Recognizing All of God’s Children this Christmas

For Christians, Christmas is meant to be a time of potential.  For Christians, Christ came to bring hope and justice to a broken world.  Because of this, I am terribly upset by our response to the injustices that have been brought to our attention this Advent.  Many of us became aware (as if for the first time) of the racial disparities in our nation.  I recently heard that our reaction to change is a three-fold progression.  We respond by saying:  I don’t get it, I don’t like it, and I don’t like you.  This seems to be how many people I know have reacted when confronted by this new information of institutional racism in our society.  Sadly, many refuse to recognize that anything is wrong.  Then, even if there is anything wrong or any pain that might exist, we manage to deflect accountability for biased policies and practices. And yet, as Christians we are called to listen for and respond with God’s love to the pain of this damaged world.

I’ve encountered several people in my life that don’t get it – they don’t see what the problem is, or why people are getting so upset.  Also, to avoid admitting the breadth of the issue, there is a tendency to minimize the validity of claims of racism and defend on a case by case basis.  In effect, here’s why it is just for there to have been no indictment in the Michael Brown case.  Here’s why it’s okay that Eric Garner is dead.  This attitude mistakes the impetus for the protests as the only reason for the protests.  It conveniently ignores the broader trend that underlies the anger.   It ignores the overwhelming statistics about biases in the criminal justice system – which includes police responses, racial profiling, inconsistent sentencing, the explosion in our prison population, etc.    Sadder yet, it ignores the extensive and ubiquitous cry of pain and offense by a sizable portion of our brothers and sisters.  We need to ask ourselves why our first line of defense is to deny that there are any disparities.

The second disturbing response is to deny collective accountability for the effects of any institutional biases that do exist.  “I am not racist”, they’ll say.   Or - “The problems in the black community are of their own making.”  “Broken families and absentee fathers are the problem.”  Yet, we have collectively decided to jail unprecedented numbers of black men, and then not allow them to rejoin their families in public housing or even vote when they get out.  We act as if policies and practices that deliberately target those black men have nothing to do with the issues those communities face.  We are good at suggesting what “they” should do while going to great lengths to avoid seeing what we could do.  In this democracy that we take such pride in, we act as if we are not responsible for the root causes to which we contribute.  We need to ask ourselves why our second line of defense is to deny any accountability for any injustices.

I am struggling mightily with the widespread adoption of these two responses by otherwise caring and intelligent people that I know. I am wondering what motivates the concerted effort to deny a mountain of factual and anecdotal evidence of a problem.  I recognize that maintaining the status quo and denying any personal culpability is paramount for some, but I don’t know that we can afford a myopic perspective when it causes so much distress for others.  It’s too late for that.  Just as with global warming, the deliberate refusal of some to accept obvious truths is jeopardizing us all.  How much do black lives matter to you if you refuse to recognize the blatant disrespect that your neighbors are pleading with you to take note of?  I make my kids try something new to eat before they can conclude that they don’t like it.  But, we let our grown-up friends hold onto their conclusions on this issue without even trying to see the other side.  By doing so, I believe that we allow racism to continue unchallenged.

I struggle most with the Christian response to the unsettling events of the last few months.  If someone you knew came to you in obvious pain and distress, you have two choices.  You can recognize their suffering and offer the person comfort.  Or, you can question their anguish, deny their hurt and ignore their pleas for help.  We are clearly called to the former as Christians.  And yet some are clearly taking the latter response towards their brothers and sisters.   We need to ask ourselves why we are deliberately neglecting our Christian calling to love our neighbor.

I am struggling to reconcile this very un-Christian reaction from otherwise good (and often church-going) people.  I believe that we ought to encourage each other towards becoming our very best selves.  Loving our neighbor is an integral part of our best nature and can be accomplished on an individual or community level.   I think that we ought to lovingly encourage and challenge our friends and family to recognize and own the institutional racial bias in our society.   Ideally, our churches ought to challenge us to grow towards a world where every person is treated like a child of God.

Referring to apartheid in South Africa, Rev. Desmond Tutu said that - “Each person is not just to be respected but be revered as one created in God’s image.  To treat one such as if they were less than this is not just evil, which it is, it is not just painful…no, it is veritably blasphemous, for it is to spit in the face of God.”   Love and respect for all is where we are called to go – as individuals, as Christian communities and as a society.  We have a golden opportunity coming out of this Christmas season to respond to the brokenness in our neighborhoods.    We need to ask ourselves – isn’t it time we stopped spitting in the face of God?

YOU are the Agent of Change

It was the end of the day and we were approaching the line for the tram at Disney after the fireworks.   It was many people deep and even with Disney’s infamous efficiency, we were going to be there a little while.  Our parking lot was not that far away and Noah and I were inclined to walk it instead.  The rest of our crew preferred waiting.  I hate lines. 

At the other end of the spectrum - when I was out in LA for Pancreatic Cancer Action Network leadership training a couple of weeks ago, I was surrounded by folks that don’t want to wait.  If it ain’t happening, these are the kinds of folks that will make it happen.  It was awesome!

The Pancreatic Cancer Action Network is representative of concerned people-power pushing against the way things are to bring about the reality that they long to see.  Pan Can’s goal is to raise awareness of and maximize funding for research to double the 5-year survival rate (from its’ current measly 6%) by 2020. 

The Pancreatic Cancer Action Network represents one of three legs that support the stool upon which most change happens in this country.  Besides charities and non-governmental organizations, I see the government and faith communities as the other most significant agents of change in our society.

The direct actions of dedicated people working through NGOs and charity organizations to achieve change are similar to the responsibility placed on each of us in this democracy.  Sadly, this is a trait that we have readily relinquished in America.  We set up a system that provided a mechanism (albeit imperfect) for groups of individuals to be the change that they long for.   Very sadly, we have lazily and irresponsibly relinquished that vast potential for good by vilifying the very means to accomplish all things for ourselves – mainly owning (our role as) the government.  We have accepted the ruse of railing against the government.  We have been bamboozled into forgetting that we have been given a government of, by, and for the people.  We are conveniently forgetting that we are the government - the ones responsible for the way things are and the way things could be.

I see direct parallels between the challenges of tackling this most difficult and deadly cancer and the undermining of our American democracy.  In each case, a beautiful and lofty idea is stymied by a current of other competing intentions.

Coming under a few basic themes, here’s how I see the competing intentions of the pancreatic cancer fight and our democracy challenge:

1. 1.     The complexity of the cancer itself (the location of the organ, the pathology of the disease, etc.), and the inherently complex problems we face as a nation - , seemingly resistant to the very best that we are able to throw at them. 
2. 2.     Our personal and democratic health are market based.  The relatively low (but rising) incidence rate (~40,000 Americans/year) discourages for-profit Pharma from making a targeted effort to solve this most challenging cancer problem.  Similarly, the concerns of the average American are being ignored because the money spent under the guise of corporate free speech calls the shots. 
3. 3.     Finally, the politics in this country put ideology ahead of the very real (sometimes deadly) realities of people’s lives.  Even cancer doesn’t make the cut for funding these days.  In the same way, our politics prioritize maintaining current power bases rather than addressing the very real suffering that many Americans face every day.

The passion I saw at the PanCan leadership training taught me that every competing interest can be overcome by people-power.  No problem is too complex.  Free markets need not be the only solution to our problems.  Ideology need not trump reality.  Everything is possible and we are just the folks to do it.

Although maybe a subset of the charity and NGO category, faith communities function in a similar way – by rallying people behind an idea or set of beliefs.  I set them apart because it is a particularly unique and beautiful thing when faith is seen as a verb, an action, not passive.  People of faith are responsible for many of the non-governmental hospitals, schools, social service and disaster relief agencies in our world.   On a large scale, it is groups of individuals that band together to address society’s ills and bring just relief to the neediest among us.  Catholic churches and organizations have been doing it for a long time.  Protestant denominations, Jewish synagogue groups and   Muslim organizations all do amazing good in our society.

The hunger for better exists but charities and faith-based organizations don’t appeal to everyone. In that sense, the tendency to vilify the government and so distance ourselves from the widespread and necessary good that we are called to do is so disturbing to me.  It takes out of play one of the three biggest agents of change in our society.  For some our shared nation-hood is the tie that binds.  I hate to lose even one outlet in the struggle to change this world.

Lord knows that there are many issues in this broken world for us to make progress on.  There’s no need to make excuses for the line.  Don’t wait on it either.  If you don’t see what you want, find like-minded someones and start walking.

