You Are Invited

All you need to do is RSVP ... Hope to see many of you February 9.




Kanzius Cancer Research Foundation is bringing THE NEXT WAVE to Nashville!

Mr. Jim Brown invites you to learn about research of “the world’s most promising cancer treatment:” the Kanzius Noninvasive Radiowave Cancer Treatment. The Kanzius Foundation’s Executive Director, Mark A. Neidig, Sr. will be a conducting a meet and greet informational forum on how your support is translating into meaningful breakthroughs in the research lab:

Thursday, February 9, 2012 from 5:00‐6:30pm
Gilda’s Club Nashville
1707 Division Street
Nashville, TN 37203
615.329.1124 (for directions)

Parking is available behind Gilda’s Club, accessible by alley or via Music Row. Please join our host, Jim Brown, for heavy hors’ doevres and to hear firsthand the latest progress on John Kanzius’ novel way of treating cancer…without side effects!

Don’t miss out on this unique insider’s forum and an opportunity to ask questions. We encourage you to bring a friend, but respond quickly because there is very limited space available.

Please RSVP to Michele Borsa at (814) 480‐5776 or Michele@Kanzius.org before 5pm on Monday, February 6th.

The Happy Question

The other day, a smart person I love very much asked me if I'm happy.

"How do you define happy?" I replied.

I said I guess if it means doing the best you can with the circumstances you're in, then yes, I'm happy under that definition. But not happy like I was before.

I read a good book, The Red Sea Rules by Robert Morgan, over the break. Rule No. 4 is titled, "Pray." I've never needed to pray more, dealing with the loss of Dori and its impact on me and my family. I pray for patience, understanding, wisdom, guidance and peace. But mostly patience.

I'm doing better as a parent than I was a few months ago. Somehow, I think my prayers are being answered. I say fairly intelligent things to my children these days like, "How can we make sense out of something that makes no sense? ... We can't."

I thank you all for your prayers, too, and so does Dori.

Christmas in the Mountains

The kids, my mother and I spent Christmas in Steamboat Springs, a place Dori and I visited many times, including our honeymoon. It was a great call.

Will loved skiing and Kathryn warmed up to it after a day or so. By Day Five, the kids were ready to try a black slope. Will flew down the mountain like Franz Klammer. Kathryn loved the blues and did very well the last day, keeping up with the boys.

My trip was eventful. On the second day, heading down Sunshine, a fairly easy blue, the trail cut off into a narrow tree-lined pass because the bottom wasn't ready to be opened. The trail was icy, and I was going full speed. You can guess the rest. I slammed head first, with my goggles and nose taking the brunt of the fall, along with my right thumb, which still hurts 10 days later.

Will was really into the skiing, so I cleaned up the nose cuts, found a way to get my ski glove back on my throbbing hand and back we went. I had fun, discomfort and all. I told my sister I was sorry the fall didn't knock any sense into me, but I was fortunate it wasn't worse.

Having my mom in Colorado was a real treat. She loves to cook and take care of us, and we love being with her. She smiled the whole week, having never been in Colorado. I'm so glad she joined us.

Christmas Eve at Mass and watching Christmas movies without Dori was too much for me. I think I cried on and off for five hours. The next day, I was fine. Still am, in fact. We've been so busy and active, part of the plan, that we haven't had much time to be down. That said, I still think about her all the time. I miss her more than ever.

This past weekend, the kids and I joined my friend Al and 32,000 other screaming Vanderbilt fans at the Liberty Bowl in Memphis. We tailgated, ate great Memphis BBQ and saw many old friends. Our Dores lost, 31-24, but I really didn't care too much. They had a good year, and the future is bright.

All this activity has been good, but I have missed being on a schedule. The holidays means rich food, sweets, the extra glass of wine and other things that want to attach themselves to my waistline. I do seem to be getting back into a normal routine and doing fine with chores. This morning, Pepper and I ran six rolling miles in the most remote part of Percy Warner Park. It was brisk and windy, great for both of us.

