When they tell you it doesn’t matter. When they say it’s a waste of money. Or time. Or effort. When you cannot help yourself and shamefully slide into the muck of reader comments below that London Free Press story. When they call you names. Entitled. Unproductive. In need of a ‘real job.’
When they say all that to belittle what you do, remember just a few of these numbers.
1.
3. 2. 1.
2. 5.
70. 71. 72.
46. 47. 48.
1,000. 1,000. 3,000.
14.
1.
My Dad died two weeks ago after being given six months to live 41 months ago. Through the tears of the loss, I still smile when I tell people that. I am proud of it – proud of my Dad. Given six months to live 41 months ago. Way to go, Dad.
These numbers above represent just a slice of what he – what we – experienced since cancer issued his death sentence.
U.S. presidential election about which to argue.
Opening Days with our St. Louis Cardinals. World Series appearances. World Series wins.
New grandbabies held. Total grandbabies hugged.
Bonus birthdays celebrated.
Bonus wedding anniversaries celebrated.
‘I love yous’ from his son. From his daughter. From his wife.
Days holding his hand at his hospital bedside.
Family goodbye on his final day.
All those things – the joys and the sorrows – were possible because of these final three numbers, perhaps the most important numbers to my family.
3. 41. 1,200.
That’s the extra time we got to spend together with Dad. In years. Or in months. Or in days.
After his final diagnosis, I wrote these words on these pages three years ago. I want to revisit them today – repeat them word-for-word, even – as they may be the most sincere words I have ever written here.
Thank you.
We didn’t get this time with Dad because it was owed to us. We got these wonderful moments over the last few years because, in part, of the hard work of people like many of you, researchers who spend their lives in pursuit of an undiscovered truth.
We were given time because of research.
The chemotherapy, originated by Drs. Robert Noble and Charles Beer right here at Western. The electro-larynx, invented by Harold Barney in the 1950s. Radiation therapy. Dozens of devices. Hundreds of medications. The psychology informing his caregivers and hospice companions. All innovations and understandings spawned, at least in part, out of academic-led research.
I couldn’t write Dad’s obituary when asked; I am having trouble writing this now. But the words that come to me easily are also the most important for me to say.
Thank you.
When they say all that to belittle what you do, always remember research matters. Take it from a kid – and his Dad – who have the numbers to back it up.