Cancer took a piece of Brandon when he had to have his left leg amputated just below the knee. It took more than a piece of his body, it also took a piece of his life. Brandon played football and soccer but could also be seen out on a baseball field and a golf course in the summer months. A broken leg that was the result of a tackle when he was playing football with his friends lead to the discovery that Brandon had leukemia. I first met him at the Children's Hospital just days after the diagnosis was presented to him and his parents. I annoyed him that first day we met and I intended to go back a couple days later and annoy him some more. CLICK HERE TO READ HOW I MET BRANDON
Brandon's fight against cancer was not any harder, or easier, then anyone else who was fighting this disease. I did the best I could to stay with him during his treatments and I was with him the day they discussed with him and his parents that they needed to remove his leg, or at least a portion of it. I watched his fight level go up and down, his attitude about life go up and down, his willingness to fight harder fade. I visited him often, bringing his homework with me and offering to help him do it so when he was well he did not fall behind in his studies. When they amputated his leg and sent him home I often joined his family at their dinner table and helped Brandon with his studies before leaving him for the night.
He struggled with life and it was understandable. He lost his limb, he lost his ability to play sports with his friends, he was losing his will to live. I pushed, harder then I thought I could push, to help him see the light at the end of the tunnel. His parents pushed, they did not cuddle him for a single moment. His siblings cared for him, helping him meet his every need, letting him know, cancer took a piece of you, but we get to keep the rest. Brandon was doing so well, back in school and involved how ever he could be supporting his friends in their sports. He was actually inspiring to those around him. He was proving himself wrong, he was doing better then he thought he would. He wanted to live, he was enjoying life.
My visits to Brandon at his house were scarce these days. He was a popular busy guy and hard to catch up with. If I received one return text from him a week I was satisfied. I was more then pleased with how well Brandon was embracing his life and moving on. A few minor set backs, but each time he persevered and was right back on track. I was proud of Brandon. I admired him. I loved that he kicked cancer right out of his system and short half a leg, got on with the life he loved before he broke his leg.
Then at the end of my work day the call came from my dad. "Brandon's cancer came back buddy. His dad called me and would like for you to give him a call." I knew, without being told, I knew. I felt it, down in my soul, I felt what I was about to hear. It had been 215 days since little Lars died. It had been 215 days since someone I was close to had died. It had been 215 days of my life, void of death. As I looked at the calendar on my desk, thinking about how just this morning I wrote the number 215 in red, representing the 215 days since I last had to deal with death, I took out a black marker and circled the number. Tomorrow I would begin my count all over again. How many days will go by this time before someone else I love dies?
I did not want to dial Brandon's dads number, but I knew I needed to. Not for even a second did I think I would hear anything but "Brandon is gone." I was just that sure that the feeling I was feeling was the shadow of death creeping over my life, once again. A guy could start to take this personal, assume he was just a bad luck charm, a grim reaper. Sure enough, Brandon's dad briefed me on his loss. Brandon had been sick for a couple of weeks. The cold that never went away, never got better. A trip to the doctor and a few days of testing confirmed what no one wants to hear, 'it's back' they told him and we need to be aggressive and decide what we would like to do.
He told me that Brandon cried a little, but then he composed himself. They would go back tomorrow and decide on the details of what was to happen next. He fought this once and won, he would do it again. We got home and Brandon just wanted to lay down and rest, he would see us at dinner. We kept the house quiet so he rested well. Dinner time came and when his mother went to get him to come eat, she could not wake him up. He was gone. He overdosed. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, he said, you were a good friend, a great motivator to him.
I offered my condolences to his dad. I asked if I could stop by the house tomorrow to offer them to his wife and Brandon's four siblings, all younger then his 19 years. "Yes", he said, "the kids would like that, so would we." I told him if there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask.
I guess even though I knew he was gone, I was stunned. I believed it, yet it didn't seem real. I was shocked, yet I was not surprised. I remembered back to when Connor died, how I classified his overdose as a suicide, even though I knew he was just a wreckless party boy. How Cedric shot a bullet right into his heart, ending his life. I remember how angry I was at both of them for leaving the way they did. I still get angry with them when I see their families, still very sad and suffering no matter how much they try to move on. How I have not once ever felt sorry for either one of them because of what they left behind. The confusion, the pain, the emptiness of the lives of their siblings, their parents, their friends..
But I cannot be angry at Brandon. Watching him battle through almost one and half years of fighting off the cancer and racing back into life, with the constant reminder of what he went through each morning he tied the laces of one tennis shoe, I felt sorry for him. He just must not of had any fight left in him. He must of imagined what he would lose to cancer next. Man, I just really think life should not be a struggle, or a fight. Why does it have to be so hard? You just get tired. It's exhausting to keep fighting to get to stay. I really feel sorry that Brandon's life had to tragically end because he was tired of the fight. I hope God accepts him into his Kingdom quickly and Brandon finds his struggles are gone.
Visiting Brandon's family this morning was tough. It's like your heart breaking into several pieces each time you hug one of them. Listening to them as they try to reason with themselves that everything will be ok. His little brother, barely 10 now, not sure if Brandon will walk through that door again or not. His sister, 13, with tears pouring out of her eyes, latching onto her daddy as if he will leave her too. His sister, 17, clutching her dead brothers Red Sox jacket as if the tighter she squeezes it the better the chance of him being in it when she opens her eyes to look. So much sadness, so many tears. Will they ever be able to push forward, go on from here.
I'm really not looking forward to the service's that will lead to the burial of Brando. I will go, of course, he was a good friend to me, we took each other through a lot in the two years we have known each other. I dread all the sadness his services will bring. One more set of parents, burying their child. As much as it hurts to bury your parents, it has to be extremely difficult to bury your child. I hope his family and friends remember to celebrate his life as they mourn his death. Although Brandon was too tired to fight this latest battle, he lived a great life. He should be proud of his accomplishment, and so should we.
"Brando my friend, my heart aches for you tonight but it also beats a bit stronger in honor of your life. May the light of God shine on you during this next leg of your journey. You are loved and heaven is lucky to have you so soon. RIP."
dec 2, 2012