Advocacy (Every )Day 2014

I am not a research oncologist. Boy do I wish I was right about now. I have enormous respect for these folks. They volunteer to attempt to solve some of the most difficult challenges of our time, plugging onward even though the chances of success are small. Those trying to crack one of the very toughest nuts, namely pancreatic cancer, are a breed apart. Whereas other research oncologists are mustering all of their energies to push a very large rock just a few inches, I see those researching pancreatic cancer trying to push that same rock up a hill one inch at a time. To be honest, I don’t know that I have the fortitude to step into that void myself, even if I had the right education and credentials. For this reason I applaud each and every one of the doctors that do.
Instead I wonder about what CAN I do? Thank God - we live in an absolutely amazing and maddening country.
I just returned from my fourth Pancreatic cancer Advocacy Day in Washington D. C It is an annual event where folks from across the nation come to D.C. to urge Congress to take action in the fight against pancreatic cancer. The push during my first couple of years of attending was to get a bill passed that would put a plan in place and increase the research dollars that the National cancer Institute (a branch of the National Institute of Health) devotes to pancreatic cancer. “When the Recalcitrant Cancer Research Act was signed into law in January 2013, it was the culmination of five years of effort by the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network’s passionate advocates and volunteers—who sent 76,000 emails, made 14,000 calls to Congress and participated in 1,500 meetings.” Then came sequestration and the promised funds have never materialized. The fight in the years since has been to restore the planned funds.
The problem is that there is no early detection for pancreatic cancer – ala a mammogram or colonoscopy for breast and colon cancers. For most people diagnosed, like my Papa, diagnosis is a death sentence because it is already too late to do much about it. Which brings up the second problem – few treatment options (besides the Whipple surgery that I was able to have) that can save the life of a pancreatic cancer patient. The 5-year survival rate is an anemic 6% and has barely budged in the past 40 years. Survival rates for most cancers are, thankfully, increasing but while the incidence rate for pancreatic cancer is increasing survival rates are not appreciably. For this reason, pancreatic cancer is projected to be the second leading cancer killer of Americans by 2020. Given the potential genetic link in my family, this is an untenable situation for me and my babies.
This year, approximately 480 citizens from all 50 states and several U.S. territories came to ask Congress to make more funds available. This is an astounding show of force and the sea of purple walking the halls of Congress is a sight to behold. For me, seeing survivors from across the country year after year inspires hope. But hearing the stories of loved ones lives cut suddenly short by the tragedy of this disease is heart-wrenching. D.C. in all of its grandeur makes me proud to be an American and the opportunity to meet with my Senators and Representatives is a testament to the democratic ideals that our Founding Fathers intended for us. It is awesome. Democracy is not (only) about availing oneself of the right to vote every year or four. It is about bringing about the change in this nation that you desire by expressing yourself on the other 364 days of the year to the leaders we’ve elected to represent us.
There are two main arguments that our representatives offer against additional funding for research into the deadliest cancers. They are (1) that we can’t afford it, and (2) our government is already too large and should not be involved in this activity.
In my mind, both of these are purely ideological. The first argument denies the fact that Congress is making spending decisions like this every day. It is, after all, exactly what our elected leaders are paid to do. Besides, the “ask” for cancer research is negligible compared to so much else. If I understand the argument, we can afford tax cuts for corporations and those who are already wealthy in this country but not to help save lives and avoid suffering for all Americans. It is simply a matter of our priorities. The second argument denies the ample evidence that when government funds basic research, cancer survival rates increase (see breast cancer as a glorious example). We the people empower the government to the things that otherwise could not be achieved – like national defense, education, infrastructure, etc. Both lines of refusal are based on flawed logic if not outright lies. Meanwhile, people are dying. Please do not buy this bill of goods. Not for this cause that is of primary importance to me. Nor for your own cause. Advocate for yourself and those you love. Responsible citizenship means writing, calling and visiting our elected leaders. That is the beauty of this wonderful and maddening nation of ours. Embrace it!

My Oman Odyssey

I am incredibly blessed. As if to put an exclamation point on that fact, I started the year with a two-week travel seminar to Oman (on the Arabian Peninsula). As a student at New Brunswick Theological Seminary, I went to attend lectures and meetings with Ibadi imams and scholars, engage in interfaith dialogue, meet missionaries of the American Protestant Mission in Oman, and explore the interfaith context of Oman.
My first discovery was the amazing culture, sights, people and geography of the otherwise unknown Sultanate of Oman. It is a gorgeous land! We visited the country’s historical sights – the many forts throughout the land, mosques ranging from the Sultan’s Grand Mosque in Muscat to some of the oldest mosques in Islam, and natural wonders like (the Grand Canyon equivalent at) Jebel Shams and the majestic dunes at Wahiba Sands. We stayed in the thick of Muscat (the capital), only a stone’s throw from the dazzling Mutrah Souk (bazaar). I enjoyed sunrise runs along the Corniche that runs along the shoreline of the port. We were repeatedly treated to unmatched hospitality in government offices, religious centers and homes – Omani style.
The second aspect of learning was the class presentations, discussions and exercises. Our hosts at the Al Amana center led some sessions and offered us Imams from the Ministry of Religious Affairs, Omani and U.S. government officials, and leaders of local religious communities. Several sessions of Scriptural Reasoning - where we considered particular biblical or Qur’an texts and engaged in interfaith dialogue – were increasingly stimulating and revealing.
As astounding and inspiring as the first two learning vehicles were, the third may have been the most impactful. Besides the three of us participating from NBTS, we were blessed to be accompanied on this odyssey by five exceptional Muslim students from Hartford Seminary. We had many hours together, especially in cars travelling between sights, to talk theology and ask all that we wondered about each other’s faith traditions. (My constant peppering of questions became a source of good-natured ribbing.) Witnessing their worship practices and experiencing their intentional submission to Allah day in and day out was a welcome, thought-provoking challenge to my own beliefs and spiritual discipline. Despite many months spent (cumulatively) in Muslim countries in my life, I learned more about Islam in these two weeks than in all of my years thus far.
The challenge of interfaith tolerance, dialogue and, beyond that, understanding was a focal point of the trip throughout. It is a testament to the efforts made by Sultan Qaboos and the Ministry of Religious Affairs that such religious acceptance can exist in a conservative and overwhelmingly Muslim society. The Ibadi School of Islam is unique, faithful and tolerant – with none of the extremism we sometimes see in the other, larger schools of Islam. “People of the Book” (especially) are esteemed as believers, even if they do not recognize Mohammed as a prophet. The Omani people seem to have grasped that people longing to worship God need an outlet and that offering them such opportunities is the best way to avoid extremism and societal strife. I have come to see religious exclusivity (i.e., my way is the only way) as the greatest challenge to the achievement of the ideals of religious understanding. It’s a tough nut to crack.
Our visits, presentations and discussions brought me face-to-face with a number of my long-held beliefs. Contrasting the two religions made me consider the difference between being a servant rather than a slave of God. What does submission to God really mean? I became much more acutely aware of the differences in one’s (personal?) relationship to God and the attributes of that God that get most stressed in a particular tradition. Just as there are a variety of different focus points amongst Protestant denominations in the U.S., I also enjoyed considering aspects of faith that I may downplay in my own spiritual life – like standing before God on the Day of Judgment, for instance. I also appreciated the different emphases that I encountered – like the consistent acquiescence to God’s will captured in the phrase “Insha’Allah” (God willing).
One of the most impactful visits we made was to Eloise Bosch, the surviving wife of a missionary couple that spent over 50 years of their lives providing medical care and education to the people of Oman. In thanks, the Sultan built a stunning residence on the coast for them to live out their days. Such gratitude is a testament to all that the Boschs did for the people of Oman. In a moment alone with her, I commented on the courage it must have taken to come to an unknown and undeveloped land like Oman in 1955. This humble servant responded almost matter-of-factly that there is little else one could do when called by God. It was a beautiful thing to witness.
Amen.

November Blessings

I have had an amazing stretch for the past few weeks.
I stepped into November, Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month, by marking the milestone of 5 years since my diagnosis on Halloween, 2008. Given that the 5-year survival rate for pancreatic cancer is a paltry 6%, I feel incredibly blessed. Thank you God!
Next up was my 47th birthday. A time for celebration anytime but especially so with the full appreciation of what a gift each and every day is – much less the completion of another 365 day cycle.
The very next day I was able to run the NYC Marathon. It was a terrific celebration of my 5-year survival with my hometown city of New York. Running it with my old friend Michael was a special treat and my time of 4:09 was 15 minutes better than my last time. This dog is getting younger!
The next Sunday was the big NJ Purple Stride Walk/Run for the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network. Leading up to that there was an article in the local paper (included below), a couple of radio interviews and an NBC-TV news spot. All of which culminated in my speaking as a survivor to nearly 2,000 people who were at the event.
November has been a reaffirmation of how unbelievably blessed I am. With all of that attention, I felt incredibly loved and supported.
When I thought about it, I decided that what was most wonderful was how very special I felt. You know how there are some people that offer you such considerate attention and appreciation that every encounter is a pick-me-up pleasure? I was feeling a lot of that.
What better expression of love could there be than making someone feel uniquely and unconditionally special? I want to be that walking thanksgiving affirmation for each one of God’s children. May it be so.

