Ron Graham Update
If you're here reading this, you know enough about the internet to realize the sum of its parts - email, the web, chatrooms, instant messaging, 'blogs and lists - has changed the way our world works. It certainly changed the way I deal with terminal illness and death. I spent years working with our local AIDS community group in the '80s and so I am no stranger to death and dying.
But what a different world we live in now.
The first time I joined a listserv devoted to a terminal illness and encountered the phenonema of medical sig lines, I felt the shift. And within hours of Ron's tumour diagnosis I knew to sign up for brain tumour lists. In between frantic research forays for the latest info on clinical trials and experimental treatments, I visited 'blogs set up by survivors and loved ones.
I learned about the road ahead. If sites like Virtualtrials.com were like a traveller's notebook, with addresses and phone numbers to the world's specialists, then PubMed and MedLine were the maps, the travel guides. And the 'blogs became my Paul Theroux, my Bill Bryson, and yes, my P.J. O'Rourke as I navigated this journey.
And now I find myself keeping a 'blog.
Calgary journalist and friend Val Fortney called me up a day or two ago to interview me
for a column today about the use of 'blogs to chronicle cancer journeys.
She writes: "The Internet has gotten a bad rap, and deservedly so. It's overflowing with hardcore porn, spam fills our inboxes every day and far too many blogs are a cyberspace form of vanity press, providing a podium for the dull and ill informed. Then, there are those hidden gems provided by people like
Andrew Wark and Ron Graham, who have gifted us with stories that teach us about appreciating life and facing death with courage, humour and love. The catharsis such blogs provide for writer and reader strengthens both, and ultimately leads to a greater sense of community."
Ron wrote this a few years ago for the Christmas Eve edition of his newspaper, and his son Kevin read it at Ron's memorial.
Merry Christmas to you all, and I hope you find as many moments of peace and joy as you need. -- Jodine
"The Longest Day
by Ron Graham
(for the Monday, Dec. 24, 2001 Christmas Eve edition of the Edmonton Sun)
A lot of people don't seem to realize that today is the longest day of the year. They think last Friday was the shortest day and June features the longest day thanks to that solstice and equinox stuff.
Who cares about all that? Any five-year old can confirm that today is the longest day of the year. Every hour is closer to bedtime. But every hour takes an eternity.
And when bedtime finally comes, it can take a whole other forever just to fall asleep, especially if you're listening extra hard for the sound of reindeer snorting, hooves pawing, maybe Santa coughing from all that chimney dust.
And if you have brothers or sisters, well, there you all are trying to listen, trying to share in the magic of a special, nothing-else-like-it night.
I guess this is why most folks think Christmas is for kids. Of course, most folks are wrong. Christmas is easily the most important day of the year for adults.
Kids are, by nature, by design, open, believing, full of good cheer, forgiving, and taking every day just as it comes.
Don't believe it? Just watch a three-year old for a day. He or she will run around with the energy of a pro soccer player, and then some, non-stop. In the course of his to-and-fro adventures, my Angus will fall down about once every hour and hit his head or scrape a knee or twist something. Much commotion, followed by a few deep breaths, a hug, and zoom, he's off again.
It's not just that he is less fragile than you or me. If we adults take a spill, after a suitable time of mourning, we will go and tell everyone what happened, and how it happened and what we're going to do about not letting it ever happen again and, say, remember how Uncle Fred broke his hip and Tom fell off the roof that time?
For us, every fall is a major event. For the kids, it's just a little speed-bump on the very fast, very fun road of life.
Kids, Santa Claus and Christmas with its traditions of singing and sharing and being together with family and friends go together like nutcracker soldiers and sugar plum fairies, like mulled wine and mistletoe.
Kids just naturally take to all the magic and mystery. But it's the adults who really need Christmas.
It's the adults who forget about being nice to neighbours. It's the adults who get embroiled in the petty politics of their bureaucracies and need to come up for air.
It's the adults, even the relatives, who forget their earliest Christmases and get all steamed over imagined slights and petty affronts.