I'll try to post more photos on Facebook, but here are a few images from Christmas in Colorado with two great children who make their dad proud.

A New Tree

December has been hard, just like I knew it would be. The Christmas tree, Christmas cards, the awkward man-wrapping of presents. I knew every bit of it would be surreal, rough or both.

Dori always decorated the tree with the kids, not literally of course. Leading that evolution was different, but the kids helped me some and our tree looks nice. The Christmas cards? I'm doing them to honor Dori and to communicate to our friends and family that we will celebrate our Lord's birthday and wish them joy. Who knew the whole thing would take seven hours? I went to five outlets to find the right-sized envelopes, but when the cards didn't fit, I reacted like Animal the Muppet Drummer.

We are counting our blessings. I LOVE our new church. So do the kids. The homilies from the two priests are always stellar. Our nanny is doing a great job. The kids have good grades. I love my family. They have been terrific to the kids and me. I appreciate their patience, love, understanding, advice and kindness, even if sometimes I don't act like it.

I believe I'm doing OK, but some days are too much. So I cry, something I've started doing more frequently the last few weeks. The realization that I was married to the best woman I ever met is hard to process, especially during Christmas and her birthday last week. I'm so sorry for Dori's sister and friends that she's not here to call them and make them feel good.

Lonely but lucky, I'm where I'm supposed to be, I guess. We're going to do a little skiing soon and some rare December Commodore football at the Liberty Bowl. I'm ready to point my skis down the slopes of Steamboat Springs, yell for our school, and encourage my kids to do the same. And hey, KC and the Sunshine Band will be playing at halftime. The forecast for Memphis calls for a slight chance of cheese. Give it up, KC.

Lifting of the Fog

When Dori left us, she left behind a tremendous legacy. Next Friday, we will remember her on what would have been her 44th birthday. It will be tremendously painful, just like the October wedding anniversary without her.

Earlier this week, we had a London-like fog in Nashville. It's the same kind of fog our family has been experiencing this year. It didn't want to lift, and we had terrible accidents across town, including one 55-car pileup and a fatality. Around lunchtime, the fog finally abated. The day transformed into a crisp, late autumn day with plenty of sunshine.

My son seems to have experienced something similar this week. A gifted basketball player, his heart wasn't into it this summer and fall. One can understand why. He played a decent first game on Thursday, with smiles scattered throughout the game. His team lost, but he said he had fun. All fall, Will only shot baskets when I challenged him to a game of "horse." Late this week, he began shooting baskets on his own. I sensed a change.



Yesterday, Will played like Will, scoring, rebounding and dishing assists. His team won, 26-17. I wasn't there, as I was at Kathryn's game, but I could see the game in my head as my sister texted me how he was doing. One text: "He's playing like a freakin' NBA player." Parents near me probably wondered why I couldn't stop smiling, as Kathryn's team trailed its arch-rival. I couldn't stop seeing Will drive the ball to the basket with a smile on his face! Thanks to my sister, you have a little visual.

At home, Will recounted key plays, smiling the entire time. He nodded in agreement when I shared that his mother was beaming with pride at his accomplishment. Most of this fall, our family has had a few steps forward, a few steps back. Yesterday was a leap forward, and I couldn't be happier for him and us.

Redemption

This morning, Kathryn, Will and I ran the Boulevard Bolt, a five miler with 8,000 participants. The race benefits the homeless and hungry.

I was hungry for redemption. Last month's disappointing marathon result still lingered. My plan was to run the first mile with the kids, then go. Will hung with me for awhile, but I was hunting for pain. It was time to fight through it, with better results.

My Garmin clocked me at just over 42:30, an 8:30/mile pace. It wasn't a PR for this race (41:48 in 2008), but I'm pleased with the time. Will finished a few minutes behind me and Kathryn a few minutes behind him.

I thought of Dori before, during and after the race. And I'll think of her all day today, too. Thanksgiving without her is mind-numbing and heart-wrenching. Last year's celebration was an occasion her sister Kathy and I will never forget.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and be blessed.