Here the article from the Home News Tribune on Nov 3rd. It is a really good article even if not all of it came out just right.
HIGHLAND PARK — In mid-October five years ago, Franco Juricic was in training for the New York City Marathon. On the surface, everything seemed to be going well, but Juricic thought something wasn’t right.
“My diet was good, everything was good, but I was very in tune with my body,” said Juricic, who was 42 then. “I noticed my urine was dark. That was weird. I thought maybe I was overdoing the running. But I went to the doctor.”
Juricic’s physician did seven to 10 days worth of tests, ruling out one thing after another until Juricic realized that what was left was not good.
“I did an Internet search,” the borough resident said. “Pancreatic cancer came up. Sure enough I had a tumor blocking my bile ducts.”
Juricic faced a different kind of marathon that year — one to save his life. After the diagnosis on Halloween and his 43rd birthday in early November, Juricic underwent a Whipple procedure on Dec. 1, 2008.
The Whipple procedure, or a pancreaticoduodenectomy, is a major operation involving the pancreas, duodenum and other organs. Most commonly, it involves the removal of a segment of the stomach, the first and second portions of the duodenum, the head of the pancreas, the common bile duct and the gallbladder.
“It is a very invasive procedure, but my wife and I agreed that we will do whatever we have to do,” Juricic said. “My twins were just 2½ years old. I was lucky. It was caught early enough that it hadn’t spread and the tumor was at the head of the pancreas, which is the best place for it to be for the surgery.”
A year after his diagnosis, Juricic ran the New York City Marathon.
“I had my purple shirt on that had a sign that said ‘Happy Birthday to me’ on one side and ‘Pancreatic Cancer Survivor’ on the other,’ ” he said. “People were cheering me on and wishing me well the whole day. Runners would pat me on the shoulder or my back. I was running in tears. It was an amazing moment.”
Now reaching his five-year mark as a pancreatic cancer survivor, Juricic is taking his milestone on the road once again. He is among the tens of thousands of participants in today’s marathon.
(Page 2 of 4)

Story gets better
Years ago when Juricic ran his first marathon, he thought it would be a lark and something to tell his grandchildren. Now, the story for future generations is even better. During today’s marathon, he again will don his purple “Pancreatic Cancer Survivor” shirt and as his 48th birthday was the day before, his “Happy Birthday” sign also is in tow.
“2009 was going to be my last marathon, but I’ve been applying in secret and got in this year,” said Juricic, whose will be running in his sixth marathon. “It’s a big time commitment, and I kept thinking ‘Do I have it in me?’ But, then I thought to do it every five years for ... forever. That could be my goal.”
“I run because I did before. I run now because, against all odds, I still can,” he added. “This marathon is a celebration of that blessing.”
Most who have pancreatic cancer never see a fifth anniversary. The survival rate is only 6 percent to reach five years or more, said Todd Cohen, 36, of Edison.
The media representative and co-founder of the Northern New Jersey affiliate of the Pancreatic Center Action Network, Cohen knows all too well the statistics of pancreatic cancer. His father, Richard Cohen, died at age 59 in 2002 after a one-year battle with the disease.
“My father’s story is very much the same as many others,” Cohen said. “He had some back pain, abdominal pain. He was relatively healthy. He went for a regular checkup. Then he was diagnosed and I was telling him we would beat this. He was an anatomy and physiology professor. He knew. It was so devastating to see.”
The statistics also include Juricic’s father, Bruno Juricic, who after a diagnosis just after Father’s Day 2012, died seven weeks later in August at age 76.
“While I had the best scenario for the disease,” Juricic said, “he had the worst. And unfortunately, that’s the more typical.”
Juricic said this run will be different than the last. His father, who Juricic said was his “biggest fan and supporter” will not be there as he was in 2009. Juricic’s wife, Jacquelyn, and two children, Ana and Noah, 7, plan to trek from preselected spots in Brooklyn and Manhattan to the finish line in Central Park.
(Page 3 of 4)

“My dad was always at those spots,” he said. “I know he totally will be there.”
Raising awareness
Juricic’s celebratory 26.2 miles comes one week after the NNJ PANCAN’s PurpleLight ceremony on Oct. 27 in Edison and one week before the annual PurpleStride fundraiser on Nov. 10 at the Mack Cali Business Campus in Parsippany. Juricic participates in those events as well.
“We had a very good turnout at the PurpleLight ceremony,” said Juricic, who is registration coordinator for PurpleStride. “For me, I love to see all the volunteers and people that make it happen. I get to catch up on everyone’s stories. There are survivors there and, it is always good to see them. It is very affirming and hopeful. On the flip side, we read the names of those who passed away. It is a way for all of us to come together for a very nice remembrance. I am there for me and also for my dad. We share our sadness but also move that sadness into something else — something that can improve people’s lives.”
While pancreatic cancer was never something Cohen or Juricic would wish for themselves or those they love, they said their involvement has become a blessing.
“It gave me purpose and perspective on life,” Juricic said. “It has become one of the best things to ever happen to me. I wake up every day — 365 days a year — and I feel most blessed. Before my feet touch the ground, before I splash water on my face, I think ‘I get to be alive.’ I am thankful for every day.”
“It’s a whole different life. I knew I had to do something,” Cohen said. “We are part of a fraternity we never wanted to be part of. But, it is all for a good purpose.”
Juricic said his thankfulness for his own life is anchored by what goes on “in the bigger picture of pancreatic cancer.”
“I think to myself ‘six out of 10 people like you don’t get to be here,’ ” he said. “‘You get to be here.’ This five-year mark is what I have been going for. If I do the marathon every five years, that would be a super way to celebrate. I’m surviving. I am lucky. People with pancreatic cancer who did not survive, they didn’t do anything different. For whatever reason, I am alive.”
(Page 4 of 4)

Juricic reflected that he may be the only runner in today’s race who has gone the distance with pancreatic cancer.
“There are 35,000 people running, but when you pair it with surviving cancer, then surviving pancreatic cancer for five years, the Venn diagram shows there is a fair bet, it could be just a couple of people,” he said. “Maybe I’m the only.”
As Juricic runs, he feels it is good to be out there. He hopes his survival serves as hope to others connected to cancer.
“I know that my situation does make for a good story for others,” he said. “It’s not just about surviving, but thriving no matter where they are at.”
For Juricic, after three years of no ill effects, he has had recent bouts of pancreatitis and a surgery may be needed in the future to take care of stones in the pancreatic duct. But, he remains positive about the impact of the pancreatitis. Followup CAT scans for the cancer are now scheduled further and further apart. First they were every three months, then six months and soon, he hopes, they will be annually.
“That is scary for me,” Juricic said. “Most people have a reoccurrence of cancer in the first year. Now, I am officially five years. Five years is definitely a milestone — a marker.”
Story gets better
Years ago when Juricic ran his first marathon, he thought it would be a lark and something to tell his grandchildren. Now, the story for future generations is even better. During today’s marathon, he again will don his purple “Pancreatic Cancer Survivor” shirt and as his 48th birthday was the day before, his “Happy Birthday” sign also is in tow.
“2009 was going to be my last marathon, but I’ve been applying in secret and got in this year,” said Juricic, whose will be running in his sixth marathon. “It’s a big time commitment, and I kept thinking ‘Do I have it in me?’ But, then I thought to do it every five years for ... forever. That could be my goal.”
“I run because I did before. I run now because, against all odds, I still can,” he added. “This marathon is a celebration of that blessing.”
Most who have pancreatic cancer never see a fifth anniversary. The survival rate is only 6 percent to reach five years or more, said Todd Cohen, 36, of Edison.
The media representative and co-founder of the Northern New Jersey affiliate of the Pancreatic Center Action Network, Cohen knows all too well the statistics of pancreatic cancer. His father, Richard Cohen, died at age 59 in 2002 after a one-year battle with the disease.
“My father’s story is very much the same as many others,” Cohen said. “He had some back pain, abdominal pain. He was relatively healthy. He went for a regular checkup. Then he was diagnosed and I was telling him we would beat this. He was an anatomy and physiology professor. He knew. It was so devastating to see.”
The statistics also include Juricic’s father, Bruno Juricic, who after a diagnosis just after Father’s Day 2012, died seven weeks later in August at age 76.
“While I had the best scenario for the disease,” Juricic said, “he had the worst. And unfortunately, that’s the more typical.”
Juricic said this run will be different than the last. His father, who Juricic said was his “biggest fan and supporter” will not be there as he was in 2009. Juricic’s wife, Jacquelyn, and two children, Ana and Noah, 7, plan to trek from preselected spots in Brooklyn and Manhattan to the finish line in Central Park.
“My dad was always at those spots,” he said. “I know he totally will be there.”
Raising awareness
Juricic’s celebratory 26.2 miles comes one week after the NNJ PANCAN’s PurpleLight ceremony on Oct. 27 in Edison and one week before the annual PurpleStride fundraiser on Nov. 10 at the Mack Cali Business Campus in Parsippany. Juricic participates in those events as well.
“We had a very good turnout at the PurpleLight ceremony,” said Juricic, who is registration coordinator for PurpleStride. “For me, I love to see all the volunteers and people that make it happen. I get to catch up on everyone’s stories. There are survivors there and, it is always good to see them. It is very affirming and hopeful. On the flip side, we read the names of those who passed away. It is a way for all of us to come together for a very nice remembrance. I am there for me and also for my dad. We share our sadness but also move that sadness into something else — something that can improve people’s lives.”
While pancreatic cancer was never something Cohen or Juricic would wish for themselves or those they love, they said their involvement has become a blessing.
“It gave me purpose and perspective on life,” Juricic said. “It has become one of the best things to ever happen to me. I wake up every day — 365 days a year — and I feel most blessed. Before my feet touch the ground, before I splash water on my face, I think ‘I get to be alive.’ I am thankful for every day.”
“It’s a whole different life. I knew I had to do something,” Cohen said. “We are part of a fraternity we never wanted to be part of. But, it is all for a good purpose.”
Juricic said his thankfulness for his own life is anchored by what goes on “in the bigger picture of pancreatic cancer.”
“I think to myself ‘six out of 10 people like you don’t get to be here,’ ” he said. “‘You get to be here.’ This five-year mark is what I have been going for. If I do the marathon every five years, that would be a super way to celebrate. I’m surviving. I am lucky. People with pancreatic cancer who did not survive, they didn’t do anything different. For whatever reason, I am alive.”
Juricic reflected that he may be the only runner in today’s race who has gone the distance with pancreatic cancer.
“There are 35,000 people running, but when you pair it with surviving cancer, then surviving pancreatic cancer for five years, the Venn diagram shows there is a fair bet, it could be just a couple of people,” he said. “Maybe I’m the only.”
As Juricic runs, he feels it is good to be out there. He hopes his survival serves as hope to others connected to cancer.
“I know that my situation does make for a good story for others,” he said. “It’s not just about surviving, but thriving no matter where they are at.”
For Juricic, after three years of no ill effects, he has had recent bouts of pancreatitis and a surgery may be needed in the future to take care of stones in the pancreatic duct. But, he remains positive about the impact of the pancreatitis. Followup CAT scans for the cancer are now scheduled further and further apart. First they were every three months, then six months and soon, he hopes, they will be annually.
“That is scary for me,” Juricic said. “Most people have a reoccurrence of cancer in the first year. Now, I am officially five years. Five years is definitely a milestone — a marker.”