It's the adults who are always getting tangled up in never-ending debates over tax increases and spending decreases.
And, above all, it's the adults who need Christmas and their kids, everyone's kids, to remind them there really is less to life than we so often insist there is.
Kids are here so we can grow up, keep growing if you prefer, after we're supposedly "all growed up." Christmas has most of us spending more time with our kids. Not the rationed "quality time" of time management legend. No, just more time: being there, reading stories, being there, singing songs, being there, decorating trees, but above all, just being there. If you remember the magic of Christmas as a child, share in that magic.
Of course, not everyone has been blessed with household juvenile units, let alone six (I am greedy). But as Scrooge proved on Christmas morning, it's never too late and there are lots of kids to go around. Nieces and nephews, cousins and friends. So, on their longest day of the year, share in their joy, draw strength from their simple faith. Remember, Christmas was and remains, always, a child's gift to adults. God bless us everyone. "
I talked to a family member the other day and she asked me, "did you know that Ron was going to die? Because I didn't. I thought he was going to make it." I said I feared he would die, but then I added, "but there is *always* hope."
Our family was still reeling from the very sudden lung cancer diagnosis and then death of my cousin Lori Oddson when Ron became ill. And this won't be the last time cancer haunts someone we know and love.
I belong to a listserv called
BrainTMR - about 800 people who share one thing in common - a brain tumour diagnosis. There are parents, wives, friends, children, sisters - all there because they, or a loved one, has a brain tumour. There are caregivers, survivors, there are widows and widowers, grieving parents and children and siblings and friends... and lots of people who have interrupted their lives and devoted time and patience to helping others walk this road. There are even doctors who spend countless volunteer hours providing information. The list is run by The Healing Exchange BrainTrust.
I have "met" the most amazing people on this list.
Here is the story of one couple, Kris and Tom McAlvanah. Tom is a lawyer and they live in Zephyrhills, Florida. When I first joined the list right after Ron's diagnosis with glioblastoma, I shared Tom's story with Ron. Tom is a successful lawyer, the city solicitor, and he went back to work two weeks after his craniotomy - he was still living and loving long after most people told him he'd be dead.
Ron and Tom, both 57 years old. Tom's wife Kris and I are the same age. Finding and sharing the experiences of someone who had survived this tumour well past the six-month median was important for both of us. Tom was one who helped Ron and I find hope.
I was devastated along with the rest of the list to learn of Tom's recurrence a few weeks ago. The day Kris posted to say that Tom had decided to reject further treatment and they were calling in Hospice, I cried for them, for all of us. I raged. I lit a candle and cried some more.
But, there is always hope. Two weeks later there was an email from Kris - "Tom's Miracle!!" Read about it in an article in their local paper, below.
Who knows how much time Tom has? I don't. You don't. None of us do. Remember this when cancer casts its dark shadow across the life of someone you love. There is always hope. -- Jodine
Couple Thankful For Recovery - from Tampa Bay Online
By JAYMI FREIDEN jfreiden@tampatrib.com
Published: Nov 27, 2003
"ZEPHYRHILLS - Three weeks ago, Kris McAlvanah shopped for a cemetery plot for her husband. Today, as she sits down to Thanksgiving dinner with family and friends, she will be thanking God for a miracle. In October, City Attorney Tom McAlvanah was given three months to live. A recently removed brain tumor had grown back, and doctors feared the worst. But after intensive treatment, a brain scan showed no measurable cancer, much to the surprise of his family and his doctors.... "
Hello. It's been such a long while since I posted, and almost three months since Ron died. I have noticed that the Edmonton Sun's web site no longer carries his columns and I plan to put up an archive of his healthcare series, including two columns which were not published.
Our family has been tremendously supported by friends and family, and we continue to feel your warmth and comfort as we adjust to our lives without Ron.
