I Know Things Now...

"I can handle things! ... I'm SMART!"

It has been almost a year since I wrote anything [here], which is either a sign that I’ve been busy or that I’m an inconsistent blogger. Probably both...

Since the last post, I turned 55, which feels impossible, insulting, and somehow also perfectly on-brand for this post. I nearly lost my dad to a massive heart attack. And in the middle of all that, I think I realized something about death, fear, and the weird kind of comfort that comes from knowing a little more (than most people do) about how this whole movie "probably" ends.

So, you know, just some "fluffy, light stuff".

My dad’s okay, thank God. But it was close. Close enough to shake everybody up. Close enough to make all the background noise about mortality get a lot louder.

And at this time of year (with our shared birthday), it also got me thinking about my grandfather, who was always scared of death. Not in some overly- dramatic (tho he certainly was, #IYKYK) movie-of-the-week way. Just regular-human-scared. The kind I would imagine most people are, even if they don’t talk about it. He was afraid of dying. Afraid of what came with it. Afraid of not knowing when it was coming, how it would happen, what it would feel like, whether it would be quick or cruel or both.

And the more I thought about him, and my dad, and all of it, the more I realized something that I didn’t really realize... until now. I was scared, too.

Not so much the being dead. Let's face it, that's "pretty universal". Nobody beats the buzzer forever. This isn’t a 1969-70 Bruins team with Orr flying through the air and the Garden losing its mind. There is no duck boat parade route for this. At some point, the final horn sounds for everybody. (deep huh).

No, I think what scared me was the mystery of it.

Not knowing if it would be sudden, slow, ugly, random, painful, stupid, or some especially cruel "fisherman's platter" of all of the above.

That’s the part that got under my skin. The uncertainty. The randomness. The fact that life is basically sudden-death overtime, and for a long time, I walked around pretending I didn’t hear the crowd scream, "Shooooooooot!" [Side rant... if you're a hockey fan, please, stop that... the players know they need to shoot, and you sound like an idiot.]

And that’s why I’ve landed on a thought that sounds completely unhinged until I explain it: And the few times I've uttered it out loud over the last week, the people I've shared it with get uncomfortably silent... you've been warned:

"There is something oddly comforting about having multiple myeloma."

Now, let's be clear, I’m not saying "cancer is a gift". Multiple myeloma is not "part of my journey.” [gag]. It is not a blessing in disguise. It is not character-building. Fuck that. It's a royal pain in the ass, a drain on energy, an administrative nightmare, expensive A.F., and an absolutely world-class thief. Zero stars. Do not recommend!

And. (not but)

Unless a cure is discovered — and let me be very clear, I would love nothing more than for science to make this entire post look stupid — I probably know how this picture ends... for me.

And weirdly, that helped.

Because among the things it has taken, one of them is a giant unknown, and it has made it known.

I know the opponent.

I got the scouting report.

I know what number the bastard is wearing.

And there is some peace in that.

Not joy. Not gratitude. I’m not about to start a wellness podcast and start referring to turmeric as “part of my practice.”

[side plug - I do, however, have a soccer podcast called "Football is Life," so #Like, #Subscribe, and #Share, available on Apple Podcasts, YouTube, and Instagram. Link above.]

I just mean peace in the sense that uncertainty is exhausting, and certainty — even bad certainty — at least has the decency to stop lurking in the shadows like some fourth-line goon taking late runs at your top guys. (I'm looking at you, Matt Cooke!)

And that changes things.

There’s a song from Into the Woods that’s been rattling around in my head: “I know things now.”

Not because I wanted to. Not because I signed up for some life-changing master class in perspective. I would have preferred to learn all my important lessons from hockey losses, bad calls in my weekend poker game, and Sondheim lyrics, you know, like a normal person. But this is the curriculum I got.

I know things now. "And Nice is Different than Good".

My dad’s heart attack brought that right to the surface. My grandfather’s fear made me realize I inherited more than just his name and birthdate. And my own cancer, ironically enough, may have taken the sharpest edge off that fear by answering one of the questions most people never get answered.

I still don’t know when. Nobody knows that. That remains way above my pay grade.

But the how?

I’ve probably got a pretty good idea.

And (for me), that has been oddly settling.

There’s even a little bit of Sweeney Todd in that. Not the murdering-people-and-baking-them-into-pies part. More of the Epiphany part. That sudden, jarring, not-especially-cheerful moment where you see something clearly and can’t unsee it.

That’s what this feels like.

A little grim? 100%.

But clear.

And clarity is underrated.

Because once you know that, the assignment gets simpler... The job is to:

• Listen to my doctors.

• Take the meds.

• Do the treatment.

• Show up for the appointments -including next month's "Annual Hip Drilling" & "Nuclear Breakfast Shake".

• Trust that the scientists are doing their thing and maybe, just maybe, working on the equivalent of a deadline deal that changes the whole season.

And in the meantime?

Just live.

Laugh.

Love my people.

Watch hockey.

Cheer for the Gunners.

Make plans.

Take the trip.

Eat the food.

Buy the ticket. (Just trying to validate my 2 trips to Broadway last month).

Say the thing.

Stop assuming there’s some later, cleaner, more organized version of life where I’ll finally get around to doing life properly.

That never comes, and "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans."

And honestly, that’s another thing 55 will do for you. It doesn’t exactly sneak up on you, but when it gets here, it does tap you on the shoulder and say, “Hey, idiot, in case you hadn’t noticed, this clock is ticking.”

Fifty-five feels old enough to know better and young enough to still be annoyed that I’m supposed to know better.

That’s where Being Alive comes in too. Not in a jazz-hands, big Broadway belt-to-the-back-row kind of way. Just the truth of it. Being alive is messy. Expensive. Funny. Painful. Inconvenient. It means getting scared. It means getting tired. It means dealing with cancer and still somehow finding yourself screaming at a Bruins power play for that stupid neutral zone turnover in transition.

That’s all part of it, too.

That’s being alive.

So, I’m not writing this because I’m sad. I’m not writing this to get pity. God knows there’s enough self-important cancer writing in the world already. I’m writing it because this is what’s been in my head, and because I think I’ve finally got a clearer handle on something I didn’t understand before.

Multiple myeloma, for all the havoc it brings, has given an unknown a face.

And while I still don’t know when the final horn sounds, I’ve made some peace with the fact that I probably know who’s taking the last shot.

And now that this is off my chest, I can focus on the NHL playoffs, the Premier League Title Race, the Champions League Semi-Finals, making hero calls with a bluff catcher, and anything else that comes along.

Thanks for reading!