Hey, let's lay those wood floors in your office!"

We'd had boxes of oak hardwood sitting behind our couch since April. Scott's Dad planned a visit in June to help him install our new office floor. But plans changed, and the wood was forgotten. Until about a week ago. Dad looked at this project as a way to keep his body and mind active. He had a slew of papers with measurements and notes -- proof that his brain is in good working order! And for two days he was up and down, in and out of the garage, carrying wood. Probably too much for him, but once Dad decides to do something, he does it from beginning to end.

I can't begin to list all of the improvements Dad's made in our various residences, but to name a few: new bathroom, new electrical system, plumbing, French Doors. Just a few months ago he put a whole kitchen in at Heather's house! Dad loves the satisfaction of a job well-done, and he loves helping his kids. The man is a multi-talented problem solver, and he can tackle a broad spectrum of fix-it challenges. I should mention that there's often frustrations and frequently cursing involved. But we forgive him.

Thanks, Dad, for the numerous home improvements -- big and small. And thanks, Linda!

Graduation

2009-07-22T11:58:00.004-05:00

After Dad's last radiation treatment today, he sat down with me for an interview:

How do you feel on your last day of radiation treatments?

Well, all the experience was okay. It didn't make me sick. I am just hoping this will cancel the cancer. I will do anything to get rid of it. The reason they did radiation every day was to kill those cells. They killed good cells too, but the good ones re-generated over night and the bad ones did not.

What was it like getting the treatments?

I'd come in every day and the whole thing was already programmed into a big machine. There were three different angles that they radiated from. They weren't going directly into the brain, but they were sideswiping. The treatments only took about 2 minutes, so it was quick. It never hurt. I had no side effects, except that my skin did get a little burnt. I just put salve on it.

How do you feel about the UW Hospital care?

This hospital is awesome. This is the best place in the world that I could have come to. Dr. Robbins, Dr. Mehta and Dr. Sillay took excellent care of me. They are so concerned about helping people. Everyone you deal with there is top of the line. If you had brain cancer, you would want to be at UW.

What did they do on your last day?

Every day I had my head locked in to a mask on the treatment table so they could radiate exactly where they wanted to. On the last day, they asked me if I wanted the mask, and I said, "Yes!" Then they gave me a certificate for graduating from radiation. I gave the nurses a note and a box of chocolates because they were just really nice. They made sure I was comfortable and always worried about me. If I had anything wrong, they would make sure I went to the right doctor. They always made sure everything was okay.

How are you doing mentally and physically?

Mentally I feel okay. Some of my words are still not coming out right. Physically, I'm getting much stronger. I have exercises to do. I have been walking up and down steps and getting better at doing that. I try to walk outside twice a day with Linda. The only bad thing is that I gained 10 pounds. They said my appetite would deteriorate, but it's just the opposite with me. I could eat a desk.

Where do you go from now, what's next?

Actually my chemo stops at the end of July. I'm going up north with Linda and Lisa to Door County then Linda and I will go across Lake Michigan to Detroit to see our friends Gary and Debbie and go on their boat. Then I will go home to Ohio. I will come back once a month to Madison between 1 and 2 years for check-ups and take chemo once a month for 5 days.

Looking back, what have you learned from this experience?

I've learned a lot about how cancer affects the brain, what kind of cancer I have and how to kill it. The neat thing was that my family -- Heather, Lisa and Linda and their families -- we were all together. I couldn't have had a better experience with such a terrible disease. My family has taken such great care of me. I don't know if I could ever re-pay them. (Editor's note: He doesn't have to.)

What do you want to say to your friends and family who've supported you?

Lisa set up this blog to tell people what's happening with me. All of these people sent cards, hundreds of cards, encouraging me. I didn't know I had so many friends! I really appreciate all of the encouragement that I've had, all the encouragement and prayers. I tried to call and thank people. I just really appreciate everyone caring so much about me. It kept me positive. I never had any kind of depression because of all my friends.

When I was in the hospital, my family would come and see me. It was really encouraging. Scott came in the mornings. Then Scott did a marathon and put my name on his shirt. I was so proud of him.

And Linda ... if it wasn't for Linda, I'd be in the cemetery. Linda is such an awesome lady. She went through this once (with her first husband Phil) and now she's going through this with me. She doesn't deserve it. But she's my best friend.

I really appreciate everyone concerned about me. So when I get back to Oberlin, I would like to see my family and friends and maybe set up something to celebrate our marriage. Originally we were supposed to be married on July 11 in Put-in-Bay with a reception July 17 at Valley Harbor Marina.

As you move on, will you approach life differently?

Yes. Little stuff I used to worry about ... it isn't worth it anymore. Just enjoying life is the most important thing right now. Things like painting my house, putting a roof on -- I am going to hire people to do that because it's too much time for me to spend doing things like that. Linda and I got married. We are going to do things that we enjoy, go different places, see my daughters and granddaughters and try not to worry about all the maintenance around the house.

I just also want to tell everyone, whatever health crisis you face, there is always an answer. Never give up. You will succeed.

Linda

2009-07-21T10:24:00.002-05:00

This blog is about Captain Bill, but I can't let another day go by without writing about Linda. She's been a constant companion for Dad, in our lives for about 7 years. Although they both faced deep losses, Linda and Dad have embraced life together: Traveled around the world; taken the Beech Buoy to far-away waters; gone to lectures, plays, concerts; visited grandchildren; remodeled homes; adopted pets; enjoyed time with friends and family; rode motorcycles.

Now, they face Dad's battle -- together. Way back in May, Linda called us with the news about Dad's supposed stroke. Her voice was calm and even than I could hear her resolve to help him regain his health. As a nurse, she has incredible knowledge of the medical field. And unfortunately she'd been through a medical nightmare before with her first husband, Phil. But here she is facing adversity again. That awful day we learned that Dad had brain cancer, the day I wailed and made a scene at the hospital, part of my tears were for Linda, wailing right next to me. I thought, "How could this happen to her -- again." Shepherding another husband through a disease.

But our time this summer with Linda has proven that she just simply adores my father. And he adores her right back.

Linda's constantly by Dad's side. Walk around my house and you'll see all the things she's created and organized to take care of Dad: Pills and shots neatly in the cupboard, a medication chart stuck to the fridge, hospital schedules, stocks of snacks Dad likes to take with meds, weights she bought him for exercising, plenty of prunes! You'll notice that not a lot of my blog mentions hospital reports because Linda's been the one to take Dad to every radiation treatment, day-after-day, for 6 weeks. Linda's been at every doctor's appointment since he got out of the hospital. Her dedication to my Dad is never-ending. And, Bill would probably readily admit this, it's not always been easy playing nursemaid for him. His steroids have caused pretty nasty mood shifts. With accompanying exhaustion and other nagging symptoms, Dad's not always a happy camper. In fact, occasionally he's quite a mean camper. But Linda hasn't left yet!

Thanks to Linda, I was able to keep my job while she focused on taking care of Bill. And she not only takes care of Bill. She's a killer cook, cleans house, plays with kids and even irons Scott's shirts -- a duty that I've always neglected, much to Scott's disappointment. So Linda is pretty popular in this household.

