Dennis (aka My Rock) and I met in college. He was an interesting man and to say that I didn’t like him at all is an understatement. He just “snuck in through a back door” and won my heart and he has stayed with me through every step of this journey. He stayed. He loves me. I am blessed. ❤️
My Rock and I are polar opposites. He is the smartest man I know and the best boss I have ever had. He is compassionate, even-keeled, wise, kind and has always had the back of his faculty. Dennis is a born educator and is loyal to his people. Many, many times he would go to bat for someone (faculty, student, parent) and those people never knew. He doesn’t think he is extraordinary, but trust me, he is a good man who is beyond extraordinary.
Upon my diagnosis Dennis instantly became a single parent. Yes, my parents put their lives on hold in another state and moved into my home to take care of my family, and we would have been absolutely lost without them. Dennis never lost faith. Never. But that doesn’t mean that he wasn’t lonely. The past few years I’ve had many chances to look back at how my Rock handled the abrupt change in our life, and how others treated him. These chances that I’ve had – well, they came at a high price – walking through it with friends, seeing their struggle and pain. I would not wish this journey on anyone… anyone.
My man still went to work every day, knowing that I was in the fight of my life. Imagine doing that?! I can’t… and any time I attempt to my heart is overwhelmed with such pain that tears roll down my face. It is incomprehensible to me. Some days while he was at work he would receive a call from my oncologist or one of my nurses, and that call would be to get Victoria and Matthew and come to the hospital as soon as possible. Some times that call was because I was having an amazingly good couple of hours… sometimes that call was because I wasn’t going to make it through the day. Can you imagine being on the receiving end of that call? I can’t…
While I was in the hospital my Rock still had to pay the bills, deal with the day-to-day issues at work (and, wow, does a school administrator have many things on that list), check in on our children to see how they were doing (many, many times they had no idea he did this), talk with the social worker I was assigned… Yes, I had a social worker. Everyone who is assigned to the DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) floor got one, as well as a nun to check in with us every morning. Many stories from those encounters, and overwhelmingly positive.
One visit from my social worker was quite a blow: checking to see how much my health insurance would cover the expenses. You see, it’s not “cheap” to be in a drug trial about 1,000 miles away from the hospital that is conducting the trail. I was too ill to make it to that hospital so they approved me being treated in my town and they would work through my oncologist for the treatments. (They did fly their own pharmacist down to administer my first arsenic treatment, but that’s another story for another day.) One portion of the treatment that I was taking was roughly $900 per day, and I would be on that as long as possible, and if I lived through the entire treatment plan I would stay on that portion of the treatment for a few years. Years. Do the math… I couldn’t comprehend how much that would be (chemo brain is real, ya’all) so the social worker gave me a rough estimate for 30 days. She then launched into finding a group to help us sell our home to help pay for the treatment, but that would only cover us for a short time. She was our advocate. I didn’t really hear much after that, but may I say that that is the first time I felt an overwhelming amount of guilt…
My Rock had to hear the news from our social worker… while he was trying to hold his work life, family life, and spouse life all together. Can you imagine? I can’t. During this time he was also told that if I became ill again, after this time, that my salary would be cut off on the last day that I worked before entering the hospital. He was told this while I was on the DNR floor, while my oncologist was telling us that it didn’t look good. Can you imagine? I can’t.
These moments are not shared because I am angry or bitter. They are part of our story. My Rock never told me what he was going through every day. He came to see me, encourage me, made sure that I knew he loved me for better or worse. Can you imagine? I can’t, and I lived it. He held me when I cried, encouraged me when I was losing hope, and started an online blog so that he could let everyone know how I was doing. He loves me, unconditionally. He loves our children, unconditionally.
The spouses/caregivers of those with illness are truly the unsung heroes. They carry so much weight on their shoulders, but they always keep going. How many of these people do you see in a week? A month? A year? I guarantee you that it’s a lot. We live in a reactionary world. Oh, how I wish we could all just take a breath, slow down, stop judging and reacting in anger and just look… truly look at those around us. I have learned that you can’t judge a book by it’s cover because from the outside looking in, my family didn’t look “that bad.” I never looked “that sick.” My Rock never looked “that lonely.” My kids never looked “that overwhelmed.”
I had 2 significant times of “snuck in through a back door” that is in the song, She Used To Be Mine – one was My Rock and one was Cancer. Cancer took my breath, and almost my life, away and I had to find the fire within me to fight. My Rock took my breath away and stayed.
Every single face we see represents a story, a life, a journey. We need to see. We need to listen. I am forever grateful for My Rock who showed nothing but unconditional love, and continues to do so every single day. Dennis, I love you and I wouldn’t want to go through this life with anyone else. YOU are MY ROCK. Always.
The Time that is Given 