Tuesday, December 06, 2016

Hope

The kids are in bed and the house is quiet. The Christmas tree, in its imperfect glory, is a colorful focal point in the dark room. I'm sitting next to the fireplace, my right arm is getting quite warm but I don't want to change positions because that would involve turning away from the warm glow of the Christmas tree.

I have been sitting here off and on throughout the day trying to write this. I sat at the dining room table earlier and last night I was in the basement staring at my computer screen, unable to write. I can't find the right place. I can't find the right words. Nothing about what I'm trying to do is coming easily to me and I can't understand why so I'm just going to muddle through this feeling of not capturing what I want to say with just the right words. 

This exercise in what feels like futility is to tell you about Jason. To tell you that he was a great guy. That when I think about Jason the first thing that pops in my head is his smile. His smile could light up a room. He was kind of quiet and unassuming but you could sense a deep well of contentment in him. Physically he wasn't a very big guy but his - I don't know what to call it - his aura? his being? The thing that was Jason was big. His calm, his happiness and his love, were all larger than that could be contained in him. He kind of just spilled goodness because there was so much of it in him.

I was talking to Ryan at Starbucks a day or two after Jason died. Ryan told me he used to think Jason had the best luck - he was always winning something at office parties and at industry events. I said that maybe so many good things happened to him because he wasn't given a full life. Whatever good that was to be had needed to fit into his thirty-eight years before cancer claimed him. 

But talking like the cancer was predestined and that all of Jason's goodness had a finite amount of time is kind of lame. His goodness didn't have to be snuffed out. If he had a treatment that would have worked for him his goodness could have filled up many more decades. His kids could have had a dad to be there for the big life events and even more important, for the minutiae that is life.

This is where I'm looking to you for help. I'm trying to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society by doing the Big Climb. Your contributions will help further the research that is needed to find effective treatments for the Jason's out there who do not know cancer is lying in wait for them. 

If you want to learn more about the LLS and the Big Climb please click on this link: http://www.llswa.org/goto/apriljahns; and if you are able to please consider contributing to this great cause.



Jason Holdridge
1977-2016



1 comment:

Cecelia said...

Goddammit, 2016! And sorry for cursing on your blog, April. We got your back and will be making a contribution to support your climb.