Hello friends,

So I finally have something to report. I had my one-year check-up at the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics (UIHC) and I am happy to report that things look great. My PET scan shows no sign of lymphoma, and most of my blood work has inched into the lower end of the normal range. My baby bone marrow doesn’t have the immunities I used to have, so, after proclaiming that everything looks good, they gave me five childhood vaccinations (two in each arm, one in the stomach, not as bad as it sounds) and sent me on my way. 

It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year since my stem cell transplant. My Sioux Falls oncologist thinks that my bone marrow is “holding a grudge,” but they are optimistic it will continue to slowly improve. While the report couldn’t be better, I still deal with some fatigue, particularly since my red blood counts have been the slowest to rebound and have yet to get into the normal range. I still have G.I. repercussions from all the chemo and some neuropathy in my feet, am getting some physical therapy, and still have a stent that needs replacing every three months due to the mass that still is in my body, but now dead. (Cancer + chemo = beat-up body.) But, these are all residual effects that I can live with. There are still ups and downs, and surprising to me is that every few weeks or months, I realize I’m feeling better than the previous weeks or months. Going forward, I will get bloodwork and check in with my Sioux Falls oncologist only every three months. I will get a few more childhood vaccinations over the coming months and will have a PET scan in six months. If all goes well I won’t need to go back to UIHC until next year for a two-year visit. 

My survivor’s guilt was not as strong as the last time I was in Iowa City back in January. In part because I can hear Sandie telling me to not waste time and energy on that. She would’ve said it nicely, but I would have easily understood the subtext, a bluntly stated: “don’t be stupid.” Said lovingly of course. Grief, while never absent, is always up and down. I feel like I just discover new kinds of grief as time goes on. For some reason, the past week was rougher. I haven't figured out why, maybe it’s working at home where pretty much everything reminds me of Sandie. With every glance, I see something that has her imprint on it and I experience a fresh sense of wonder at how someone can be gone.  I’ve thought about moving back to my office since our building is open now with appropriate precautions. But, since Sandie worked at Augustana, it’s not like there aren’t frequent reminders there either. And every memory is a two-edged sword, the sadness at the loss and the fondness of the memory, as anyone who has experienced grief knows. I can attest to the truth of the words of Wendell Berry in his book, Jayber Crow, “I don't believe that grief passes away. It has its time and place forever. More time is added to it; it becomes a story within a story. But grief and griever alike endure.” 

Once again, I can’t begin to express the gratitude that for all the support for me and the kids from so many of you, spoken and unspoken, all a part of the great cloud of witnesses. I hope that at some point I’ll get around to sending proper thank you notes. Until then, I’ll close with these words of one of my favorite authors. Sandie would like this, and it will resonate with all you who miss her and is true for the living and the departed.  

Much grace, peace, and God’s mercy to you all. 

-Mitch 

“When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.

For as long as you remember me, I am never entirely lost. When I'm feeling most ghost-like, it is your remembering me that helps remind me that I actually exist. When I'm feeling sad, it's my consolation. When I'm feeling happy, it's part of why I feel that way. If you forget me, one of the ways I remember who I am will be gone. If you forget, part of who I am will be gone.”