Thanksgiving Day Follow-Up: Some proof we were there ... Apparently this photo is on the front page of the Local News section.

Another Drop

In years past, I could count on my hand the number of times I would drop something over the course of a year. Now, each week, I drop a lot of things - a dish, clothes, food, whatever - sometimes five times or more a week. I haven't destroyed anything big yet, but a homemade artisan pizza I made last week hit the floor. After my expletive, I managed to laugh. My new clumsiness is one of the "little things" I've noticed that's different now.

Many times this fall, I've been told I need to allow people to help me manage the balance I used to have in my life. If only it were that simple. We do have a nanny, which is helpful, and my family is stepping up as well. When there are two parents, it's not too hard to handle the unexpected occurrences. When there's only one, however, it means stopping everything else you're doing and making a flurry of phone calls. It happens often. Managing chaos is a recurring part of life, like it or not. I'm working on welcoming it, though some days it just ain't easy.

The grief process, for the children and me, is about as intense as it's been. Dori's absence is felt every day, sometimes in pulses and sometimes in giant waves. I didn't fully understand her greatness until she was sick. I didn't revere it until she was gone. Her grace and understanding were immeasurable. I think the kids feel the same way.

It's funny. For the most part, the phone calls to help have stopped. Friends, mine and Dori's, don't check in as often. All of that is perfectly OK because fielding those kind calls took time; there's really not much anyone can do, anyway.

I think about Dori more than ever, sometimes constantly, now that some of the shock has subsided. Even though I still have my kids, my job and my health, at times I feel like I'm only half here. I don't have the conversation I loved, the hugs that made my day and the smile that told me everything was going to be alright.

My outlook remains positive, but my soul continues to ache. I want her back, which can't happen. It's a trap I must evade, knowing she's in His hands and I better do my best to earn the right to join her. How's that for frank blogging?

Family Run

I certainly expected to break down emotionally at the end of yesterday's race. I did. But I didn't expect to break down physically during the race.

I haven't talked much about my training the last four months. It went really well. Very good long runs, few aches and sores. Quick recoveries. I entered yesterday's race calm and confident. Three weeks ago, I completed my 22-miler in 3:57 and kicked the last mile. I was going to PR, maybe a 4:40 or better.

Starting Tuesday, my muscles felt achy and I started sleeping hard, nine hours instead of my usual six. One day, I had a splitting headache and scratchy throat. I thought I might have fought off a cold, but I wasn't sure. Yesterday, thankfully, I felt fine at the start.

I had planned to tell the kids at some point before the race that I wasn't just running for their mom, but for them. Throughout my training, I prayed often my kids would see that I was honoring their mother with effort and love, and I hoped they'd find ways to do that all their lives. It dominates my thoughts. So I told them before the gun, "Today is for you guys, and I love you." Off to my PR.

Race conditions weren't the best, but they weren't as bad as we expected. The remnants of an epic Nor'easter, 30 mph winds with 40 mph gusts, were going to make the challenge a little tougher. But a little wind never hurt anyone, so off we went. I ran well for eight miles, cruising a comfortable 10:30/mile pace. I chatted with a nice lady named Linda, running her first marathon in her 50s. She said a few years ago she "freaked out" after her husband left her, so she started running. She looked happy about what she was doing. Good for her.

When I hit the first hill at Mile 8, I felt OK, but not the way I should have felt. This fall, I ran several hilly training runs because the Cape Cod course is challenging. Hmmm. At Mile 10, I felt like I was losing power. The next mile, my stomach cramped. Linda was gone. A few miles later, my legs cramped. Everything ... legs, the arches in my feet, lower back. I could barely run. What the ... !

My legs felt like they were 150 pounds each. I had trouble breathing. So I walked a little, ran a little. I'd never bonked so early. Bonking is supposed to happen at Mile 19 or 20. My mother handed me fig bars and an energy bag at Mile 21. I declined. A race official looked at me funny, like she was going to tell me to stop. I looked at her with red-deviled eyes. She knew what I was thinking. Don't say a word, leave him alone.