God Interrupted

We tell ourselves stories of who we are. We are fathers and Christians and husbands and cancer survivors and employees and friends and Istrians and brothers and runners and Jaspers and…. The narrative threads are laid out like a jangle of highways around the hub of an existence.
We need those stories – they help to define us, to ourselves if not others. We crave their simplicity. Because of the stories, we like to think that we know what happens next – because that’s what “ought to” happen to me, the health conscious exerciser for instance. But unlike in the movies or great page-turners, we don’t much appreciate plot twists.
We maintain those stories, carefully tending and defending them against all aberrations. They are our comfort. Even when the evidence might say otherwise, we resist edits or rewrites. “I didn’t neglect the relationship. He walked out on me.” If an unfavorable fact or upsetting threat to the narrative plotline arises, we prefer to toss it aside.
Sometimes we willingly shift our stories – maybe by love and marriage or the all-consuming joy of parenthood. Other times life intrudes and we get slammed – like a cancer diagnosis or the death of a much loved one. Those are the blind injustices in life that leave your story tattered. Those times when God interrupts and rudely grabs our attention.
The major alterations to my story – those I’ve chosen as well as those forced upon me - have turned out well in the end. Which is either a testament to the adaptability (and/or self-deception) of the human spirit or a lesson to put more trust in God. Even the slams, I’ve found, offer a stunning confusion followed by a new clarity. My cancer diagnosis obviously changed my perspective on life with the recognition that I could easily not be around someday soon. Every day is precious. Relationships - our connections - are virtually all that matters in the end. It’s all about the love for me now. As best as I can.
I am adjusting to another rewrite to my story. Apparently my pancreas is much less tolerant of fatty foods and alcohol than I previously knew. I have a couple of stones in my pancreatic ducts and spent an overnight in the hospital via the ER a few weeks ago. Not a big deal but necessitating an adjustment to my story. I have to eliminate from my diet the fatty foods and alcohol that inflame my pancreas. Pizza and beer is not worth the damage that they do. The change is not just in diet but in lifestyle and, so, identity. I can still meet my friends out after work, but I won’t be the one having “a drink”. I can no longer justify my plentiful appetite as something I’ve earned by my exercise. Food and drink have gone from being sources of joy in my life to near-adversaries that I need to respect (if not fear). The alcohol will be gone and my food choices more deliberate.
I had planned on not drinking and doing more meditating from the day we returned from our Istria vacation until the NYC marathon in November. I delayed because of a knee injury which kept me from running (so why bother?). Then God interrupted by insisting on the very thing that I sought out for my well-being anyway.
One by one my self-indulgences are being stripped away. The idea of being all good all of the time – although admittedly a positive/good thing – is a rewrite for me. I’ve had to get more responsible in nearly all things as I’ve aged. The older me is updating my story all the time.

As a related aside:
In America today, we have two narratives competing for our allegiance. The one is of a nation of rugged individuals pulling themselves up in the land of opportunity where everything we do is the best in the world. The other story is a land where freedoms come with responsibility for each other and the current situation is unfair to many and there is lots of room for improvement.
As a nation, 9/11 was that kind of slam to our self-story. The financial crisis of 2008 and since has challenged our identity too. Finally, the Sandy Hook tragedy last December shattered our innocence (again). I see each of these as significant incidents where God interrupted. God tried to get our attention. In each case the response of this “Christian nation” has been far from it. We started two wars against people that had done nothing to us on 9/11. We tolerate increasing income inequality and a further erosion of the safety net for those least fortunate. We defend the rights of gun owners over the right to live for tens of thousands of innocent victims of gun violence every year. The knock at the door has come repeatedly and yet we still stubbornly stick to our story.i>

On a Pilgrimage

You can go back in place, if not in time. I took a fantastic pilgrimage last weekend back to a couple of my lifelong homes. For a few hours, I stepped out of my wonderful present to reach back into my ever-present yesterdays.
I slipped out of the house solo just after dawn on a Saturday morning. I drove into Manhattan for a long run doing the downtown loop that I have done so many times before. New York City, in general, is a geography that I love and associate with the very best times of my life. The space was simultaneously the same as it ever was, and profoundly different. The same could describe me, of course.
I began by running north up to about 57th St. That’s where the running path (as it was) used to end in my day. All along the waters’ edge, there was lots of beautiful parkland where there had once been empty piers. The cracked concrete coastline had given way to skate parks, tennis courts and boat launches. I then came back down and around the southern tip of Manhattan. The Freedom Tower now stands like the center of the world at the top of Fulton Street. The towers are still missing. Not replaced – there are different good things there now. Swept up in the buzz of my always home, I could not help but cross the Brooklyn Bridge too. I finished up in my old neighborhood of Tribeca. The cheese and the knish guys are still selling their treats at the Farmers Market. The office building where I earned my first post-college paycheck is now a swanky condo. There’s progress all around and it’s enough just to keep up. I am trying to grow in more ways than just getting older.
I hopped back in my timeless Civic and breezed eastward into Queens. I went to see my Papa’s tombstone, set in place, for the very first time. It was a pre-culmination. It’s been weeks of remembering what it was like a year ago today (every day) as he began his cancer spiral. In early July, I remembered the bittersweet treat of Skyping him from Virginia to see how he was doing. Throughout July we went to the oncologist with him to help understand his options and just be present. In mid-month, we decided to go out to Shelter Island one weekend, buoyed by liver enzyme numbers that were finally decreasing – the positive news that we had been hoping for. We visited him on that Friday night to watch the Olympics – just a dad and his two sons. With so many things to talk about but not wanting to believe that there wouldn’t be many more Friday nights left - things went unsaid. It turned out to be our last Friday together.
I’ve been reluctant to “go there” sometimes. My journal from this time last year has been like a travelogue of emotions that I jump into and back out of like a frigid ocean. There are so many flimsy reasons not to “go there”, like ruining my mood ahead of a day with the kids (or whatever) - if I did. On some level, I feared a debilitating sadness – not being able to get back from “there”. That’s why physical places matter so much. Going there, to that hilltop in St. Mary’s Cemetery, all by myself, allowed me to go there. The tombstone made it realer than ever, for me. My dad’s death was no longer deniable – etched in stone as it is. As I sat on the grass, utterly spent, it sent me over a good edge. It was the best cry that I’ve had in a while.
Trying, sweating, avoiding, crying and sometimes getting there.