As I've reported, we've had fun this summer -- picnics, parties, out to eat, trips, etc. But remember that Linda left her beautiful home on the lake. More importantly, she left her son Lee and all her friends and family. I hope I've made it comfortable for Dad and Linda; still, she's living in my basement, away from her home. From the beginning of this ordeal, Linda's always said she would do whatever is best for Bill. She's done that.

From the bottom of my heart: Thanks, Linda. We love you.

Good way to spend a Wedding Day

2009-07-15T21:23:00.007-05:00

Dad and Linda were supposed to be married on Put-in-Bay in front of their families on July 11. Instead on that day, Dad, Linda and I headed west from Madison to the Mississippi River. (With Captain Bill around, it's nice to be in Wisconsin, bordered by two lakes and the Mississippi. You can always find a sea to sail.)

The drive to Prairie du Chien was scenic. Spotted with cows, green hillsides reflected sun on a storybook summer day. Small farms and silos, windmills, garden stands. The horizon shifted as we climbed and descended the Driftless Area bumps; the glacier's icy fingers didn't reach down this far to flatten the landscape. In the blink of an eye, we passed through tiny towns like Edmund, Montfort, Fennimore and Mount Ida. The thorn in this rosy picture was that I was driving Dad's Spec B Subaru, not him. Linda was co-pilot, which means Dad sat in the back, one of the few times in his driving life. I kept glancing back at him in the rearview mirror. Seemingly content, Dad napped, looked out at the scenery and commented about the Spec B's comfortable seating. But it made me sad to see the ultimate auto man in the back seat. Times have changed.

After about 90 miles, we reached our destination and lunched at a cute grill. Dad and I wisely chose the French onion soup with a salad; Dad then ate part of Linda's salad and wanted to order dessert, but we convinced him to wait for treats later. We had a boat to catch. Before we boarded the vessel, we wanted to spend some time at Villa Louis, a Victorian country estate restored to its former glory on St. Feriole Island, just north of the confluence of the Mississippi and Wisconsin rivers. As he always had, Dad absorbed history of this place like a sponge. Heather reminds us that when he'd visit her in D.C., Dad would spend hours upon hours in Smithsonian museums without tiring.

We boarded the River Explorer at 2 p.m. For two hours we traveled up and down the Mississippi. I didn't realize this, but as our guide explained, the Upper Mississippi River snakes around islands and twists through tributaries like a rope. It may be three miles wide bank to bank, but at any given place it looks like it could be the smaller Wisconsin River. Apparently the Lower Mississippi waters move on a grander scale.

We passed recreational boaters, barges and jet skis on our way to some backwaters where we were greeted by what we'd hope to see: eagles. Dad's a nature freak, so he didn't have trouble, with binoculars in hand, spotting the first eagle's nest high in a tree on the left bank. Near the nest sat a young eagle, her head still full of brown feathers, not the token white. Further up the river we saw more and more -- pairs fishing together, another nest. We also spotted great blue herons and even a kingfisher. But the eagles stole the show. While Dad quietly admired them, I couldn't stop watching him and feeling so happy he had this experience.

You'd think Dad would have been exhausted at 4 p.m., after our long boat ride and a morning on tour. But, no, he wanted to explore the encampment of re-enactors on St. Feriole island. They were gearing up to recreate a battle that took place at that very spot in the War of 1812. Dad, Linda and I walked from tent to tent to see the British and American soldiers and Native Americans.

At one tent, a man dressed in Native garb with painted face was bending over a fire cooking what looked to be peppers and onions in a clay pot. He greeted us with an Indian phrase and Dad started asking questions. He was portraying a Meskawki, or Fox, Indian from Wisconsin. He told us about the bravery and fierceness of the Fox Tribe. We walked under his tent to see the clay pots he made in traditional Fox fashion. Dad showed sincere interest and listened with respect, then Dad told this man about why he was in Wisconsin and about his own bravery in fighting cancer. The Meskwaki then pulled out his tobacco pouch: "Hold out your left hand." He sprinkled tobacco in Dad's palm and said he offered this in respect to Dad, in honor of him and to wish him well in his battle. He said we could take the tobacco home or offer it up as a prayer.

Dad chose to pray. We stepped over to a large oak tree and Dad let go of the tobacco. His prayer was for the man portraying the Indian, that he may continue to carry on the tribe's traditions. My prayer, through repressed tears, was for Dad to be cured.

We left the Mississippi and I drove us back through the rolling hills in front of a pink sunset. We were all pretty quiet, Dad napping, before a stop at Mt. Horeb for some chow and local brews at the Grumpy Troll. Then home.

So, Linda and Bill didn't get their marriage in a little white church on an island. We didn't get to bring the cousins together on Put-in-Bay to walk down the aisle in sailor dresses. There was no party at Valley Harbor Marina with music and dancing and a clan of family/friends and boat rides. But on July 11, Dad and Linda floated down the Mississippi River and Dad got an Indian blessing. The best laid plans often go astray, but we've made the most of what we've been given.

Biker buddy makes a visit

2009-07-14T08:54:00.004-05:00

Dad's cousin Tom rode his Harley from Ohio to see him. Well, he actually came to see his granddaughter get baptized in Iowa, but he made an extra effort to stop for a visit with Dad. Scott took Dad and Tom to Capitol Brewery but they mostly spent time in the driveway admiring Tom's bike. Tom put 45,000 miles on that bike in two years. Dad was impressed.

Sadly, Dad made the decision just yesterday to sell his own motorcycle. He'll probably never be able to ride again because he will be on a blood thinner for the rest of his life due to his history of blood clots. In his own words, "Gosh, I worked for 40 years to get a motorcycle and now I can't ride it. Easy come, easy go."

Ice cream

2009-07-09T08:07:00.006-05:00

Out at DQ the other day, watching my Dad gobble up a Reese's blizzard, I thought about how much Bill loves ice cream. Ice cream is not hard to love, so that's no surprise. But throughout my life Dad's never, not once according to my memory, turned down the chance to go out for ice cream.

When he and Mom coached my junior softball team -- Beecheler Electric was our name since Dad sponsored us -- Dad would invite the whole team to pile into the back of his truck and haul us all to Zip's in South Amherst. Then he'd pay for everyone's cones: twists, dips, sprinkles. On the way to Zip's we'd all shout, from the back of the orange Chevy, "Beecheler Electric is NUMBER ONE!" even when we lost. While at DQ, Dad recalled these ice cream runs with a smile on his face.

We'd also frequent a place on Route 20 that used to be called Hamner's. This was usually a family outing, and we'd even bring the family dog, Harley the doberman. Dad would always buy Harley a cone and laugh it up as fierce-looking Harley delicately licked -- without chomping -- his baby cone. That sounds kinda hillbilly, but, hey, I guess dogs used to be welcomed at ice cream establishments. Dad could always be persuaded to make a Hamner's run. I remember coming home from college in the summers and asking if he'd want to run out and get a cone. "Sure!" We'd sit at the picnic table in front of the hole-in-the-wall ice cream stand on the side of a busy highway. Sometimes Dad would even order some greasy onion rings before the ice cream. Sometimes we'd share a banana split. But now that I look back, maybe Dad wasn't just an ice cream fiend; he considered those ice cream runs as an opportunity for quality time with kids. That they were.