Jenny and Angus have been attending a grief art therapy program at the Pilgrim's Hospice. We're halfway through and it's been very helpful for them. Rose and Morgan are both in school this fall - it's midterm season so they're cramming and cursing as they balance their business with school obligations. Rose is living on her own after managing to purchase a condo in Edmonton's downtown. Kevin has also just purchased a new condo in Calgary. Stephen returned to Taiwan and continues to work as an editor at the Taipai Times.
I attended a milk banking conference in San Jose last week and it was very informative and i'm looking forward to working on re-establishing our human milk bank here in Edmonton.
Fall has certainly arrived and winter will be here soon - after a very long period where the leaves seemed to hang on the trees - unusual for Edmonton - most of the trees are now bare, except for a brilliant orange/red Mountain Ash across the street. Oddly our huge mountain ash in the back yard is still green - it seems to do that, holding on to healthy green leaves and then loosing them all in a flash, before they've turned colour, when a hard frost comes.
Take care, all, hold your friends and family ones close and never miss a chance to tell them how much they are loved. Enjoy each day as it comes. -- Jodine
The house is quiet now, all the visiting family is gone. The kids and I plan to travel to the West Coast this week to spend a few days on the boat, and we will scatter Ron's ashes.
The memorial was Saturday. Our friend Lance Beswick read a lovely tribute to "Ron the Friend" and Tom Crighton sent a lovely tribute all the way from Scotland. The eldest son Stephen wrote on behalf of the kids, "Ron the Father." Daughter Rose read "The Road less Travelled." Son Kevin played "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and our little Jennifer wanted to contribute and so decided Friday night to learn "Ode to Joy" on her recorder - and she played it well. Wee Angus broke all our hearts with his sad, sad face, a tissue clutched in his fist, dabbing at his tears. Then he made us smile when he offered this soggy, crumpled tissue to Jenny to help her wipe a tear. Son Morgan read this poem:
Death Is Nothing At All
**************************
Henry Scott Holland
"Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way you always used.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Life means all that it ever meant.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity....
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight.
I am waiting for you.....
for an interval....
somewhere near,
just around the corner.
All is well."
There have been a few words about Ron published in the last few days:
Ron's obituary is here:
http://makeashorterlink.com/?E29713965
A newspaper column by his friend Paul Whitney:
http://www.canoe.ca/Columnists/whitney.html
And I filed a column which appeared this morning:
http://www.canoe.ca/Columnists/graham.html
Stephen's words were more-or-less as he drafted them, below:
-- Jodine
Dad- a gift to his children.
Most of you will know Ron Graham for his talent as a
writer, for his keen mind and as a friend. For me,
Kevin, Rose, Morgan, Jennifer and Angus, we know him as
Dad -- and this, I believe, was his most important role.
Yet he was more than just my Dad. He was also my
friend, my colleague and my mentor.
He was a man of dreams and ideals. Always making
plans, whether those plans included boating on the West
Coast, trips to the golf course, or writing a book with
Jennifer about hugs. He was making plans until the
last minute; even in his final days he was planning to
go to Vancouver to see his brother, Mike, to see Rose
move into her new condo and to include me in an annual
Graham golf tournament once I returned from Taiwan.
He said children were a gift to adults, helping
grown-ups get past petty grievances and to focus on
what really matters in life. But for us children, he
was the real gift.
When I was 15 years old I moved to Calgary with my Mom,
Peggy, and stepfather, Charles. The hardest thing about
that move was being away from my Dad. But one of the
benefits of that change was that I learned at an early
age the importance of spending time together.
Despite the distance, we were able to see each other on
weekends, summer vacations, and later as partners in
business.
His passion for ideas and politics was contagious.
Attracted to these ideas myself, it was natural when I
started working in the family company, where I could
follow my Dad's lead by immersing myself in news. This
mix of business and personal affairs was not unique to
me and Dad. Rose and Morgan spent years working with
him, and Jennifer and Angus were no strangers to the
office from their time in diapers.