Cancer, Lies and Priorities

We make hundreds of choices every day. In the aggregate these choices constitute our priorities in life. Opting to stay late to finish up something at work instead of catching your kids recital becomes a pattern when repeated. Over a period of time and through a series of decisions, priorities are determined.
As difficult as these choices are to us as individuals, prioritizing becomes overwhelming in the public sphere. With so many competing interests, arriving at a consistent theme among all of the available options is daunting. Some goals get neglected and some outcomes become muted amidst the cacophony of competing interests. We see this most clearly now when we look at the inept management of our federal budget.
I confronted this challenge head-on in the collective when I visited DC last week for Pancreatic Cancer Advocacy Day. Having finally gotten a bill passed that would increase research funding for the most recalcitrant cancers (i.e., pancreatic and lung) earlier this year, budgets for these efforts are actually being decreased because of sequestration. This represents the ultimate abdication of decision-making responsibility – just cut everything indiscriminately.
One mischaracterization of the issue is that we (the U.S.) don’t have the money for life-saving research. In an annual budget of approximately $3.80 trillion, it is disingenuous of our leaders to say that we can’t afford to allocate a couple of extra tens of millions to decrease the number of cancer deaths. (The National Cancer Institute budget is a mere $5 billion.) To my elected leaders I say - you have opted to spend lots of money to bring about much less collective good based on the advice of countless corporate lobbyists. (I bumped into the Halliburton crew at The Capital last week.) When you tell us that we can’t afford something, I would like to remind you that we will spend $673 billion on our military this year, as much as the next ten nations combined. The money is being spent. It is for us to decide what we spend it on. You allow billions of corporate taxes to go uncollected from the likes of Apple and GE - money that could be used to help the afflicted. If the Bible is true when it says in Matthew, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” – what do our resource decisions say about us?
I understand that it’s tough for you to tell a cancer survivor or someone who has lost a loved one that you would rather not allocate resources to help them. To say that you can’t is a cowardly lie. It makes me angry to be lied to so blatantly. Let’s at least be honest about the choices that you are making on our behalf.
Whether on the national or personal level, insisting that there are no (other) options belies either a lack of imagination or integrity. It is an admission that one is not willing to make the effort on a difficult choice. In our own lives, resisting inertia or challenging long-held sacred cow assumptions is not easy. It is easier, albeit disingenuous, to say that something can’t be done rather than admit that I choose not to.
I believe that our responsibility to each other as members of an interdependent community – whether it is a family, team, church or nation – is to keep each other honest. To allow our lies and self-deceptions to go unchallenged is to condone a deliberate falling short of our ideals. It is allowing us to achieve less than our potential, less than the individuals and society that God empowered us to be. I’d like to see doing the very best that we can for each other and ourselves be the priority every time.

Flying Blind

A loss of five lbs. is, for most Americans, a cause for celebration. Even though I am probably on the too high side of the body mass index scale (per whoever decides such things), weight loss is not an automatic good thing for me. It could be the sign of something brewing. When this seemingly sudden drop happened to me a few weeks ago, I was much less worried than I might have been. Thanks be to God, I had just received clean CAT scan results only days before.
In my second to last annual CAT scan – the most telling check that I have available to me – there are no tumors, stones or other abnormalities that those most knowledgeable doctors could see. Yippee!!!
Because these scans – laden with radiation doses as they are – bring with them their own risks, the recommendation is for me to have just one more. (In fact, protocols are changing so quickly that I have already been scanned more than the latest approaches would recommend.) After next year’s scan I’ll be flying blind, just as we all typically do. No longer will I have that opportunity for assurance that was, each time, first nerve-wracking and then (thankfully) comforting.
So, now I wonder where I will find that calming reassurance. I will miss the illusion that all is well. Because, ultimately, that’s what it is. We like to think that we “know” things. Knowns like - that our partners love and will never leave us; that we’ll come home at the end of the day; that we’ll pay off that mortgage someday; that global warming is a hoax perpetuated by the liberal media. Certainty, even if an illusion is much more comforting than worrying that any of it could be suddenly otherwise.
I’ve had another shift from the known to the unknown column with the specter of one more series of “separations” at work. It felt better “knowing” that if I did a good job, I’d keep getting a paycheck. As too many have learned, that maxim is no longer true in this world where we’ve allowed profits to trump the interests of people at every turn.
There is a stability that comes with knowing. We make plans based on the things that we think that we know. Those many plans become a tragedy once they are ruined and their illusion is revealed.
The absence of the stability of knowing is stressful. How exhausting it is to wonder how the basics of food, shelter, and safety will be met for your family. Too many Americans face that dilemma every day. To have uncertainty around your health, your relationships and your job is traumatic and draining.
Could it be that some prospects might be better left unknown? In some cases, the possibilities that uncertainty allows might be preferable to the security of knowing. I was thinking about how awful it must have been for my Papa as hope kept fading that he would ever pull out of the death spiral his diagnosis brought. Some knowns are terrible. So much so that we’d rather not admit them. (That is a very heavy question…maybe for next time.) It makes flying blind look like a treat in comparison.

Inspiration and Easter

The cover of the Home News Tribune (a local NJ paper) on Saturday 3/23/13 featured my story of surviving pancreatic cancer. (I don’t know how long this link will work but here it is – (http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20130322/NJCARING/303220031/The-Pancreatic-Cancer-Action-Network-aims-beat-odds)
During the interview, before and since, the suggestion that I am some sort of inspiration (or worse yet, hero) came up. The idea is that because I am a survivor of this dreadful disease, that I provide some hope to others. I understand that perspective and very reluctantly accept that role. It makes me uncomfortable because I didn’t do anything. I am merely the conduit of God’s grace and the beneficiary of some amazing medical work. In that sense, I don’t deserve any credit for this glorious outcome, for having been spared. Still, I am glad to be an instrument of hope. (Obviously, I need to better understand and embrace my role.)
In the same way that cancer “shouldn’t happen” to people (like my Papa), anyone with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis “shouldn’t” (statistically) be alive 5 years later. Cancer is the coin – tragedy and opportunity are its’ two sides.
Then, this past week, there was Easter – the celebration of Jesus’ bodily resurrection after death. Among, many things, it represents the potential to which we can rise – the new best selves that God calls us to become. The creator God fills each of us with hope and potential.
Too often we choose to squander it – frittering it away and then justifying why that is okay. Instead of the Icarus that flies to close to the sun, we are sometimes the ones that fly too low and crash that way.
Over and over again throughout the Bible and throughout Jesus’ life and teachings, we are called to live into our truest selves, the image of God into which we were created.
Those two ideas – survivorship as inspiration and hope in the resurrection - connect in a very real way post-diagnosis for me. Both revolve around opportunity and potential.
I am re-born, resurrected as it were. I have defeated death for the time being, thankfully. I am starting over. I am being allowed to live up to my fullest potential.
All of it is now up to me.
Both events are a gift from God; a reprise growing out of God’s grace. In being “new” myself and in Jesus’ rising again, the most beautiful outcome imaginable is unrecognizable from what came before.
Every breath takes on a new, fresh urgency.
Our whole lives stretch out before us every morning.

Can’t Help (myself)?

I have a friend whose brother has a problem with alcohol. He goes on massive binges. Not surprisingly, these are very self-destructive – causing significant damage to his relationships, his career, his health, etc. Watching this is, of course, heart-wrenching to the man’s siblings, to his mother, to anyone who knows the wonderful person that he is.
It is awful to see a loved one in pain. For many of us, the inclination is to help in any way that we can. You want the suffering to end and the loved ones life to be better. For my children or immediate family, I’d do just about anything to avoid the anguish, soothe them if it does happen, or take it on myself instead. The saddest fact is that, as often as not, there’s nothing that I can do to help. Or it feels like that anyway.
In last month’s blog I wondered about the challenging question – “who is my neighbor?” A more eternal and poignant question for me in my life has been - how to best care, not for a neighbor or stranger-that-I-have-yet-to-meet, but those closest to me, that I already know and love?
A major aspect of love is to provide for someone’s need. In the end, as we all know, you can’t help someone who is not inclined to help themselves. Still being familiar with the circumstances or seeing a pattern repeated time and time again, begs for input. I’ve been trying hard my whole life to gently and diplomatically point something out or make a suggestion. In that instance, what if my love is rejected? It’s distressing to watch someone you love make (what appear to be) bad decisions. What do I do when I see a need that my suffering loved one refuses to admit? Still, my best intentions have been, more than once, misunderstood. I second-guess myself when my suggestions and attempts are seen as self-righteous judgments.
I recognize that making a suggestion implies to that loved one that you know better. I like to think that my meddling comes from a place of empathy and not smugness. It’s not about having the answers or trying to tell someone else how to live their lives. It’s not about being superior. Sometimes an outside perspective does allow for greater clarity. It comes from love. It comes from a place of sadness. It’s borne of caring too much to just stand on the sidelines and watch another train wreck in slow motion. The dynamics are often such that those struggling keep those most inclined and able to help at a safe distance (for them).
I have a couple of metaphorical alcoholics in my life. Yes, I struggle mightily with detaching myself from their struggles. I can’t turn and walk away. Sometimes I think that I am learning to. I am not always sure that I want to. I struggle with what the Christian thing to do is. I believe that our greatest task in life is to be our truest selves and achieve our fullest potential. Further that our relationships are key to that fulfillment.
We all have blind spots. We can choose to have friends and family that point them out and challenge us to be our best selves. Or not. The former is wonderful, the latter a damn shame.

