My So-Called Memorial Tree

Last year on March 20th, John and I planted a small weeping cherry tree  in the backyard. The weather was chilly that day; rain and sleet took turns falling and calling the calendar into question. We could have put off the planting for another day when the weather was fine, but we'd bought the tree specifically to plant on March 20, the first day of spring and my 55th birthday, the first one since my metastatic lung cancer diagnosis. I was determined to get that twig in the ground. So we put on our rain parkas, dug a muddy hole, set the tree, and filled more mud in around it. It felt like an act of defiance, of the weather, yes, but also of something else, the nagging fear that tucks in alongside a metastatic diagnosis. I crossed my fingers and prayed that the tree would root well and bloom the next spring, and that I'd be around to see it. Of course, there was always that other possibility, one I didn't want to entertain – the weeping cherry could end up becoming my "memorial" tree, and its roots maybe even home to my ashes.

That's not what happened, obviously. Instead, I went ahead and had myself a 56th birthday, which I celebrated today with family and friends and neighbors on this first day of spring at one of our favorite East Nashville restaurants, Lyra. I didn't used to always go big on my birthday, but I've changed my mind about that since, well, ya know.  So carpe feliz cumpleaños and all that!

In that spirit, we had a community happy hour (actually a happy two hours) of cocktails and kabobs (cooked outside on the grill Lebanese style by Chef Hrant) and a wonderful Armenian layer cake (made by co-owner Liz, who happens to be married to Hrant). I invited lots of lovely people, and lots of them came. It was sunny and festive and kind of perfect out there on the patio honoring the Vernal Equinox. Plus a portion of the proceeds from that little party are going to The Addario Lung Cancer Foundation for the ROS1 Research Project.  So it was an entirely wonderful 56th first day of spring. And birthday.

And –
this:

Events Week for Lung Cancer Awareness Month

Misty Morning at Shelby Park

Today I met Monica Addington. Monica lost her father to lung cancer some years back, in the time before testing for genetic drivers, targeted therapies, and immunotherapies had become part of lung cancer diagnosis and treatment. She and her family and friends founded Lungevity's Nashville Breathe Deep Stache & Lash 5k/1.5 mile Run/Walk, and after several years of building the event, they passed the torch to the current organizing team, Erica Collins, Robert Pirtle, Tara Watson, and me. My organizing teammates, who have been involved with the race since its early days, also have each lost someone to lung cancer, and Robert, like me, is a cancer survivor.

After the race on this cold and foggy morning, I was invited to say a few words to the participants. I hope I did a good job expressing my gratitude to everyone there. I wanted them to know that it is because of them, because of their support and their hope, that I and Robert and other lung cancer patients have been the direct beneficiaries of lung cancer research.

The Lit Wits! My friends and colleagues from Vol State. They have supported me like family!

Erica and Tara

Robert and family.

Afterwards, Monica introduced herself to me. Both of us were pretty emotional as she told me how much it meant to her to see someone like me, someone like Robert, there at the event, people with advanced stage cancer who are living normal lives. And that's one of the amazing things about research now; it's moving more quickly at last, and therapies that were not available just a few years ago have since been developed and are having a huge impact. We still don't have a cure for all lung cancers, but we are moving toward one every day, with the help of all the donors, the walkers, the organizers, the sponsors, the foundation folks.

Monica, who lost her dad not so very long ago, and all the current organizers have worked to make hope a reality for people diagnosed with lung cancer. And those efforts are beginning to pay off as we finally see more progress being made. I say this over and over again – lung cancer kills more people in the U.S. than any other cancer, and yet lung cancer research receives only 6% of federal cancer research funding. So it is up to foundations like Lungevity and the Bonnie J. Addario Lung Cancer Foundation to make up the difference.

Addario Dinner

Addario Dinner

Today so many people: my family, my wonderful friends and work colleagues from Vol State, my new friends from Lungevity Erica, Tara, and Robert and their families, our donors and supporters and other walkers, and I put our energy into a Lungevity event. Early this week, we had an event for the Addario Foundation, a beautiful fundraising dinner and silent auction at Lyra, one of our most favorite restaurants in Nashville, owned by our lovely friends Chef Hrant Arakelian and his wife Liz. Hrant created a delicious, generous, multi-course menu for our party of eighteen. The Middle Eastern, Mediterranean dishes and the wine just kept on coming, and everyone could taste the love. We also had silent auction donations from family, friends, and local businesses. The proceeds from the dinner and silent auction will go to Addario's Global ROS1 Initiative. Once again we were supported by loved ones and friends from work and from the poetry and philanthropy communities. Thank you dear ones! Readers, if you are in Nashville, go eat at Lyra the next chance you have! You will love it!

All in all, it has been a week of community gatherings in the cause of lung cancer research. I stand in awe of the support everyone has shown us! John and I are both pretty exhausted, but happy to have been a part of making a contribution to the cause.

Menu from Addario Dinner