Last week my dear brother-in-law Rich passed away after a very long and hard-fought struggle against leukemia. He was only 68. More than a decade ago he was first diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia ("CLL"). For a very long time he kept the diagnosis to himself (and his wife Wendy) because he didn't want to worry family and friends and didn't want the diagnosis to interfere with his life, which was full, busy both professionally and personally, and quite frankly, filled with travel, adventure and excitement. But slowly those close to him realized that all was not well. It was hard to hide all of the chemo and radiation treatments. But Rich was brave and tough and totally committed to beating his leukemia. And he did just that until Thanksgiving time last year.
At that time, he was told by his oncologist (an extraordinary physician and human being) that he could not go on the vacation that he and Wendy had planned for everyone including the children and grandchildren. But he insisted — over vehement objections — that the family go without him. That was the kind of guy he was.
And then late last year, after a great deal of testing, he learned that his leukemia had morphed into the much more aggressive and difficult Acute Myeloid Leukemia ("AML"), which had a very low and very scary survival rate. However, even then Rich faced his new situation with incredible courage, determined to overcome his condition and be one of the survivors. I visited him several times at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in NYC and despite being cooped up in a hospital room for weeks and weeks and notwithstanding the almost constant transfusions of hemoglobin, white blood cells and platelets his emotional strength never wavered and his belief in the future never once faded. He was a joy to be with and could still lick me in Scrabble without breaking a sweat. I brought him a roast beef sandwich from my local deli which has the very best cole slaw in the world and he gobbled it all up enthusiastically.
The situation turned much darker when he came down with pneumonia several weeks ago and then began a regiment of massive doses of antibiotics. He still believed in his heart and soul that he could beat all of it and get to the point where he would be able to have a life-saving bone marrow transplant. But sadly, that was not to be.
I was with he and his wife in the hospital room when his doctor told him that they could continue the antibiotics and transfusions but that in the end he would not be able to get through it. That's an extraordinary thing to hear when it's about a family member and someone whom you love dearly. I can't imagine for even a second what it must have been like for Rich to hear that prognosis. And still I never saw any fear or self-pity in him — only strength and concern for his family.
It was only at the very end that Rich was forced to accept the inevitable. He decided to face it in his own way and on his own schedule. He passed away peacefully surrounded by loving family members.
He will be missed.