For the first time in weeks, I’m not sitting outside watching the bird block over the top of my computer.  It’s too windy.  And cold.  In Tucson.  On the first of May.  (By the way, I’m aware all of those previous phrases are sentence fragments.  The grammar checker in the computer is going to warn me about them.  But I’m feeling like writing sentence fragments today.  So get used to it!)

Some of first blog posting I did was during the tough time when our son-in-law, Jon Jance, was losing his nine year battle with melanoma.  He had served in the US Marine Corps and the US Coast Guard.  He was a young man of great courage, humor, and love.  Those early blogs aren’t accessible through the website archives.  If you’re interested in reading some of them, you’ll find them below, including my posting after Jon’s funeral called: Respect Must Be Paid.

Jon’s way of dealing with cancer was to fight it tooth and nail every step of the way.  After being given an initial prognosis of five years max, he hung in for nine.  In hopes of helping others he signed up for every protocol that was offered him by Dr. Thompson and Dr. Byrd at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance and the University of Washington Medical Center.  He was excited to be offered a spot in Dr. Yee’s T-cell protocol, even though the ticket to get in was having your oncologist say you were terminal.  That T-cell protocol, where Jon was Patient # 6, gave him and our daughter two extra years together.  We also have Dr. Yee to thank for our now eight-year old grandson, Colt.

So why am I writing about Jon this morning on a windy and dusty May morning in Tucson?  Because we’re having company for dinner tonight, our neighbors from across the street, Bonnie and Randy.  We met them for the first time four years ago when we invited several of our neighbors over for our Janis Ian living room concert.

Randy and Bonnie came that night, but they didn’t stay long after the concert.  Bonnie was frail at the time.  She’d been given a fourth stage melanoma diagnosis, and she was undergoing chemo.  She came with her bald head wrapped in a pink scarf and with a shawl draped around her shoulders.  Now she’s BACK!

Bonnie’s melanoma has responded well to the T-cell treatment that Jon helped pioneer.  She’s in remission.  It breaks our daughter’s heart that the treatment didn’t put Jon in remission, but she rejoices that it’s working for Bonnie, because helping people like Bonnie is exactly what Jon would have wanted.  Our daughter continues to donate to the Melanoma Foundation every year.  (She also makes sure Colt doesn’t venture out of the house without sunblock!)  Bonnie participates in the Melanoma Awareness Walks here in Tuscon sponsored by the Skin Cancer Institute of the University of Arizona.  During the walks Bonnie carries a banner with Jon’s name on it. (Guess which melanoma walk we support?)

So tonight Bonnie and Randy are coming for dinner.  I had thought we’d spend some time sitting out on the patio.  Maybe not, due to the wind, but the one thing I am sure of is this.  Sometime in the course of the evening we’ll be raising a glass in honor of Jon and Jeanne T. and Bonnie and Randy–for the patients and for the loved ones who have their patients’ backs.

May is National Melanoma Awareness month.  Time to reup your supply of sunblock.  Time to make an appointment and have that mole on the back of your shin checked out by a dermatologist because early detection is critical.  And for anyone out there reading this who may end up being given that dreaded fourth stage melanoma diagnosis?  Take heart.  Your life isn’t over until it’s over–due to people like Jon Jance and Bonnie Emerson!

PS:  Below I am attaching a few of those very early blogs because some of you, who weren’t necessarily following my postings early on, may be interested in reading them.

 

Jon’s At Rest

Monday, August 14, 2006

Yes, this morning Dead Wrong is on the NYTimes list, and I’m back home from the tour, but it’s not a time of rejoicing.

Our son-in-law, Jon Jance, lost his long battle with malignant melanoma this week.  Those of you who have fought your own wars with the Big C know what a mixture of both sorrow and relief we’re feeling at the moment.

One very real blessing in our lives is the existence of Jon and Jeanne T’s little last-minute miracle, Colt Stephen Jance, who is now eight months old.

With services scheduled for later this week, my appearance at Title Wave in Anchorage has been canceled and will be rescheduled for a later date

For all of you who made contributions to the Cancer Fighting Flamingo Relay for Life Team over the years, please know that we are now within spitting distance of making Jeanne T’s original goal of Seventy Five (thousand) in Five (years).  Thank you.

 

 We Got ‘er Done

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Yesterday the obituary for Jon Jance appeared in the local papers. (Go to seattletimes.com. Find Obituaries. And then enter Jance in the search line.  If I were more computer literate, I could come up with a real link, but there you are.)  Several people have written to ask why, since Jon was our son-in-law, was his last name listed as Jance?  That would be because Jon took our daughter’s name when they married. He was one of a kind!

Last night was the memorial service.  It played to a packed house at the Coast Guard Station on Pier 36.  When Jeanne T. and Jon got married, the rehearsal dinner was delayed three hours by a bank robbery followed by a high-speed chase that ended three blocks from the venue of the rehearsal dinner.  Last night’s memorial service was delayed over an hour due to police activity surrounding a bomb scare on Pier 18.

Hollis Williams, the Episcopal priest who presided over their wedding and spoke at the memorial service, said that wherever Jon and Jeanne T. were concerned, there was always a kicker.