Who is My Neighbor?

Like so many of us, I was sad to the point of spontaneous tears in the days that followed the school shootings at Newtown CT. I was so angry that I would diatribe to whoever was kind or trapped enough to listen. Leaving aside the specifics of the gun debate, I wonder what it is we do with these feelings. We feel, we express and…what then? I wonder what our responsibility is as citizens, as parents, as people that believe in God, a greater good, and love. What is our responsibility for and to each other?
I am amazed at how readily we tolerate inaction when we can’t agree on the exact cause of a problem – as if denial is a valid solution. We do it as a society all the time. Some of our leaders ignore the overwhelming evidence of global warming that threaten the lives of our grandchildren and the very world we’ve been given. The most blessed and powerful nation on Earth allows so many of its’ citizens to get sick or die by refusing to provide them adequate and available health care. Children in certain neighborhoods are denied the education necessary to succeed in our society. Drug laws and oppressive economic policies seem to deliberately target certain segments of the population. Our economic system requires a low wage worker to work 2 jobs just to survive, thus denying that worker’s child the parental guidance so critical for success. We just had a presidential election that engrossed us but directed almost zero attention to these issues. Denial.
Destructive weather patterns, inconsistent or non-existent health care, and an oppressive criminal justice and economic policies affect millions of Americans. Who is responsible to do something about it if not every one of us as citizens, parents and believers?
With the Newtown tragedy, like many, I had to turn off the TV coverage sometimes. It was just too much, too sad. It was debilitating in the short-term. Self-preservation begs for a break and that’s okay. Less okay is to walk away from that raw reality in the long-term - for that ensures that more lives will be shattered. Just as they are in poorer and more violent neighborhoods throughout this country every day.
Are we relieved of responsibility when it is happening over there, to someone else? The residents of Newtown were shocked because such devastation doesn’t happen in their (kind of) town. Thankfully this scale of tragedy only happens anywhere very rarely. Still, kids get hurt or killed by guns every day in some neighborhoods. And now, weeks later we are barely recognizing the pain of those parents as we identify the problem and offer tempered solutions.
We are all reacting after Newtown, after Sandy, and after the economic crisis because it is these truths that we deliberately ignored that have come to our gates. That could have been our children, our homes, and our jobs and savings.
Aren’t we fooling ourselves (ultimately to our tragic detriment) when we don’t see those wrongs before they get to our gate, while they are ravaging our neighbors? Jacquelyn happens to be President of the Board of a non-profit in our town that asks the biblical question, “Who is My Neighbor?” It’s a challenging and an uncomfortable query. Isn’t it time we buck up, recognize some obvious truths, and advocate for the neighbors just beyond our gates.
After all, the gates are illusory and we are, in fact, all neighbors.

Never Knowing

Life’s curveballs defy our comfort and our beliefs. The trick is in where we end up afterwards. Unwelcome at the time, those traumas can be beneficial in the long run.
I haven’t written to my blog because I haven’t known what to say. My beliefs have been vigorously challenged in the last few months like the ground underneath many shore homes during the storm. I haven’t known enough to say anything. I don’t believe what’s happened. All I have is my heart and I am not sure that I know it anymore either.
I am in disbelief. So much is gone, including many fundamental principles.
• That life is fair. That’s at least a wish, if not false conviction.
• That life won’t change drastically in one moment.
• I still think that God is [or ought to be] just. But drawing conclusions about fairness invites a too-bold supposition that I could understand the ways of God. I am reminded, yet again, that I don’t remotely.
I’ve been in emotional and intellectual disarray for months now. (Post-storm, we all are.) I am angry that, not angry with – which makes for an awkward nebulous ire. I carry a hollow resentment that I don’t know where to direct.
And yet, that anger is just a tiny bit of who I am these days. I’ve had so very many emotions swimming about. I am overwhelmingly thankful for every fantastic day God’s grace has given me.
Papa was an incredible blessing in our lives. I miss him terribly every day. He is with God. For taking Papa, moj Papa, I am pissed. It’s a bit high stakes to be incensed with God. On the other hand, who better to express my anger at? God can take it.

I think that we’ve all been scattered since the storm, physically and emotionally. Loss will do that.
Still, I’ve seen many beautiful things borne of the storm. There have been countless amazing acts of kindness in response. Just as those individual acts add up to an astounding force for healing and recovery, our distinct stories create a shared experience that binds us in compassion. For all except those affected in the very worst way, the losses were relative. No matter what you have been through, you probably know someone who was impacted worse. You could, in the destructive aftermath of the storm - where low tides, electricity and heat were blessings - find much to be thankful for. Our collective losses, have granted us a shared relative outlook.
Perspective often accompanies bad news -an accident, the loss of a loved one, a dire diagnosis. Sandy brought us all that perspective simultaneously. For a time – whether it’ll be weeks or months (we’ll see) – we can consider ourselves fortunate without understanding the why of what was taken away. What a wonderful turn to consider oneself blessed for each godsend, celebrating positives. In the midst of loss, we are reminded that it’s all a bonus and blessing.

As I was finally finishing up this blog entry, I read this wonderful poem by Wendell Berry called “the Slip”. It captures much of what I tried to express above much better than I did. It makes me wonder why I bother. Enjoy. It goes well leading into Advent too.


The river takes the land, and leaves nothing.
Where the great slip gave way in the bank
and an acre disappeared, all human plans
dissolve. An awful clarification occurs
where a place was. Its memory breaks
from what is known now, begins to drift.
Where cattle grazed and trees stood, emptiness
widens the air for birdflight, wind, and rain.
As before the beginning, nothing is there.
Human wrong is in the cause, human
ruin in the effect–but no matter;
all will be lost, no matter the reason.
Nothing, having arrived, will stay.
The earth, even, is like a flower, so soon
passeth it away. And yet this nothing
is the seed of all–the clear eye
of Heaven, where all the worlds appear.
Where the imperfect has departed, the perfect
begins its struggle to return. The good gift
begins again its descent. The maker moves
in the unmade, stirring the water until
it clouds, dark beneath the surface,
stirring and darkening the soul until pain
perceives new possibility. There is nothing
to do but learn and wait, return to work
on what remains. Seed will sprout in the scar.
Though death is in the healing, it will heal.

"What has happened to us?"

My dad, Bruno, passed on August 9, 2012 - just 7 weeks after he was diagnosed. Pancreatic cancer is a dreadful disease that ravaged him.
This is the eulogy that I was honored to deliver.

People talk about a successful/rewarding life as one where you leave the world a little better by having been in it. Papa did that on a moment-to-moment, person-to-person basis. If you were lucky enough to cross paths with Bruno, chances are your day was brighter afterwards.
Bruno was always there with a smile - that inviting disarming smile. And eyes that smiled too. His beautiful blue eyes were less piercing than inviting – as full of potential as a sky-blue sky. He managed to create a comfortable space that welcomed you in. His youthful manner and playful charm allowed him to connect so easily with so many of us, children of all ages.
My cousin, Alida, told me recently that “You could always count on Bruno. One time it was just me and your dad driving back to get Vitorio and Bruno was telling me stories about the refugee camp in Italy and what my father was like then and what our families went through to get to America. He was a great story teller and that long drive melted away and seemed to only take minutes. When we pulled in the driveway he turned and smiled at me and said he really enjoyed our conversation and was sorry it had to come to an end. I told him the same and I really meant it. I felt we had really bonded during that car ride.” That is Papa – connecting in whatever small way when given any chance.
It was not at all unusual for my friends or cousins to say at the mention of my Papa, “I love your dad” or something along those lines. I was always pleasantly surprised - not that he wasn’t lovable, but that so many other people so readily saw it too. You know…I love him , and on another level… he’s just my dad.
He was a strong-willed husband and a firm father. I can’t say that I appreciated the strictness when I was young – but I do now. You always knew where he stood. I learned more than I wanted to know about commitment, self-discipline, honesty and honor.
My first driving lessons were sitting on his lap behind the wheel or our rust orange ’67 Fairlane 500. Steering through the parking lot after a super-long fun day at the beach. As a kid, I thought he was the smartest and coolest for considering the number of lights we’d hit on the way home from anyplace when picking his route. I wish that I had more patience when it came to spending time under that Ford, learning how to fix it and so much else. Papa was meticulous and thus, not necessarily the speediest. He was the Super at my house for the last few years – a blessing if ever there was one. Til the end, we’d be waiting for Nono to finish up just one more thing before coming in from the garage for dinner. It was the only time Papa was likely to be “late”.
Like so many in this room, he worked hard his whole life. Between Saturday morning overtime and a second job driving a limo, he wasn’t always around as much as I would have liked. I imagine he felt the same.
If you’ve eaten more than once with my Papa, you know that he liked to grab that end piece from a loaf of Italian bread.
If you can tell anything about a person by the quality of their relationships, then you can’t help but conclude that Papa was exceptional. He was an incredible family man. He was a Milevoj in the very best sense – quiet and strong, respectful and respected, and incredibly devoted to his family. Besides Cio Dario and our much-loved late Cia Nela, he was like a brother to many of his cousins. He was a loving presence during the tragic illnesses of several of our family members in the past 10 years. He was right next to me when I was diagnosed and every day since. Papa is present. His expressions of love and caring went out to so many.
People have commented on how unfair papa’s death is. Even at 75 years of age, it still seems premature. The speed with which this dreadful disease ravaged him – just 50 days from diagnosis to passing - is unbelievable. I know that Papa said that word – “unbelievable” hundreds of times during that period. Still, in the cosmic balance, I’ve feel unfairly blessed to have the most fantastic dad for 45 years. He made me who I am – and…for better or worse, I am more like him than anyone else. From already good, our relationship was getting even better over time. Papa is my go-to guy. After Jacquelyn, he was primary counselor – the person I’d go to for advice on life and how to navigate the stickiest situations in it. I am sad because we had so much more growing together and loving to do.
Jacquelyn has already spoken about the love and life that Ana and Noah share with him. Whereas many kids never know their grandfathers, they were blessed with nearly 6 years of the most devoted, fantastic and loving Nono imaginable. They’d say good bye at the back door looking forward to the next time, “se vidimo Utorak” (see you on Tuesday). They brought that smile to his face until the very end. I will never forget the breathtaking beauty of their last few goodbyes with him. The sadness lies in all of the wonderful lessons and memories which they won’t be able to enjoy.
We treasure every moment that Bruno graced our lives.
He is a special soul who lives on.
He will always have the end piece in our lives.
We love you Papa.