Quality time was not what he was looking for, though, when he pulled out a gallon from our fridge, grabbed a spoon and ate directly out of the carton. Mom didn't approve, but that didn't deter him. I guess he's both simply a big fan of ice cream and a great Dad.

Let this blog be permission for you to go out as soon as possible on a nice, hot summer day and have ice cream -- cone or sundae! -- in honor of Bill.

Independence Weekend

2009-07-06T12:05:00.004-05:00

Sorry for the lapse between blogs and sorry as well to those of you who STILL can't post comments, etc. I'm afraid my liberal arts-trained brain cannot solve that one. Know that Bill appreciates your support, and you can always e-mail me at lisabauer@tds.net with messages for him if you can't post.

Speaking of Captain Bill, overall he is well. But the aches and pains and fatigue bring him down a bit ... just a bit, though. He's had an annoying hip pain that's eliminated his daily walks. His toes on his right foot hurt him this morning. Combined with some other aches and just being dog-tired from radiation treatments, Bill's been taking it easy, finally, for the first time in his life.

That said, he's still been out-and-about, just not real physically active.

This is Bill at the end of an 18-hole putt putt course. He, MJ and I played last week and Dad ended the game sliding down a big slide.

On Friday Dad took a nice, big nap and felt good enough to go to Capitol Brewery, a local beer garden that has bands on Friday night. We met up unexpectedly with friends there who also had their parents in town. Kristin's parents are boaters and skiers, just like Dad and Linda, so they enjoyed talking. Although I could tell that it saddened Dad to think about a boating season going by without the Beech Buoy in the water and, probably, a skiing season going by without his skis on the slopes. (Don't count him out, though -- that's 5 months away!) Dad snacked, chatted, listening to the music and watch his youngest granddaughter get picked to go on stage and strum a fiddle. Fun.

Saturday, the Fourth, found us stuck in clouds and light rain, which didn't ruin most of our plans. Dad joined us at our neighborhood kids' parade and picnic at the park. The picnic included a host of games. Anything competitive is right up Bill's alley. So I made sure the kids and even Scott and I got in the action so Dad could laugh at us. MJ won the sack race! Scott made a fool of himself in the sack race, falling down and revealing part of his ... um ... bottom. I also managed to inspire laughs while attempting and failing to do the wheelbarrow race. (No, I won't post a picture of that but if you're desperate to humiliate me, there's a pic on Facebook.) Dad ate a hot dog and possibly three large brownies. We were scheduled to do a boat ride with friends but the weather didn't cooperate, which was just as well. Dad's fatigue was in full force. I think he would have gone because he can't turn down a lake experience, but he was pooped. In fact after his nap, he and Linda chose to stay at home and watch PBS fireworks rather than join the kids, Scott and I at a neighbor's gathering. Can't blame the poor guy.

But he did rally for Sunday. He got up and dragged me to church. Later in the day we did a date night with Dad and Linda to see Public Enemies and sit outside on a lovely evening for Mexican food and mojitos. Dad hadn't seen a movie in quite awhile, so I was interested to see if he could actually follow one, especially Public Enemies with its fast action and confusing amalgam of characters. At dinner, he showed his mind is in good working order by smartly reviewing the flick and seemingly catching more plot points than the rest of us! Of course, his favorite part was seeing the souped up old cars and his least favorite part was seeing the souped up old cars demolished in auto accidents.

Please continue to pray that the radiation and chemo are winning over the cancer. We have no idea what's happening at that cellular level and won't know until the next MRI, possibly not until September. And please pray that Dad will feel good enough after 6 weeks of treatments to go to Door County, Wisconsin, where we've planned a weekend getaway for him. More on that later. And Happy Fourth!

Blogging notes

2009-07-01T06:58:00.004-05:00

Quite a few readers of Captain Bill's blog have said they couldn't post comments -- sorry about that! I've changed some settings on the blog so that everyone should now be able to post comments. This is important because ... drum roll ... Captain Bill is now finally reading his blog.

Hi, Dad!

After he started a few days ago he said, "Wow, I didn't even know some of this happened to me." Like, believe it or not, he wasn't clear on the fact that he had a second brain surgery. Scary. So I guess reading the blog helps him follow his own story.

But I mention the comment glitch above because he likes reading comments below blog entries. In the same vein, please consider being a follower of this blog by clicking "Follow" in the right-hand column. It's a painless procedure and allows Bill, now that he's reading this, to know you are there. Thanks to those of you who've already commented and followed Bill!

For Dad, there are many advantages of being in Madison. But of course he misses his home and friends. I hope this is one way we can keep him connected.

Why

2009-06-29T10:49:00.000-05:00

The girls, Scott and I went camping with friends this past weekend, giving Linda and Bill some peace and quiet. Sounds like they had a low-key Saturday then Sunday ventured to the International Crane Foundation near Baraboo -- only place in the world where you can see all 15 species of cranes. As with anything animal- or nature-related, Dad loved it. Sunday was also Linda's birthday, so we celebrated when we all got home with strawberry sundaes. The kids wondered why poor Grandma Linda only got a handful of cards and Grandpa got "like more than 100!" Dad enjoyed teasing Linda about his popularity while at the same time commenting, "I didn't know that many people even like me!"

Things are still going well for Dad, although he's tiring out quicker, has a short fuse at times and seems to be sick of dealing with cancer. Can ya blame him? Even though we've succeeded in enjoying time as a family, we just can't seem to kick the fact that we're dealing with this awful disease. I was taking a walk with Dad last night. He's still a fast walker! But as we cut our walk short and talked about muscle atrophy, I couldn't help but think "why, why, why..."

Why does Dad have brain cancer? How did he get it? Why do Heather and I have to watch another parent suffer? Why does Linda have to go through a second husband's battle with terrible disease? Why couldn't we just have had the summer as planned, including a wedding on Put-in-Bay?

Beyond our immediate family, why does my dear friend's 7-year-old daughter have leukemia? Why did a local Madison family disintegrate when parents died in a car accident on a family vacation leaving 3 orphaned children? Why did another dear friend lose her job? Why is my aunt's health failing at such a young age? Why are we still in Iraq with a dear marine friend having to leave his young family for more than a year? Why, why, why?

After Dad's first brain surgery, his neurosurgeon broke the news to us in the waiting room that he most likely had brain cancer. We were still hoping that it was benign or some other abnormality. Brain cancer was worse case scenario. I lost it right there in front of a bunch of other stressed out family members, waiting for their own news. I wailed and wailed and mumbled and drooled and probably looked like someone in desperate need of a sedative. I finally went into the bathroom where I picked up a garbage can and threw it across the floor. Looking back, I'm surprised they didn't call security! But all I could process were two words: "NO" and "WHY?"

