Eric the Grad

Nearly six and a half years ago, Eric and Alex's father, my friend, Peter, passed away after losing the inevitable battle with pancreatic cancer. Eric was about 11 years old at that time. After I finish writing this, I am going to a reception to celebrate his high school graduation. This Blog is his gift. I know that he will read it, since Eric is one of my Bloggies - he reads them all.

Peter and I were about the same age and we were both PAs. In 1978, we worked in the same family practice. That was thirty years ago. He lived a good life and was loved by his patients, family, and friends. He did not smoke or drink. His only fault in my eyes was that he drove the ugliest orange Datsun 240Z you have ever seen. He loved that car and parked it near his office window so that he could admire it. He had absolutely no risk factors for pancreatic cancer which tends to strike like lightning. Most people who are diagnosed with this terrible disease die in a few months.

Through sheer will and conviction, Peter was able to survive nearly two years after getting this terrible news. The love of his family helped him survive day by day. He fought valiantly to survive, yet carefully planned his death. Being a medical professional, Peter knew his odds of surviving were dismal. He told me that he was willing to do just about anything that showed promise, from experimental drugs to unproven therapy, but he was also a realist. Since health insurers do not pay of experimental treatments, he spent a lot of his hard-earned money. In the end, the pancreatic cancer won.

Peter was in a lot of pain. One day, I asked him what it felt like. He said that it was indescribable. He called it Cancer Pain. In order to function, he had to take powerful narcotics, trying to balance the profound sedation against the excruciating agony of the cancer that was killing him. Most days, he suffered the pain so that he would be conscious enough to get this estate in order.

There was one pain that narcotics would not numb, and that was the pain he felt in his heart knowing that he would be soon leaving his beloved wife and two sons. Peter knew that he would not be seeing his oldest son graduate from high school; nor would he be able to share in the joy of his future accomplishments. My own father died of cancer when I was six, so Eric and I share this painful experience. We were both old enough to see suffering and to go to sleep at night not knowing if your father would be there when you woke up.

Life is so precious and most of us will never know when it will end. At least Peter knew. He was able to hug his wife and boys, share his wisdom, and leave this Earth knowing they would be just fine. For a dying man, there is great comfort in this.

Even though he was just eleven, Eric knew that his role had changed. I remember the day the Eric called me so that I could tell him how to backwash and clean the pool filter, a job that only his father could do. I suspect when I go to their home today, the pool will be sparkling; just the way Peter liked it. As I sat outside on the patio at his graduation reception, I picked and ate cherries from a tree his father -- my friend -- planted so many years ago; even before Eric was born.

Eric was one of the class valedictorians and will definitely excel in college. Eric chose UC Davis; one of my alma maters; and will be majoring in geology.

I know that Eric will be a man just like his late father. Some day, Eric may sit with his own children on his lap to tell them about their grandfather; a man they never had the opportunity to meet. If those children look deep enough into Eric's eyes, they will clearly see their grandfather with his bushy mustache. And, underneath that blond soup-strainer, leaning against his orange Z, they will see the proud smile of the man that started it all.


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