Thank you
Published on June 12, 2020
I am overwhelmed with all the condolences that have filled my inbox. I hadn’t thought of that when I sent out the note, I simply wanted you guys to know. Thank you. I won’t be able to reply to them all, but I will definitely reach out to all those who have been dealing with cancer. I’m so sorry you have to be a member of this club, but you are not alone.
I could never write enough about Dianna, but the response from everyone has inspired me to share more. Feel free to ignore and no need to write back. Just consider this therapy for me, if nothing else.
So many of her friends have described her as genuine, accepting, modest, kind, funny, unique, intelligent. She was all of that and more. She couldn’t care less about the car she drove or the clothes she wore…she just cared that people were happy. She supported me in everything I did. Even when I told her I wanted to become an art rep. So long as it made me happy, she was all for it. The first couple of years were lean, to say the least— my accountant asked me if I was sure this was the best use of my time— but she never said anything about that. She’d help me scan the art and handle the accounting. She’d seen me unhappy in my previous work, so was just glad I was doing something I enjoyed.
While she wasn’t into comics like me, she understood the passion. She didn’t like crowds otherwise, but she loved going to San Diego Comic-Con and being immersed in that passion. When she was undergoing treatment, she took up cross-stitching as a hobby to occupy her time, and to help manage neuropathy (a side effect of treatment that affects the extremities and manual dexterity). She worked on a project in secret, and surprised me with it on my birthday that year. You can see it below. Perfect, right?
Most of all, she loved being a mom. She spent every moment she could with our daughter and cherished every second of it. She volunteered at Kaya’s school every chance she got. Including serving lunch in the cafeteria, even though Kaya never ate the school lunch, because like Dee, she’s a vegetarian. It was just so Dee could catch a glimpse of Kaya during the school day. And unlike the other kids who would actively avoid their parents at school, Kaya would always go to Dee for a hug. She and our daughter had an extraordinarily close bond.
Dee instilled in Kaya a love of reading and learning. She read the HARRY POTTER series to Kaya at bedtime when she was four. When they were done with that, she moved onto LORD OF THE RINGS. I’d read her DIARY OF A WIMPY KID. So you can see who had the greater impact.
I feel I need to talk about our daughter here, because she’s such a reflection of Dee. She’s a kid who loves learning, and so, loves school. She’s not a straight A student, she’s a straight A+ student (I can say I had absolutely nothing to do with that!). She truly does it by herself, we’ve never had to help her with homework. So it wasn’t easy when I had to tell her I’d be pulling her out of school. We’d be moving across the country for treatment. It would be Mommy’s best chance. She’d be on her own; that meant no friends, no teachers, no school. We had told her upfront about the diagnosis, so she understood the stakes. She was all in.
It was a hard, lonely year. Mostly spent by herself in a room, with her laptop. When we had to be in hotels, she’d ask me where the business center was, so she could use the printer to do her work. Which she set up by herself with various online resources. I didn’t have any time or energy to help her with any of it. But I also had confidence she could manage it on her own. She never complained once.
She was in 7th grade when we left. She was advanced, and I figured that even if she missed all of 8th grade, she could still be average for 9th grade when we returned. Or if she was behind, it wouldn’t take her long to get caught up. You can see her first report card from 9th grade below, after we had returned home. She didn’t miss a beat. Those would all be A+, except those two teachers don’t give A+ as policy. She astounds us.
Like Dee, Kaya doesn’t care about superficial things like clothes. She’s content to do her shopping at Target and Old Navy. When we were on the East Coast, I took her to Costco to run some errands. It was winter. She needed new shoes and asked me if we could get a pair there. She showed them to me. They were the Costco-brand knockoff Uggs. I told her I’d get her the real thing, she didn’t have to get the knockoffs. It's OK, Dad, these are fine. When we got back to CA, I had to take her to get her first Doc Martens, which she quietly coveted. That’s her at the shop below. Dee and I have always marveled at how lucky we got with her. We’re so proud of her and love her so much.
Kaya was 13 when Dee was diagnosed. If things went the way the first doctor said they would, then by the time Kaya was 27, she would have lived more of her life without a mom than with one. As much as anything else, this fueled my desperation to find help for Dee, to get us more time. This was Dee’s primary motivation, as well. But she also knew me better than anyone and recognized how I'm wired. That I had to dive into research, to learn all I could, to find aggressive treatment options that gave us a shot. As much as she didn’t want to move away from home for treatment, she knew that I had to know I did everything possible, so that there would be no second-guessing or regrets later. Of course, this wasn’t just about her. She also endured it all for me.
When Dee was able to stand for the last time, it took a tremendous effort. But she was determined to do it, so she did. She was completely bedridden after that.
The reason she wanted to stand was so she could put her arms around me and say “thank you”.
No reason to thank me, Dee. What I do is nothing. I wish I could take care of you forever. I’m the one who needs to thank you. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for Kaya. Thank you for loving us so much.
We will be together always.
Felix
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