Anxiously waiting for Dad to get out of his second surgery at UW a few weeks ago, Pastor Jeff walked up to us for a visit. Heather, Scott, Linda and I had all been through this routine before: You are given 4+ hours to wait while a loved one is in brain surgery. Too much thinking time. I felt all the feelings bubbling up: anger, sadness, fear. Jeff asked questions and listened. This is a pastor who really has found his true calling. I'm sure my own question to him came out sounding very childish, but I asked it: "Jeff, why does God allow this to happen?"

He told us about what drove him into ministry: His father died when he was a young man, and he wanted to find answers. He told us about another very serious family issue that brought him to a low point in his life. Here was a man of religion not giving rote answers just to bring comfort but offering up his own humanity as testament to faith. The closest he came to answering my "Why?" question was another question: "A fallen world?" Jeff believes that God is not the puppeteer orchestrating all these awful things -- cancer, war, poverty -- as punishment or to test us. God is lifting us up (through friends, family, nature) as we trudge through the deep thickets on our way to the open meadows and cool streams. We all have both in our lives.

Maybe it is a fallen world. I have no answer but continue to pray for those who are sad and suffering, including my own family. We are lucky to have each other ...

When we go camping, one of the highlights for me is craning my neck to look at the night sky. Outside of the city, in pitch black, a clear sky of stars is a diamond-studded antidote to any kind of negative feeling. The world may be falling, but stars still hang on our wall.

Pictures of Bill

2009-06-23T09:54:00.001-05:00

Looking back at pictures from June, it's hard to believe that only a few weeks ago Dad was in a hospital bed, hooked up to a system of tubes, barely communicating and re-learning the names of his wife, children and grandchildren...

At the Union Terrace on Lake Mendota. We spent some nice time outside listening to music before the rains fell. We then moved the party inside to the Rathskeller student union for more music and BEER. (Dad had a few sips, along with ice cream, popcorn and nachos!)

HAPPY 65, BILL! You all went beyond Dad's wildest expectations with cards. He was overwhelmed with birthday and wedding wishes and loved EVERY ONE. He spent a long time reading and re-reading each card, making notes on it and saying something nice about each sender. I was hoping for 65 cards and we stopped counting way after 100! (With all the food he's eating, I thought the puffy face was weight-gain, but Linda said it's the steroids.)

Going out for ice cream on Father's Day after we went on a picnic on the lake. Dad had the biggest waffle cone I have ever seen ...

You can't keep this man away from a car show! Turns out our local Quaker Steak n Lube has a car show every Thursday. Dad even entered his suped up Subaru. Looks like we know where we will be every Thursday...

This is the mouth-watering and artistic strawberry-rhubarb pie made by Linda and devoured by Dad.

Hand-in-hand with the girls on our trip to Wisconsin Dells.

Helping Anna improve her swing for Wednesday night baseball games, at which Dad is a loyal fan.

Hanging out on the back deck with a few of his girls.

Medical update

2009-06-19T07:29:00.000-05:00

Dad got his stitches out yesterday with Dr. Sillay. So now instead of a black-laced question mark snaking from his left temporal lobe to the front of his ear, he just has a naked scar. Sillay was impressed with his progress -- speech and strength. We'd plan to get Dad in some speech therapy, but he doesn't need it. Well, he's probably needed it his whole life but why start now! All kidding aside, Dr. Sillay was happy with Dad's healing. Of course Dad worships Sillay and hangs on his every word. I am thrilled Dad has such confidence in his doctors. It makes a world of difference when you think you're in good hands.

Thank goodness for modern medicine. I think we do focus too much on treating illness v. prevention. But hey, when you're in a crisis, you're glad there's an opportunity to gulp down a pharmacy full of pills, go under the knife of a skilled surgeon and get beamed with radiation. I remember one of the doctors telling us early on that even 5 years ago, the treatment options for my Dad would have been limited.

Four more weeks of radiation/chemo to go. Then he takes a short break and moves on to an even more aggressive chemo regimen sans radiation. At some point, we get another MRI. But right now things look good. He's had no outward signs of tumor growth like he did the past two times (seizure and major speech impediment). So we are optimistic.

How to spend the perfect evening

2009-06-16T09:55:00.000-05:00

We're getting a respite from the devastation, deep sadness, fear, anger, exhaustion, etc., associated with cancer. We hope it will last a long time. Either way, we're enjoying it. Here's our advice on how you can live for each moment and spend a lovely evening with your family:

4:30 Take kids swimming, watch them love learning the back stroke and swimming underwater like fishies. Do a few laps yourself and bask in filtered sun and perfect temps.

5:15 Come home and be greeted by a delivery from one of the "church ladies," our culinary angels who weekly bring us the most delicious, nutritious feasts. This time it was Debra with a vegetarian dream: spinach pie, green salad, quinoa and bean salad, fresh bread, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Watch your Dad's eyes light up as he takes Debra's hand and offers a very heartfelt thanks. Savor this meal together at the table with open windows and gentle breezes. Savor the Martha-Stewart-inspired rhubarb-strawberry pie lovingly made by Linda. (Stand in awe as your Dad eats TWO pieces!)

6:15 Sit on the back deck and watch kids play in the yard. Your kids are in their jammies already. (They opted for jams after swimming, tired from the pool.) Find a toad and gather the cousins -- Char, MJ and Anna -- to watch in wonder. "A toad!" Relish each giggle as said toad hops, gets gently picked up, then pees on MJ's hand. Watch toad hop under the porch to safety.

6:45 Take a walk with the family: Char in stroller being pushed by two big cousins in jammies, Dad and Linda hand-in-hand, your beautiful sis Heather, Scott the caboose. Laugh heartily at Dad's penchant for gas -- hey, at least we're outside! (We blame it on the meds...) Follow winding trials through your neighborhood past veggie gardens, flowers, the call of birds, and suddenly look to the sky at a rainbow-colored hot air balloon floating right above your heads. Hear the kids wonder who's in it, where they're going, how they land ... Continue the walk and watch the balloon's serene journey until it's out of sight.

7:15 Stop at the Koch's house on your way home and chat with sweet neighbors/friends Shelley and Bryan. Watch little Landon and Charlotte show each other their belly buttons. Listen to Dad talk with Bryan about feeling so good and beating this disease. Feel a great warmth wash over you at knowing such lovely people as the Koch family. Say goodnight and be on your way. Walk home arm-in-arm with Bill, Linda on the other side of him as he says, "It's a rose between two thongs!" Oops, he meant "thorns." Have another belly laugh.

7:45 Put kids to bed with no trouble! Take a shower and join family on the back deck to soak in a bit more fresh air then move to the family room where conversation continues and laughs ensue. Read a blog comment to your Dad from a work colleague who he helped during a difficult time. (He wanted to remain anonymous, but somehow she found out.) Admire your Dad's generosity. Laugh some more before you see your Dad's eyes droop and Linda falling asleep at 10. You don't want this evening to end, but you yourself feel the pull of bedtime after a full day. Even in this trying time that may present sorrow or dread down the road, feel grateful God's blessed you and your family.