With such seamlessness between work and family, we got
to know our Dad in a way most children don't get to
know their parents. We got to see firsthand the daily
trials of running a business. We could see our Dad at
work and at play, virtually every aspect of his life,
even joining him for his Friday night social
gatherings. Simply by walking into his office we were
able to surround ourself in ideas -- his newspapers,
books, and of course Dad himself. We could see how a
normally quick-tempered man reacted with calm and class
when facing his toughest challenges, such as when when
finances threatened the family business several years
ago. And of course, his greatest fright, cancer, he met
with bravery and grace.
Of course, there were lighthearted moments as well.
After a bad shot on the golf course, Dad might blurt
out "I can't golf in these socks!" And he made us laugh
as a back-seat driver, waving away potential hazards
with a stroke of his hand and telling whoever was
driving to "watch out for that pole," as if it might
leap out on the street in front of us.
But his greatness as a Dad isn't best illustrated by a
single event or anecdote; it's all those little things
-- the tickle of his mustache when he gives you a kiss,
the sound of his voice when he says hello, and the note
inside a world atlas he gave me encouraging me to see
the places therein. Look at the photos of him with his
kids and you'll see a smile that radiates with pride,
affection and love. Although a man of words, it was
this smile that said the most.
He said that children helped adults grow-up, and as his
oldest son I was able to see that growth in him. As he
got older, his priorities changed and increasingly
focused family. He was fond of telling me how much he
enjoyed spending time with Jenny and Angus and giving
them their minimum four hugs a day and reading them
stories. Jennifer was able to add a precious word to
Dad's vocabulary -- gok, meaning she wanted a hug. He
died knowing that gok is what makes life worth living.
It would be easy today for us children to focus today
on our loss. But we should focus on our luck to have
had such a fine father. We can continue to pursue our
dreams and hopes as he pursued his. In reading his
columns over the years, I often hear myself in his
words. He is still alive in us.
Thanks Dad.
Trust Fund/donations - although Ron and I had time to talk and begin to prepare for his death, we didn't expect it to come so soon and now that his obituary has appeared I am scrambling to set up a donation mechanism for Jenny and Angus's trust fund, and also to appropriately direct donations to brain tumour research and to re-establishing Edmonton's donor human milk bank.
More information will be posted here shortly. Thanks, -- Jodine
Ron's obituary is in the Journal this morning:
Obituaries (07/24/03)
GRAHAM, Ronald Charles
We tell you with sadness that Ron Graham, wordsmith, devoted husband, father, friend, pundit, critic, champion, and unwavering advocate for his life's passions has died, of brain cancer at age 57.
Ron's sudden departure is mourned by his soul mate and wife Jodine Chase; his mother, Jean Graham; his aunt Myrtle; his brothers, Glenn (Marie), Rob, Mike (Suzanne); his beloved children, Angus, Jennifer, Morgan, Rose, Kevin (Erin), Stephen and Kevin and Stephen's mother, Peg; his nephews, Jacob and Andre and all their friends and families; along with legions of his good, good friends, especially the FLOCK. Making the journey ahead of Ron were his grandparents, Margaret and William Thomson; and his father, Randy Graham.
Ron was born in Port Alice, B.C. on the west coast of British Columbia. He remembered with great fondness his early years in Vancouver with his mother, grandparents and aunt and uncle. Ron introduced his family to the west coast as captain of the "Astrabelle" and then the "Gumption", his Monk Troller.
Ron and his mother and father and brothers traveled Canada and abroad as a military family, living in Cold Lake, Winnipeg, California, St. Boniface, France, Germany, and Ottawa. Ron was a graduate of York University with a degree in political science and history.
Ron was the founding editor of the Excalibur, York University's student newspaper. This early work led to a position in public relations with Great West Life in Winnipeg. Ron then went on to a career in advertising, journalism, news analysis and punditry here in Edmonton. First with the City of Edmonton, then as a freelancer, with Palmer Jarvis, and as creative director for Weber Shandwick, he guided and created many documentaries and pr and advertising campaigns and television series "Discovery Digest."