Also speaking at the service was my good friend, UMC Bishop Mary Ann Swenson, who presided over Jon and Jeanne T’s renewal of vows three years ago on the occasion of their fifth anniversary. (Mary Ann and her husband, Jeff, were the real life models for my fictional Marianne Maculyea and Jeff Daniels in the Joanna Brady books. She said it was strange meeting so many strangers who were convinced they knew her.)  She spoke lovingly of Jon’s humor and his love of life.

Jon’s old Executive Officer spoke about coming to the Seattle Coast Guard Station and being told, “Jon Jance has been dealing with cancer for several years.  He probably won’t be around much longer, but time and again, often still bandaged from his latest round of surgery or whatever, Jon will be back at his desk.”

I have to say here that the fact that the Coast Guard wanted him back was an integral part of Jon’s battle.  He wanted to be back at work because he knew he was needed.

Then Jeanne T. stood up and asked the doctors and nurses in attendance to please come forward.  There were a good dozen or so of the good people from floor 7-SE, the cancer floor, of the University of Washington Medical Center.

Jeanne T. called them forward one at a time–two doctors and ten nurses.  She introduced them by name and told a story about each one.  When she finished, they all received a standing ovation. (One of the nurses told me later that had never happened to her before.)

But the point is, all of those folks have been involved in Jon and Jeanne T’s lives and battle for a long, long time.  JTJ was always Jon’s ambassador to the medical community.  Yes, he fought a difficult and tenacious battle, but it was Jeanne T’s people skills and kindness which helped bring the care of all those very talented medical practitioners to bear on Jon’s health situation.

Jon was a thirty-something, and it was a thirty-something memorial service, complete with humorous eulogies and a touching music-accompanied slide show.  It was a celebration of Jon’s life and of Jon and Jeanne T’s lives together, with Colt crowing and gurgling in the background.

Jon’s service to his country, in both the Marine Corps and the Coast Guard, was a vital part of his life.  The photos of him in his various uniforms were wonderful.  He loved being in the honor guard, and I loved the fact that an honor guard and a bag-piper were there for him at the memorial.

What struck me most about the slide show and the memorial service was the fact that so many of the faces in all of them were so familiar–the faces of people who came and stuck.  The same people who were there for the wedding and the parties and the renewal of vows were also the ones who were there at the Relay for Life walks and in the hospital and hospice waiting rooms as well.  They’re the faces of good people.  They say you have to be a friend to have a friend.  Clearly Jon Jance was a good FRIEND.

The graveside ceremony will be tomorrow at the Munro Serviceman’s Memorial in Cle Elum–where Jon did his final re-enlistment with the Coast Guard.  And after that?  We’ll come back to the house, with all those same good friends, and have a party.  What could be more appropriate?

Jon was always concerned about others.  He knew I was struggling to finish writing a book during these last few difficult months.  Every time I saw him, he wanted to know how many words I had written and how many more I still needed to write.  I didn’t manage to finish the book before Jon left us, but the last three chapters went to New York yesterday morning.

Yes, Jon. We both got ‘er done.

Respect Must Be Paid

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Yesterday I attended my first “with honors” military funeral.  We drove over the mountains from Bellevue to Cle Elum, Washington, to the Douglas C. Munro National Servicemen”s Gravesite.  Douglas Munro was a Coastie, and the site of the service was the one Jon chose.  He did his first U.S. Coast Guard Honor Guard duties there, and that’s also where he reenlisted for the last time.

The cemetery is a beautiful, tree lined spot just off the freeway.  I was struck by the group of butt-sprung old veterans from the local VFW chapter who surrounded the gathering, standing respectfully at attention, rifles on shoulders.  They spoke fondly and with creaking voices, of fallen comrades who have defended their country.  I was equally struck by the contingent of very young Coasties who gently carried Jon’s flag-draped coffin from the hearse to the grave site.

I was not prepared for the 21-gun salute. (Neither was Colt.  He burst into tears and refused to be comforted.)  I was not prepared for my reaction to the playing of Taps. (Colt loved it.  I cried like a baby.)  I was not prepared for my reaction to the bag-piper playing Amazing Grace.  (Colt loved it.)  I was not prepared for my reaction to the two young women Coasties carefully folding the flag from the casket.  That one got to me so much that I have no idea how Colt reacted.

At the grave site, we all tossed flowers–fire and ice roses, the same flowers Jeanne T. carried in her wedding bouquet. (Colt tried to eat his.)  Jon and Jeanne T’s dogs, Kensie and Angel, were there to say their good-byes as well.  They stood by the coffin with their tails wagging.  Did they know?  I’m sure they did.

I was busy thanking the VFW guys.  I didn’t see Jon’s uniformed friend and fellow Coastie, Steve Lincoln, give his final salute as the coffin was lowered.  I think I’m glad I missed it.

And then we drove back here to the house and had a barbecue/swimming party. (Colt loved it, and I think Jon would have, too.)  I think the young people could have gone on swimming for hours and hours, but the older generation, me included, was running out of steam.  The party shut down about nine PM or so.

The memorial service was one thing, with its mixture of laughter and tears–which is how memorial services are supposed to be–full of memories.  The funeral was something else.  Jon’s service to his country was so much a part of his life, that it was only fitting that respect should be paid.

It was.