'I Love Boating'

2009-06-15T10:47:00.001-05:00

Captain Bill spent part of the day yesterday on the water. We took him to the Dells to tour the Wisconsin River and out to eat at Mexicali Rose, waterside. He loved being on the river and reminisced about past boating excursions, especially his trip with Linda to the North Channel a few years back. They both said the geology looked similar in those two spots. Dad and Linda spent a good four weeks boating west on Lake Erie, up the Detroit River, Lake St. Claire and the St. Claire River to Lake Huron. They traveled the length of Huron and ended up in the North Channel, where they dropped anchor and did some "primitive" boating -- no docks, no marinas, no potties. What an adventure.

Our trip on the Wisconsin River was not as adventurous, but we did do some hiking through 600-million-year-old rock formations and on wooden trails through pine trees. Dad felt good and ate like a horse -- a big Mexican lunch along with two ice cream cones, popcorn, nachos ... And chemo is supposed to make you lose your appetite? Of course, he's still on a high dose of steroids, which makes you pretty ravenous.

It was a pleasure to see Bill in his boat shoes, wearing shorts, on a dock, watching water go by and thinking about good times on the Beech Buoy. Boating is such a part of him -- without it he's not himself. He's been on Lake Erie almost since he was a baby. His dad spent a good amount of free time on the lake. Grandpa Carl Beecheler (whom I never met; he died when Dad was 19) was a die-hard fisherman. Dad likes to tell the story of how Grandpa took their pastor out fishing. The pastor got sea-sick but Grandpa would not take him to shore and stayed out until he caught his limit -- about four hours. Dad ticks off the boats he's had as others would remember cars: his Dad's Lyman, Thompson, Wellcraft, Tiara, all increasing in length as Dad's hard work paid off and he was able to afford a bigger vessel to accommodate kids and grandkids on trips to the Lake Erie Islands.

Another example of Dad's passion for boating: On my wedding night I had a case of insomnia. I was at Mom and Dad's house and went in their room at midnight saying I couldn't sleep. Dad's response: "Lisa, when I am stressed out or can't sleep, I just repeat this phrase: 'I love boating, I love boating, I love boating.'" Unfortunately it didn't work for me, but Dad's mantra is right on target for him. He reads books and magazines about boating and the Great Lakes, his house is full of Lake art and lore. His biggest hero is probably Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry who served in the War of 1812 and earned the title of "Hero of Lake Erie" for leading American forces in a decisive naval victory at the Battle of Lake Erie.

Captain Bill got back from the fourth day of radiation today seemingly unscathed, my hero.

THANK YOU

2009-06-11T08:05:00.000-05:00

HUGE thanks to many who've sent Bill cards and birthday wishes. He lights up like the sun every day when the mail comes! The positive energy of friends and family is a powerful tool in his fight against cancer.

Treatment begins

2009-06-11T07:41:00.000-05:00

Dad and Linda just left for Dad's first radiation treatment. He was as jolly as a person could be on the morning of the first day of fighting brain cancer. "I slept really great last night!" he said on his way to walk Anna to her bus stop. He commented on how cute she was, her thick hair and came back to the house and picked up Charlotte for a hug and kissed MJ. Nice way to start the day.

He's taken two chemo pills already and so far had no side effects (which is pretty incredible in my mind since that stuff is so toxic that the doctors warned us to not even *touch* the pills). I'm sure down the road he'll get tired and maybe feel sick, but obviously we're hoping side effects are minimal and his physicians don't foresee any major problems.

His communication has improved, although he's definitely been frustrated at times. We all take for granted how easy our day-to-day lives are when we can clearly speak about our needs and understand others. As he tries to do his bills and take care of "maintenance living" issues, as I call them, he often hits a breaking point. Linda has been incredibly patient and caring. I'm in awe as I watch both Linda and Heather interact with Dad. They're so compassionate, gentle and upbeat. Living with four extra people in our modestly sized house can be a challenge. But we seem to be doing fine. Oh, I gotta mention Scott and his contribution to the controlled chaos in the Bauer household. Nothing like his sense of humor to get me through the day.

I can't deny that the Type A part of me looks around my messy house as I step in sticky lemonade on my kitchen floor and tenses up a bit. But then we come to this day, Day One of radiation and chemo together -- I see Dad's smile as he takes Anna to the bus stop and hugs MJ and Charlotte, I know the short drive to UW hospitals and their competent staff is nothing like the hour trek from his house to Cleveland Clinic, and I remember how lucky we are to be together on this journey.

In a good place

2009-06-07T19:42:00.000-05:00

Great weekend for Dad, which started out by him walking through my door in street clothes -- out of hospital garb -- and saying clear as a bell, "It is so good to be home." From that moment it's been smooth sailing. We've enjoyed delicious meals together, most of them provided by my "family" at Advent Lutheran Church. Dad gets teary with every bite, asking who made what and complimenting the cuisine.

He's enjoyed talking with friends and family on the phone, too. As he apologizes for his speech impediment on each phone call, he sounds great to me. Sure, a few words don't come out exactly as planned: arm=herm or shrum=mushroom. So what! He's making progress. He's just happy to be back to a more "normal" life, although normal is relative at this point.

This morning Dad and Linda went to church with us, where they were greeted with open arms. Pastor Jeff, who's visited Dad several times at the hospital, made special mention of his presence and expressed surprise and gratitude that he's recovered from surgery so quickly. This afternoon Dad and Linda drove to Lake Mendota for a walk then went downtown for lunch and a bit of shopping.

If it weren't for the fact that we're still dealing with brain cancer, this would start to feel like a family vacation, which just speaks to my Dad's unbeatable positive attitude.

Heading home from the hospital

2009-06-05T14:12:00.002-05:00

As I sit at my computer I'm waiting for Heather and Linda to bring Dad home from the hospital. You should have seen his jubilant reaction when they told him he could go home. He has a perfectly sunny day in which to step back into the real world.

I feel like a broken record, but Dad's in great shape! Physically healthy and getting better with communication. He has what they term "aphasia" -- an impairment (but probably not loss) of speech and comprehension of speech. This could be the result of a melting pot of problems, including pressure on the brain from the tumor, swelling and meds. But he's working SO hard to regain abilities in that arena, saying things like, "I've got to prove myself!" and "My brain is working. I'm not dumb!" And he is, of course, not. He just doesn't always understand what we're saying and in turn cannot always come up with the right words.

We might say, "Dad, do you have pain your legs?" Now I don't know what he hears, but he might respond, "No, I'm not hungry right now." But if we write the question down for him, he immediately understands and responds appropriately.

We had some laughs at his expense when he was working with the very sweet speech therapist. She'd show him pictures that he had to name and when it came to a pair of tongs, his response was, "Oh, well, I don't know what YOU call those, but I call them ice grabbers!" Brain tumor or no brain tumor, this would have been his response anyway. (And shame on us for laughing, right?!)