Something to Grab Onto

Ana swings across the monkey bars like my little chimp, bounding across the rungs – proudly reaching the other end. Noah displays an intrinsic technique on a climbing wall, pulling himself up from one hand and foot hold to the next – surprised to find himself tens of feet up in the air.
We are born into a continuous climb called life. So much so that to cease the ascent invites demoralization, if not depression.
All of this becomes intensified – as does every other instant in life – when our existence is threatened. Carefree suddenly turns into precarious. I am seeing this play out yet again, more painfully than ever, in my Papa’s relentless disease progression.
Since the day that he was diagnosed a mere 7 weeks ago, it has been nothing but bad news. That first biopsy result was like a knockout punch that sent him down to the mat. Every time that he has tried to get up, there has been another blow. Sometimes he has barely been up on his knees again before he is pummeled back down.
LIFE IS NOT FAIR.
Yet, it is when we are down – more than ever – that we need something to grab onto, a handhold to clutch. It is the hope that carries us through every day of our lives. It’s why we get up in the morning, why we save, why we have children, why we dream and make plans, why we pray to God, why we love, why we….
Why we live our lives.
Papa has had precious little to grab onto. There hasn’t been much for him to pin his hopes on.
My cancer experience was very different. Most of my news after the shock of the initial pancreatic cancer diagnosis was very good. A successful surgery with clean margins, good responses to chemo and radiation, clean Cat scans, a still efficient digestive system – each a major blessing. Compared to many, it was very easy for me to maintain a positive and hopeful attitude.
My Papa barely ever had a chance. He is now home for hospice care. He is thankfully without major pain but wasting away before our eyes. As he keeps saying – it is unbelievable. Too many of you know this.
We appreciate all of your love, prayers and good thoughts. Grant him peace.

I have been thinking even more about James Taylor’s words (below). Please do.

“Shower the people you love with love
Show them the way that you feel
Things are gonna be much better
If we only will”

There was never such a woman

My grandmother, Nona Ana, who I loved so very much, passed away two weeks ago (June 20th). This was the eulogy I was blessed to deliver at her graveside.

Ana Jung, my Nona Ana -
There was never such a woman.

She always gave everything from her heart.
All of you that are here know this.
For her family, it goes without saying.
She gave her children everything.
She was always thinking about and waiting for her grandchildren and then great-grandchildren.
Every time I would come over here to visit, after a long trip, her delicious soup (juha) was waiting for me. She would always say that it was "kako medezija" (like medicine).
She prepared the best potato omelet, fuzi, gnocchi, ravioli, meat sauce, manestra (local stew), etc.
She was always looking out towards the road for someone to come by and chat underneath her shady mulberry.
Her door was open and her espresso pot was always whistling.
We all came because she was kind to us beyond all measure,
She gave whether you deserved it or not.
She offered her love to the people that came to her door every day.
There was never such a woman.

Nona was so strong and sharp. You couldn't fool her.
She knew every date, who was related to who, and what had happened 100 years ago.
I would always ask her to tell me about:
- how it was for her growing up in Plomin,
- how her and my Nono Mate (Matthew) met
- how it was during the war (WWII)
- her giving birth to Maria, Bruno and Elda and how it was when they were kids, etc.
No birthday passed with her picking up the phone.
She ended up alone, without her Mate, fairly young. And then lived another 28 years!
She lived through so much. She certainly cried enough but knew how to laugh too, and to take life as it came.
When I was little, I was fascinated by her hands. They were so rough and scarred – you could see her difficult life history in her hands.
She was so full of courage and the will to live that she consented to have her leg amputated at 91 years of age just so that she could be with us a little longer.
There was never such a woman.

She was religious. Nona Ana would typically watch two Masses on TV on Sunday mornings. There was a calendar of saints hanging in her kitchen ("kucica", literally little house).
She didn't just believe but lived it.
She taught me who I was and where from.
Until the very last day. Thank you Nona.

Now she has gone to be with Nono.
For this, she is certainly glad because she loved him so very much and she missed him every day.
We will miss her with that same intensity.
There was never such a woman.

We love you Nona.
We won't find you at Vinez 5 anymore but you will always be there.
You will never be far from us,
I hope that we will see each other again, God willing, on the other side.
Nona Ana will be waiting for us with her delicious soup.



Nona lived a good life.

In the category of life can change in an instant and is not fair…
My dad has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It has metastasized to his liver. He needs aggressive chemo to live. His symptoms only started at the beginning of June.
The metastasis is already interfering with his liver function. His body can only handle a lesser chemo right now.
We are praying that it helps enough to get him to the next level of treatment.
If you know him, you know what an absolutely wonderful man he is.
Please pray for him too with all your might.

Whipple Effects & Perspectives

I have been working through two separate after-effects of my Whipple procedure in the past few weeks. The Whipple is the surgery that removed my tumor and so, saved my life.

I have always been a little anemic, ever since childhood. Anecdotally, I've been feeling it a little more since my Whipple. I used to give blood and platelets very regularly and only failed for my hemoglobin levels very occasionally. Since being Whippled, I only pass 10-20% of the time. I've also struggled with my running – speed and endurance – since being sick. I reluctantly chalked it up to just getting old. But after waking up exhausted again a full 10 days after doing my first half-marathon in over two years, I knew that something was up. Blood work confirmed my low iron. Scoping my insides since has confirmed that I am not losing blood internally – which is good. It does imply that my iron absorption is extra poor. So I've started weekly iron IV infusions to prop up my counts. Problem experienced, diagnosed and getting remedied – thank God.

I also had a surprise incidence of pancreatitis recently. I went from exceptional to ER in a few hours one Saturday afternoon. Turns out I have a little stone in my pancreatic duct that was causing a back-up in there. An overnight at RWJUH, a CAT scan, 18 hours of IV fluids and time off for my digestive system – and I was fine again. The stone formed because my duct is likely restricted from my tumor having pressing on it. My fine doctors can't get at it because my altered piping increases the risk of a perforation as they snake their way through. Zapping it isn't an option because the pancreas is a soft tissue organ and would cause too much collateral damage. So, I wait for it to pass in its own time. In the meantime, I am forced to avoid the fried and fatty treats (and alcohol) that beckon all around. It was pizza and red wine that irritated my pancreas enough to land me in the ER in the first place. My margin of error is suddenly very slim. Again… problem experienced, diagnosed and getting managed – thank God. Anything short of hearing, "I am sorry Mr. Juricic, there's nothing we can do for you." – I am okay with.

Independent of these health issues (other than having a little bit of horizontal hospital gown time to reconsider life), I have been thinking a lot about perspective lately. It seems to me that perspective is mostly a matter of what we are comparing things to. Satisfaction in life may have more to do with our response to (the nearly-always) when life falls short of some ideal. Because even then, it is nearly-always better than it could have been. [Not to imply that we should strive merely for something better than the worst-case scenario in life.]

A pancreatic stone is far better than any kind of tumor.
My Nona Ana's long and rich 92 years of life and love is far better than most of us will experience.
Running slowly still beats not running at all.

I've noticed some conflicting tendencies amongst us that allow for convenient, and sometimes counter-productive, perspectives. For instance, when we consider our actions – especially in response to the behavior of those around us– our inclination is to compare ourselves to others. "Well…she started it." "He was mean/hit/whatever me." "People cut in all the time." Because this other behaved a certain way (that is wrong in our eyes), we then justify our bad behavior in return. And thus, the situation between the Hatfields and McCoys is perpetuated.