I managed to get up the hill at Nobska Lighthouse, but I was done. I'd run less than a half mile, walk, then run again. You probably wouldn't call it running, though. When I neared the town of Falmouth, where the finish line awaited, I saw Kathryn and Will way before the crowd. They were obviously worried, checking on me. I turned for home, finished, got away from the crowd and started crying uncontrollably. The next 15 minutes, I just hugged Kathryn, Will, Mom and Anne. Dori's uncle and aunt drove me home. That was it.

I don't know why yesterday had to be that way, but I don't know why my precious wife is gone. I do know that I have two remarkable children, a wonderful family and many more reasons to live a good life. I love you, Dori, and I always will. I'll see you when I see you.

A Call From Kanzius

I recently stumbled on this commentary from the director of the Kanzius Cancer Reserach Foundation. He mentions Dori and my upcoming run in honor of her and to raise money for their research.

Last night, a gentleman from KCRF called to ask if they could feature our story in their winter newsletter. Of course I said "yes." I want to raise as much awareness as possible for them and cancer research, in general. The Kanzius folks also are talking about flying down from Pennsylvania to do a meet-and-greet with the many donors who have stepped up for our team.

All of this would make Dori smile.

Someone else I knew died from cancer today. I didn't even know she was sick. She was diagnosed only a few weeks ago, three years after losing her husband to cancer.

Run, donate and pray. That's mostly what I know these days.

Fundamentals

What a month.

I love autumn, but this one has been work. The week leading up to October 15, which would have been my 17th year married to Dori, was hard. I was quiet, introverted, and mostly sad.

The morning of the 15th, I ran 12 miles, six with friends and the last six solo. I ran too hard on the return route, but I couldn't stop myself. So much for tapering. Later that day, the kids and I went to watch Vanderbilt play Georgia. Seventeen years ago to the day, Vanderbilt played Georgia hours before our wedding. I watched the game, a great one in fact, but my mind was elsewhere.

"How are the kids?" I hear that question 10 times a week. I answer it the same: "It's hard for them right now." The good news is they're confronting some of their grief. The bad news is their dad has to watch it. Being a parent right now is taking a toll, but we are making progress. We also have a long way to go.

This afternoon on a hike, I asked the kids if they remembered a homily from late summer. The theme - bad things will happen to all of us, if they haven't already - had my attention. He said our response to tragedy or turmoil is most important. I'm not sure if they believe the priest's conclusion, but I am sure they're thinking about it.

We're working on fundamentals around here. Blocking and tackling. We don't have any trick plays and couldn't run any if we tried. We have a lot of weeding to do. Today's talk and hike killed a few weeds, but weeding never ends, which I think the kids are beginning to understand. My plan is to continue with an honest, direct approach.

Thursday night, my friends Tony and Mary Belle hosted a gathering to raise money for a discovery grant, which can lead to some profound discoveries that make a tremendous impact on lives, for the Vanderbilt Ingram Cancer Center. VICC treated Tony's thyroid cancer successfully and Dori's leukemia. To achieve a grant, we needed to raise $35,000. We're at $44,000 and counting and hopefully will raise enough to consider making it two discovery grants. You can give online referencing the Dori Brown Discovery Grant at: http://www.vicc.org/about/help/. If you would like to donate to my run in support of the Kanzius Cancer Research Foundation you can honor Dori and still give here. Many cyber-thanks you's.

Last night, a friend asked if anyone was running with me at next Sunday's Cape Cod Marathon. I shared I unsuccessfully tried to recruit a friend, then added, "Dori will be with me the whole run. We're going to kick this race square in the a**."

After all the training, 438 miles to date along with cross-training, I am grateful to be pain free. Yesterday, I cruised eight smooth miles in the hills of Percy Warner Park. I am ready and eager to tie my shoes.