Anyway, truly amazing how the brain works. An aside, his neurosurgeon was telling us about a case where a bi-lingual (French and English) patient had a brain tumor on the right side of his brain. Speech is usually housed on the left side of the brain, but for some reason (perhaps it was his second language?), his French was housed on the right side of his brain. So, during the surgery to remove the tumor, they had to have an interpreter ask him questions in French to determine if they were damaging his speech. Fascinating ... just wish I didn't have to learn about it through this experience ...

Before we leave our UW stay behind, I feel I need to give props to ALL staff we encountered at UW hospitals.

We had nothing but positive interactions with numerous nurses, doctors, therapists, housekeepers, assistants, secretaries, etc. What a caring group of people. I'm in awe of those who serve in the health care industry with such compassion and dedication. Several nurses fell in love with Dad. He befriended just about everyone he met, remembered their names (quite a feat for him!), went out of his way to stand up and shake hands when he probably should have remained seated to avoid pulling out various IVs and monitors and constantly expressed his gratitude and respect for all who cared for him. A few nurses were in tears when they had to say goodbye to Bill. One wrote him a note that said, "It has been our privilege to care for you." (This was Tymalyn, a gal who, one night when Dad had some anxiety, created a 'zen room' for him complete with meditative music and low lights.)

Dad's kinda like the counterpart of "teacher's pet" in the hospital. And when he gets home he'll be just as loved.

Send b-day wishes for Bill

2009-06-03T09:18:00.000-05:00

Dad's 65th birthday is on June 22. Wouldn't it be fun for him to get 65 (or more!) cards? If you have the time and inclination, please send to:

Bill Beecheler
c/o Lisa Bauer
1202 Tramore Trail
Madison WI 53717

Thanks, friends. Your support brings peace and strength to Bill and all of us.

Surgery over

2009-06-02T17:03:00.000-05:00

Dad is okay. Dr. Sillay and his fine team here at UW did the very best they could do. It was re-growth of the tumor that, as Dr. Sillay said, is "coming back with a vengeance." But they were able to take some of it out in preparation for radiation to start Friday.

I'm so glad to see him.

Waiting..., Part II

2009-06-02T13:24:00.000-05:00

Dad's second brain surgery began at 12:21 p.m. Here we sit, again, for the fourth time in 10 years, waiting to hear from a neurosurgeon about the fate of a loved one.

Sitting with Dad in his hospital room this morning, a tiny sparrow landed on the ledge of his window and seemed to look right at Dad, who was the first to see it and exclaim, "Look!" What is it with birds and brains? During medically trying times, seems like we're always getting messages delivered by beak. My white-tailed grackle, the heron back in the sad days with mom ... I guess it's easy to transmit a sign via wing. For me, it does provide that connection from solid ground to the sky.

Going in to surgery, Dad was calm. Because his brain isn't making all the connections between speech and understanding, we're not sure how much he's grasping. But we do feel strongly that he's still up for the fight. He's clearly said things like, "I want to do this! I want to keep living!" He can't quite carry on the conversation he could a week ago, but his personality, his jovial attitude, his big grin, his desire to learn and grow and work hard, his love for his family and friends -- it's all there.

We are all trying to follow his lead: chins up! We pray and hug and smile at little Charlotte toddling around the waiting area, bringing smiles to other anxious families. But I can't deny that I feel my heart's been ripped away, piece by piece ... It's amazing how attached we humans get to each other. That's the best and worst parts of love.

I cannot believe it's only 1:47. Godspeed to the physicians in that OR with Bill Beecheler ...

Brain Surgery, Part II

2009-06-01T21:50:00.001-05:00

Dad will enter the OR mid-morning on Tuesday for his second brain surgery to "de-bulk" the tumor that has regrown. They hope this will give him a fighting chance to start radiation and chemo on Friday.

I'm exhausted but will try to post during the 4 to 8 hour waiting period tomorrow.

Trials, clinical and otherwise

2009-05-31T21:30:00.000-05:00

So much has happened in such a short time...

After the marathon, Dad had a nice week. Went out to dinner, took walks, shopped, watched Anna play soccer, tried to catch up with MJ on her scooter, ate nice meals at home together. Anna insisted on reading to Grandpa every night before she went to bed, and MJ always wanted to be the first to wake him up in the morning. Dad even went to Anna's last Brownie meeting and helped the girls make their annual scrapbooks.

On the medical front, Dad met with part of the highly competent team of cancer doctors at UW on Tuesday to start talking about his treatment plan, which they thought would include a clinical trial. On Thursday he met with more doctors who then ruled out the clinical trial because Dad was on a blood thinner. However, the chemo doc reassured us that being on the blood thinner could actually be just as good as being in the clinical trial -- without all the nasty side affects, such as green skin. Apparently, something about the blood thinner, or those on blood thinners, helps the radiation work better. As Dr. Robins said, "I actually get excited when I see people with this condition come in with blood clots!" They respond well to treatment.

So, going in to the weekend, we all felt good.

Then Saturday morning hit us like a brick.

I woke up to see Dad looking perplexed. When he tried to explain what was wrong, he started slurring words and eventually could barely talk at all. I rushed him to the ER, wondering if he was having a stroke. But a new MRI revealed tumor re-growth, only a few weeks after surgery. I've spent 24 hours in the last two days with Dad at UW hospital. He is walking around, eating and looks very healthy. But he cannot make all the right connections to communicate. He's frustrated.

Tomorrow the brain tumor board meets to discuss his case and make a recommendation, which most likely will include a second brain surgery. We have decisions to make. As I write, Heather and Chuck and Charlotte are just pulling in the driveway. Linda is on her way...

Marathon

2009-05-26T07:01:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the Emotional Rollercoaster. Please fasten your seatbelts.

As if it's not enough to be rushed to the emergency room for a possible stroke, diagnosed with a brain tumor, operated on in brain surgery, diagnosed with cancer, given a radiation and chemo treatment plan, married and moved to Wisconsin -- all in 3 weeks! -- Dad watched Scott run the Madison Marathon on Sunday.

It was an emotional experience for me, so I can't imagine what it meant to Dad. At mile 18, Dad was so inspired that he joined Scott to run for a couple of yards. Linda and I were nervous he'd fall, but the man couldn't help himself. We also watched two other friends -- Dennis and Christian -- as well as Scott's brother Todd, finish the race. In a fairly warm day, Dad spent about 5 hours being shuttled from mile-marker to mile-marker (we saw them at miles 11, 16, 18 and finish) and then ended the morning at Brat Fest for lunch. We asked him if he felt okay, ad nauseum. He told us there was no other place he'd rather be that day.

Scott was amazing. His first marathon and he finished right around 4 hours, ran all the way. Each time he passed us Dad smiled and laughed, nearly cried, and repeatedly commented, "Can't believe he is doing this! Can't believe I'm here!" At one point he said, "Man, this is awesome. What am I doing in this chair?." He, of course, wanted to be running. Dad and Mom ran several races back in their 30s, and Dad regaled us with some good running stories.