The question is – why do we compare ourselves to the least common denominator in the behavior of others? Why do we allow ourselves to be hurtful back when that person hurts us? We have numerous vey compelling real-life examples of better responses such as Gandhi, MLK, Mother Teresa and, or course the ultimate, Jesus. Why not strive for those bests instead of excusing ourselves to be less than that?

Interestingly, when it comes to how others "should" respond to us, we apply a different
measuring stick. Suddenly we no longer use "others" (or that very person) as a reference point. For the actions that others choose to take towards us, we compare those against what we (claim that we) would have done. Knowing what we need in a given situation, we very readily identify how the other fell short. "I would have…", we think to ourselves. "I would never…", we conclude – conveniently forgetting the times when we are selfish, arrogant or hurtful.

How convenient that we judge ourselves against the worst in others, while others get measured against the best of ourselves. That expedience allows us the maximum latitude, while leaving others minimum room for error. That does not seem like a very loving approach to community with others.

Christianity challenges these errant comparisons. It is not about being Christ-like, exactly. Ours is not so much to try to be Jesus – but, at best, to bring a little bit of Jesus into this world. I can only strive to be the very best Franco that I can be in every situation. That is, obviously, an incredibly tall order. And the best I can do is always better than what I am managing right now. Yet, that is precisely the challenge of Jesus.

A necessary aspect of that perspective is the knowledge that we will all always fall short. I will for sure – and that's okay. Compared to a lesser me, I can only keep trying to choose my best response. You will disappoint me too – and that's okay. I have to believe that you are doing the best that you can manage too. That is were compassion and forgiveness come in - for ourselves and towards others.

A good perspective can start with the reference point that we are all broken and trying our best. There's lots of rewarding places to go in life from there.

P.S. – Thank you all for the amazing love and prayer support that I have felt throughout this recent health issue and always. I am incredibly blessed!

Letting Go of Life

I have seen, in the last few years, demonstrated instances of individuals seeming to will them selves back to good health (if not back to life). I have also seen sad situations where cancer and other diseases have resisted the strongest will, taking a loved one before they were ready to give back any of their precious time here. I increasingly believe in the possibility that life or death is more than just a chance outcome that happens to us. We may not quite definitively choose but we may have a say. Certainly our influence on the outcome may not be equally balanced – choosing to stay may not "take" as easily as deciding to go. When it comes to the elderly especially, there may come a day when the other side with all of its unknowns becomes more appealing than someone's present state here. My 92-year-old grandmother, Ana, has been circling around that reflection point for a couple of years now. She'll say that she's ready to go, yet keeps fighting on. What an ideal place to be! She surprised me by deciding to have her leg amputated about a year ago and was herself surprised to conclude a few months later that it was worth it. Faced with the loss of her other foot now, she is getting ready to move on. She will be dying on her terms. Though it makes me sad, I see an incredible beauty in that too. What must it be like to have lived such a rich and fulfilling life that one would be content enough to "choose" to check out. Nona Ana fought as so many do – out of necessity, to survive. She taught me the wisdom of knowing when not to fight, and that acceptance can sometimes be the best course. How self-assured to trust in what comes next so much that it overwhelms the fear and apprehension inherent in that uncertainty. How beautiful to have that end come so gradually that it allows for heartfelt goodbyes with those you love. I wish that I might know the day when my work here was so complete that I was prepared to step into the next world in peace. I wish that how I die might reflect how I've lived. In Nona Ana's case, I hope that it can be with all of the stubborn strength, love and dignity she has shown throughout her life. Loving people are visiting her in these last days not because of what she can do for them now but based on the care that she has shown them throughout her life. For me that kindness and hospitality is symbolized by the world's best chicken soup that was waiting for me as my first meal after a long trip every time I visited. She is amazing and teaching me so much right up until this end – including this final lesson on trust. May the saints she's worshipped her whole life bring her safely home. And may there be a bowl of the most delicious soup (as she'd say, kako medezija) waiting for her when she gets there.

Revisiting Fairness

Last month (since these blog entries have slogged to being monthly) I wondered and whined a bit about not deserving my cancer given the not-too-bad care that I had taken of my body, diet, etc. I pondered this within the context of considering faith and acts on outcomes.
While I may have trouble understanding how I deserve the "bad" (cancer) that has come to me – I am equally at a loss to justify how it is that I merit the bounty of wonderful good that I have been blessed with in this life. Our perception of what is just in life is so conveniently twisted.
My 5-year-olds invoke fairness all the time. They probably say "that's not fair!" in various situations more than 10 times a day between them. I don't know if an expectation of fairness is something we instilled in them or is "natural" (i.e., in-born). As it turns out, they don't yet (?) really understand what fair is, they just think that they know injustice when they see it. Come to think of it…maybe they got that from their dad. Or is that too, a universal of sorts – human nature? They misapply the notion as often as not. Even cutting a deck of cards to decide who gets to go first – which is a pretty fair way (in the sense of random, anyway) to make such a decision, I think – ends up deemed unfair by the one that ends up second.
There is a childlike longing for a cosmic justice system in all of us. We want to believe that we get rewards for our goodness, that we "earn" something. It's assuring to think that instant karma works both ways and that it's gonna get you a bonus too. Life repeatedly heaps on the evidence that it doesn't work that way. There was never any assurance that life is fair or causative. What is it in us that refuse to allow us to let go of this scales of justice perspective?
We can try to create that justice as much as we can in a world whose circumstances are mostly beyond our control. Or we might choose to develop the spiritual fortitude to weather the inevitable setbacks and tragedies that inexplicably come our way. In this sometimes gray world, the most fruitful truth may be found in a healthy dose of both – actively creating justice and accepting the inescapable. Like "The Serenity Prayer" says: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference." Ultimately, the trick is having the courage to bring a little relief and justice whenever we can, and the wisdom to hunker down with your God in the faith of a better day tomorrow when you can't.
In the end, life is not fair – which can, in itself, be a good or bad thing. In the same way that we cannot understand how God can "allow" this or that tragedy to befall anyone, we cannot know what lies behind God's grace either. It makes no sense (to us).
Still, on that plus side, I humbly thank God for the fantastic life that I have been blessed with every day. More good than I could have ever earned. It's a personal heaven right here and now.

Faith and Acts

Immediately upon being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer 3+ years ago, I wondered "why me?" of course. Not that I was without vices but I considered myself to have a healthy lifestyle. I exercised regularly and ate mostly vegetarian. I was days away from my 6th marathon. I kicked into a classic faith versus acts debate - asking myself why I qualified to have this disease. What had I done to my physical body in this life to start this tumor off? Or, what had I done against God to deserve this bleak fate. In the old days – B.C. – it was believed that people were stricken with maladies because of some sin of their own. My "bad" acts certainly didn't seem to merit this outcome (as if it ever does for anyone).
Similarly, there has been a controversy, in Christianity, for more than 500 years around the relationship between faith and acts. Put another way, is it strong faith that puts us in God's good graces or do we earn it by our actions. What, if anything, do we have to do to earn God's favor? Will only those who live lives of moral merit be saved (i.e., go to heaven)? Some maintain that we are we automatically in by virtue of being God's children. If it's all faith and good acts are not required, then why even bother to be good? How exclusive is this club and just how does one get in?
Different denominations find themselves on various points along the spectrum between (a) believe and you are in and (b) we will all be judged on how we've lived our lives. Regardless of religious affiliation, each of us falls somewhere along this continuum in our personal attitudes. Maybe you believe that we get what we deserve in life; that you have no one to blame but yourself for your situation. We all believe in something. Those morals, beliefs and acts define us. Faith and acts tell us who we are and it's the mix of the two that will determine who we might be.
In life, we can hope for longevity and/or we can work towards it. I took definitive acts, rather than merely counting on my strong gene pool to carry me into my 80s. Then, once my post-diagnosis reality became clear and my future foggy, my faith versus acts balance tipped a bit. Getting what I deserved became less important since I had no clue what that meant anymore. I'd thought that I had been a good enough guy (in terms of acts) to be allowed to live, but I needed more than that now. I began counting on faith as well as acts (and whatever else I could grab on to) to put me into the exclusive 6% club of five-year survivors. I wanted to will myself into seeing my kids grow up by the sheer force of prayer and optimism. Faith could save me. Just to be sure, I cleaned up my physical and mental act further – reconsidering every input into my body, meditating and sleeping more (hopefully not at the same time) and stressing less. If it's acts that can save me – I'm there. But I am not gonna let faith be my weak point either.
I am not saying that I believe that we can earn one fate over another or that I was lacking in faith before. Maybe it helps if faith precedes acts. Maybe you can't get by on just one or the other. Can good fruit spring from a bad tree; good health from a dark place? I don't remotely understand the relationship between faith and acts. I do know that deference to both is working out well for me so far. Thank God.