The C-Word

The little demon that dances within

It wasn’t long ago I told one of my coworkers about a customer of ours that just died.

You never expect to get a call like that at your job. I was only about two months in, and this guy I barely knew was telling me that this other guy I barely knew had died.

His business partner sounded sick about it. I could tell he was shaken up, but his delivery was very calm. He was confused about what was next, and what just happened, and he was carrying through in a state of shock.

It was shocking for me, too. I had just learned who this guy was weeks earlier. I interacted with him a handful of times. Then he was gone, and his name became a lot more impactful.

Later I learned it was cancer. Good lord, it’s taken so many of us.

Just months prior, I learned a good friend of mine had cancer, too. He was given weeks to live, months at best. 10 months later, he’s still here. Praise God.

His name in Nat Myers. He’s a wonderful musician and an even more wonderful person. He toured with us for a short while and we all became pretty tight. I was coaching him up on how to sell merch and make the road life a little more sustainable. He seemed to like some of my writing, but not as much as I liked his.

Life trickles on for a bit then it comes to a halt. This friendly, talented young man has cancer and it’s bad.

These moments, coming in such a short time, changed how I view life to this day. I guess when you’re young for your entire life, you just don’t see death as something that’s waiting on you quite yet.

But the older you get, the clearer it becomes that the light doesn’t always give you a long ride before it swallows you whole. Or threatens to, at least.

In between us and that light comes a lot of choices. What we smoke, what we chew, what we chug, night after night, slowly forms a rotten energy inside of us. And it doesn’t go away on its own. Once it’s big enough, it doesn’t want to stop. It won’t stop until it’s seeping out through every pore.

Sometimes, it’s no choice of ours at all. Genes will get ya, and dirty air, too.

The first person I told about the passing of our customer was my coworker, the art guy. He’d hate that I called him that. He has a name, but it’s no one’s business to know.

“Thanks for telling me,” he responded.

I thought it was an interesting way to respond. Most people might say they’re sad, or that’s too bad, or something of the sort. He said it sincerely, like it was something he needed to know, and how he’d deal with it wasn’t for anyone else to see.

A month, maybe six weeks later, he was diagnosed with cancer.

This week, he quit. I don’t even think it’s been six months and he can’t deal with working through the pain. It wasn’t that long ago that he was normal and healthy, at least to us spectators.

Then I think back to a friend of mine that died from cancer not too long ago. Strongman Mark. He helped me bend a nail and rip a deck of cards. He was a positive spirit to be around and loved teaching people what he knew.

Then cancer. He beat it, then it came back and won. How sickening.

Another musician I toured with, Jarrod Dickenson, was diagnosed last year. He’s doing well, it seems.

When I look around, I see a lot of life. Warm breath through the cold air. Squirrels keeping fat and sunshine spilling low over the horizon.

But I step inside, and death feels closer than ever.

In a lot of ways, the preventative fight feels hopeless. You do what you can but it still might find ya. What do you do then? Well, your best, I suppose.

I’m going to keep running, but the more I see it around me, the less undefeatable I feel.