On our way from the finish line to Brat Fest next door, we rode on a golf cart with a gentleman in his mid-80s, dressed in teal cotton pants and a matching argyle shirt. I kiddingly asked him how the marathon went. "Well, I didn't run it, but I was on the beach at Normandy on D-Day." No way! Here we are, inspired to the hilt by Scott on Memorial Day weekend and we happen to meet a war hero. Dad's father fought in WWI and his brother in WWII, both in the Navy. The veteran told us about his visit to the American cemetery in Luxembourg and how he met a German man there who was also at Normandy. The German offered to take the American to the German cemetery 40 miles away, then they shared dinner and agreed that war is hell. This story really touched Dad -- and all of us.

After a terrific, inspirational weekend, Linda went home Monday, Scott and I are back to work and kids are back to school. Dad's poised at the starting gate of his own race. Our first appointment at UW is on Wednesday. Dad could not be in better health or spirits right now. He's ready to start.

Wisconsin; wedding bells

2009-05-23T20:41:00.000-05:00

Dad and Linda arrived in Madison, tired but cheerful, a few hours ago. Just yesterday Dad decided that he would take his radiation and chemo treatments at the University of Wisconsin Hospital, which is 5 miles from our house. Cleveland Clinic is 50 miles from his house. The docs at CC supported this decision 100 percent. First, they understood the human dimension of this disease affecting a family and how the family needs to be together. (Heather, Chuck and Charlotte will also be spending extended time with us.) Second, the docs spoke highly of the world-renowned physicians here, particularly in the brain tumor clinic, and encouraged us to explore UW's clinical trials. (CC doesn't currently have any trials for Dad while UW does.)

So here we are. Dad looks healthy, is no longer on oxygen and is totally clear-headed -- and happy.

Linda and Bill are unpacking in the basement "apartment," or shall we say honeymoon suite, which is where we spent the last 24 hours since they made their decision -- cleaning, decorating and removing toys. I think I also spent an hour in Target today with my interior-design-wiz-cousin Tracy on the phone picking out bedding, curtains and pillows.

Oh, by the way, Linda and Bill got married! Yesterday I got a call from a giddy Dad introducing me to "Mrs. Beecheler." Linda got on the phone and giggled. Adorable! Their July wedding plans dissolved, they decided to tie the knot in front of a local judge in Ohio and Dad's attorney. I think they just wanted to be married, forging ahead hand-in-hand.

The kids decorated a poster board and we tied balloons to it to congratulate them on their marriage and welcome them to lovely Madison. (Winters here are not for the faint of heart, but the summers are heavenly.) We ate cake and ice cream to celebrate. Not the island wedding they had in mind, but still just as sweet. After cake we went to the back porch and each picked a balloon, made a wish for Dad and Linda, and let them go up into a blue, summery sky.

As they floated away in tight-knit flock, Anna looked up and said, "Look, they're all traveling together!"

Treatment

2009-05-20T20:02:00.000-05:00

Heather and Linda briefed me on the very long and involved appointments at Cleveland Clinic with the oncologist and radiologist. Dad will need six weeks of radiation, five days a week, and six weeks of chemo, by pill. After radiation is over, chemo will begin another course. Good news is that the doctors say that treatment shouldn't be as taxing as it sounds, and Dad should be able to resume a fairly normal life.

I wish I would have been there today to help absorb the loads of information and some of the emotional and physical toll it took on those three.

Hard to believe that just about three weeks ago, this was unthinkable ...

In early May this odd bird started lingering around my home office window. It's a grackle with a single, long white tail feather. Sometimes it flits around the yard not 10 feet from me and other times it looks as if it's trying to fly in my office. I even saw it circle around to the front yard yesterday. In a meeting today, this graphic designer, an artsy gal, shared with me her love of birds. I told her about my grackle, and she's convinced it's a good sign.

Right now I don't know if I believe in signs. I looked and found signs during Mom's illness and after her death. So what? On the one hand they offer solace and hope; they don't always make your wishes come true. I guess it is comforting to know that the grackle will probably continue to come around in spite of my ambivalence.

Bumps in the road

2009-05-19T20:03:00.000-05:00

The end of this post is that Dad's fine. He was downright jovial when I talked to him this afternoon. One of his observations was, "You know, I find I'm just not interested in watching the morning news anymore. That's okay. I was kind of getting obsessed with it." Coming from a Today Show freak, that's quite a statement. But it speaks to how Dad is processing all this -- adapting and accepting. I'm sure he's not always feeling this way, but he's making a real effort to stay positive.

The last week tested his efforts. About four days ago Dad felt pain in his leg. Linda and Heather took him back to Cleveland Clinic where they found he has blood clots in his legs and lungs (as if he didn't have enough going on in his body!). Long story short, they did a procedure to insert some kind of filter to stop the clots before they get to dangerous places, and he was sent home. Then yesterday he was having stomach cramps. After another 12-hour visit to Cleveland Clinic, they found nothing wrong. The guy keeps bouncing back. (Three cheers for Heather and Linda who have loyally been by his side during these small setbacks and long drives to Cleveland.)

After the first visit, the docs sent Dad home with oxygen due to the clots. This probably irritated him more than anything else. "I feel like an old person!" Dad's always felt and acted (at least) 20 years younger than his chronological age. Many people can attest to this, such as those greeted by an adult trick-or-treater during Halloween, those witness to his outrageous dancing at weddings and those being pinched or patted on the buns by Bill. Seeing him on oxygen would be like seeing a toddler in a business suit. Doesn't seem appropriate.

This whole illness doesn't seem appropriate for someone as healthy and active as Dad. I wish it were just a mistake and we'd all wake up tomorrow with notes taped to our door that read, "Sorry for the confusion. Bill had a walnut in his head, not a tumor. Please resume your normal lives."

How is he doing?

2009-05-15T20:08:00.000-05:00

This is what we get asked daily.

Well, the thing is, Bill is great. Heather's been giving me updates since I left, and I've talked with him on the phone each day. He's definitely not out cutting grass (surprisingly), but he's visiting with friends, running errands with Heather, taking walks, eating and sleeping well. He even made another trip to the marina. His comment to me has been, "I feel good."

Brain surgery, schmain surgery.

Mentally his chin is up, and Dad continues to express thanks to friends and family for support, meals, prayers. What keeps him positive is people power. Joe stops by to chat, guys at the marina tease him, Uncle Ray ribs him, Todd dedicates plays he directed in NYC to him, Anna dedicates her one-mile run in gym class to her Grandpa, Heather and Linda hug him, Kristine brings by a chicken dinner. His peeps keep spirits high and high spirits supply strength and help heal.

Share your Bill story

2009-05-15T19:54:00.000-05:00

Remember Judy on the motorcycle (5/8)? Here she is:

I have a funny story related to my recent motorcycle visit with you and your dad ...