Ron was honoured to receive the recognition of his peers through two IABC Gold Quill Awards, two AMPIA awards, and many awards and recognitions from the Advertising Club of Edmonton. He was a partner with his wife in Chase Media Monitoring and MediaWorks West. He was active in politics and he indulged his passion for commentary with CBC and in newspaper columns in the Edmonton Examiner and the Edmonton Sun.
First and always Ron was a writer, a man who loved ideas, who had his own ideas, who had the gift of eloquence and passion, and who lived well, loved well, and shared well his big heart and his fine, fine mind. His goal was always to learn, to teach, to clarify and to expound, to provoke to action - to pique. Ron was an admirer and student of Nietzsche, Gershwin, John Stuart Mill, Eric Hoffer, Dorothy Parker, Michael Curtiz and Frank Capra, of Fred Astair, David Ogilvy, H.L. Mencken, Tom Bodett, Dr. Seuss and Ella Fitzgerald.
Ron was devoted to liberal democracy and the sanctity of the individual, and these principles guided his life. He believed that you cannot love a child too much. He poured his love into his family, and we are sustained by this.
Ron Graham: good man, good husband, good father, good friend -- goodbye.
A Memorial Service and remembrance of Ron's life will be held Saturday, July 26 at Riverdale Community Hall, 9231 - 100 Avenue, at 2:00 p.m. A reception will follow. Please dress for comfort and celebration. Children are welcome. There is a trust fund for Ron's youngest children, Jenny and Angus, care of Capital City Savings. More information can be found at http://www.rongraham.blogspot.com
Donations can also be made to brain tumour research at the University of Alberta Hospital, or to a fund for the reestablishment of Edmonton's Human Milk Donor bank, care of Breastfeeding Action Committee of Edmonton http://www.edmontonbreastfeeds.org Foster & McGarvey Limited, Funeral Directors and Licensed Crematorium, 428-6666. Owned & operated by the McGarvey Family since 1929.
The house is full of people, flowers, food, cards, laughter, memories, and life.
Jenny and Angus - evryone asks how they are doing - are so young, they still mostly go about their day with their play puncuated by moments of sadness, confusion, and a child's version of denial. "Mom, is Daddy dead?" was Jenny's question of the day. All day long Rose and Morgan's friends came to visit and give their support. They stayed to help and it was good to have such vibrant young people in the house. Our friends brought their children to keep Jenny and Angus company.
Ron left us as he was being loaded into the ambulance - he stopped breathing and his heart slowed, and then stopped. EMS workers kept him breathing and kept his blood flowing with CPR while he was transported to hospital but they were unable to revive him, although they tried, as was his wish. Ron wasn't ready to go, he still wanted to fight. So there it was, in the end, he was gone and his only his body remained.
Hospital workers left me to be with him, and soon Morgan and my mom, and Jenny and Angus, and then Rose arrived. We called Ron's son Kevin, and Kevin talked to Stephen in Taiwan. One by one we went into the room where he lay still to say goodbye.
Jenny was adamant "I want to see him." Angus was a little afraid, but he was able to touch Ron's arm and say goodbye. I think the hospital workers were a little concerned about our desire to say goodbye in this way, but it was such a confusing and desperate time at the house as he struggled to breath and for the little ones, their dad had twice disappeared from the house, only to reappear smiling at them from a hospital bed.
This time he was still, as if asleep, on the bed. The little ones noticed right away that his hands and arms and face had cooled. Jenny gave him a little hug. Morgan sat with him for a while while I helped Jenny and Angus and Rose visit with his body.
We talked about how his heart and mind were gone from his body, and that we hold his heart and mind in our hearts and minds.
I spent some minutes alone with him.
It was sad, but peaceful.
Kevin arrives from Calgary today and Stephen will be here tomorrow, and they will also have a chance to say goodbye before his cremation. Then there will be a memorial, and later a wake.
Ron's newspaper, the Edmonton Sun, has written a tribute article to Ron,
"Sun columnist Graham battled to the finish"
-- Jodine