Remember when your Dad was asking how I held the throttle and the front brake when I would ride? I tried to explain to him that I just use my rear brake if I need to stop and he said, "No, use your front brake otherwise you will fishtail!" Well, I thought his advice was strange and it was the tumor talking and that he was confused so I did not want to argue. Anyway, Tuesday morning I was riding my motorcycle to work down a curvy back road when a big dog slowly started to cross the street. I moved to the left to avoid the dog, which was in the oncoming traffic lane, and hit my rear brake. I, of course, started to fishtail and felt the rear of my bike go left. I let off the brake, got out of the fishtail and eased around the dog.

Bill was right! I should have used my front brake and rear brake at the same time for the most efficient stop! The rest of the day I rode with my right fingers covering the front brake!

Thanks Bill ...

Here's your chance to share a Bill story -- anything goes. I know that he has touched, helped, advised (no doubt without solicitation) and baffled many people. Comment below or send to lisabauer@tds.net. I will share them with Dad. He'll really enjoy being the center of attention!

Walk in the woods

2009-05-14T20:55:00.000-05:00

It's tough to shift gears back to real life in Madison. I'm so happy to see friends but miss Dad ...

Am thinking of walking through the woods surrounding the house I grew up in on Becker Road ... Last week before Dad's surgery MJ and I took a stroll because she said, "Mom, I really want to go in the forest!" Trees hug Dad's house like a security blanket. Dad has harvested wood for his stove to heat the house for almost 40 years now. Heather and I begrudgingly helped chop wood shortly after we started walking! Slight exaggeration, but let's just say the sound of a log splitter is about as familiar to me as the sound of my Dad's voice. Because Dad's removed dead and dying trees, this small woods is really thriving.

(An aside: One year Dad was climbing a tree with a chainsaw -- not recommended. He fell and broke both arms. A few weeks later Heather sprained both of her arms playing high school hoops. So Dad and Heather had four casts/splints between the two of them.)

Anyway, I wound through the woods with MJ trailing behind, chattering in her mouse voice about poison ivy and bugs and birds. We stepped over spring flowers, Solomon's seal, what we used to call "umbrella plants" -- all the foliage intertwined with childhood. We passed young trees just poking up from the moist ground and old oaks and maples and birch and hollow rotting logs that MJ guessed were homes for rabbits or squirrels. I showed her where Heather and I and friends used to build forts, told her about the time I stepped on a dead cow that my uncle dumped in the back of the woods. Gross, I know!

Everything felt familiar until we ran across this--

I never knew about this memorial to our loyal family dogs. Dad got it when he was picking out Mom's gravestone. He's always loved animals and has given time and money generously to organizations that help them. Seeing this stone reminded me the size of my Dad's heart. Room for many people, animals and even woodlands.

Visit to Zion

2009-05-14T06:23:00.000-05:00

Pastor Jeff is in Zion National Park on a well-deserved respite from his flock in Madison. He called yesterday and I flat-out asked him: Why would God give us cancer? "I can't answer that on a short phone call, Lisa. Let's talk when I get back."

I've never been to that park, but I googled some pictures of it to find massive canyon walls and beauty on a grand scale. Is God still in Zion? Maybe we need to pack up and take Dad there.

I hung up with Jeff and looked out my office window at my red bud tree in full bloom.

Later that night I wandered downstairs in a daze to find the kids and Scott cuddled up on the couch watching SpongeBob. What a sight for sore eyes. I had to squeeze in to that little pile of arms and legs that I love. Good ol' SquarePants went to Frank's Pranks and found some invisible spray for him and Patrick. Since it stains clothes, they stripped and started playing tricks on all the neighbors at Bikini Bottoms. Of course when the spray came off they were buck naked on a stage in front of all those they pranked. hahaha! Anna and MJ's giggles were contagious. I could not help but join them in that Zion.

Ugly turns

2009-05-13T19:51:00.000-05:00

My dear friend Ken lost his farm in the 1980s. He raised four girls and herds of cattle in the sandhills of western Nebraska. Then the farm crisis hit and -- poof -- it was all gone. He drove away from his land with his family and whatever they could fit in their car. They settled in Lincoln and in his 60s, Ken went back to school to get a bachelor's degree. He wound up working for the SARE program, where I worked while we lived in Lincoln. Ken is my granpda/second dad/brother.

I'd avoided calling Ken about Dad's condition until today. Ken and Dad are kindred spirits. When I told Ken, he paused and in his deep and deliberate cowboy voice said,

"Life can really take some ugly turns."

That's where we're at right now. Dad is faced with rough seas. His neurosurgeon told him today that it is, in fact, an aggressive form of brain cancer. He will need chemotherapy and radiation. Next Wednesday he has appointments to discuss details.

But going forward, we remain optimistic. They removed the entire tumor, which is not always possible. Dad is young and strong. He's rapidly recovering from surgery, and his attitude is that of gratitude to his friends, family, doctors and nurses. Physically and mentally, he is fit. He's back home (only two days after brain surgery!) with Heather and Linda. I am in Wisconsin now, but my heart remains at 50902 Becker Road.

I keep this picture in my mind: Yesterday when we left the hospital, my aunt and uncle came in to visit with Dad, who was moving from the "step down" neurology unit (like ICU) to a regular room. As we waved goodbye to Dad walking down the hall, he had a grin from ear to ear. Embracing his brother- and sister-in-law and his nurse, Mo, he did not act like a man recovering from major surgery and looking down the line at more treatments.

Ugly turns will not bring him -- or any of us -- down.

He's OK

2009-05-11T15:02:00.000-05:00

Dad made it. Brain surgery is done. Dr. Weil was impressed with his stamina and ability and discipline to count back and forth to 100 many times during surgery! He was nearly in tears when he saw us post-op and exclaimed, "I'm so glad to be alive!"

Pathology report on the brain tumor comes back in a week ... we may be facing 15-20 footers. But Dad is determined and our love and the love and prayers from hundreds of others will keep him strong.

Mass

2009-05-11T09:56:00.000-05:00

Linda's Catholic so we joined her for mass on Saturday evening. The priest shared a lovely homily about Mother's Day. God is a father and a mother. I feel that way about my dad. Since mom died, he's mothered us, but even before then ...

A few days ago I got in bed to go to sleep in my old room at Dad's house. Was reading my book about Frank Lloyd Wright when Dad knocked, walked over to the bed and started pulling covers up to my neck. "Have to come in and tuck you in -- remember how I always used to do this?" And I do remember, even when I was a teenager and probably showed my distaste of that small act of love, he still did it.

During the mass, Mary Jane wriggled and kicked and generally acted like her little wormy self. Dad pulled her to his side and rubbed her back, smiled at her and she laid on his lap. I wanted to bottle that. Dad's a hugger and so emotional for a man from his generation, I think. Growing up I sometimes felt uncomfortable with it ... typical teen wanting her own space. But God I could do with one of his strong hugs right now.

When I think about it, he's mothered many people. If you met him on the street and had some friendly words with him one day, he'd be glad to come fix your car the very next day.

After mass, the priest blessed Dad and Linda's wedding rings. Anna felt pretty important holding the goblet of holy water! We couldn't hold back tears and of course Dad gave the priest a bear hug.