Farewell from Iainhouse
I’ve made lots of long posts in the past. This is one of the worst I’ve ever had to make, but I hope it can, in some ways, be one of the best as well. I have so much to say, one post isn’t going to do it all.
To start it off, I have to start with the worst news possible. I am dying. I have terminal colon cancer which has spread extensively. As of my oncologist appointment last week, I have been told I have weeks to live. Maybe a month or two if extended with chemotherapy, but right now that would probably just end it quicker. There will never be a stage where it’s reduced enough that surgery would be even possible. There is no doubt.
This is horrible news for anyone. As you read this now, I know you’re all stunned. You are wondering what you can possibly say in the face of such news. That was me a couple of days ago, but the unbelievable support I’ve already received talking with the UK and Global Champs over the weekend have led me to realise that there is still positivity to be found.
So if you don’t know what to say, don’t feel trapped. How could anyone know what to say? Please believe me when I say that behind that barrier of shock, I know you care and I can feel your love without the need for you to find the words.
There’s the old story about being trapped in a train tunnel and seeing an oncoming light. Yes, it’s a freight train. But there’s another light behind me – a life well-lived about which I have no regrets. And around the edges of that oncoming train is the light of the other side of the tunnel. I may not walk out there, but it is a real future that will happen and on which, I hope, I will continue to have an effect beyond this one moment in time.
I’ve never had a bucket list. Now I’m prompted to think about it, I have literally nothing to put on it. I may not have lived a great life or accomplished anything world-shaking, but I am happy with the life I have lived and have no regrets about how I’ve lived it. I’ve brought up some wonderful children and done some good for those around me. Even in this darkest of moments, I feel a pride in what I’ve accomplished and a hope that what I can give will last belong a physical moment that is coming.
A life is not simply a period of time between a birth and a death in isolation. It’s a story that begins before we’re conceived and lasts far past the date on a tombstone if people still remember you. If I can carry away one conceited fantasy, it’s a room full of Global Champs in Tel Aviv in 10 years’ time. Just for a moment, one of you catch a movement from the corner of your eye and think you just saw a glance of a strange bearded guy in a baseball cap and a Hawaiian shirt sitting quietly in a corner getting ready to cause some trouble! If that happens, I will still be there in that room.
An intermission for a brief word from our sponsor: Iain’s sick sense of humour
Things I don’t have to worry about any more:
• Whilst UK consumers make idiots of themselves sucking dry petrol stations to hoard 1 litre of petrol in a water bottle in case they want to visit Aunt Betty at the weekend, the quarter-tank of fuel left in my tank will probably last me beyond my my future driving needs.
• Whilst gas prices and Brexit means UK households will be facing massively increased heating bills next year, my last gas expenditure will be a crematorium in the next few weeks.
• My CAT scan shows a wonderfully clean & unscarred pair of lungs despite 40 years of smoking. Guess I don’t need to give that up now.
• After 10+ years of being divorced, I might finally be able to discover what it’s like not to talk to my ex-wife any more!
• Those shelves of ridiculously overpriced, fancy tubs of luxury ice-cream are no longer a waste of money to be despised, but an interesting way to spend a few bucks whenever I feel like it.
• That ridiculously over-hyped tub of orange-haired lard sitting next to the ice creams. I don’t have to sit through the next episode of Make Arseholes Great Again.
To start it off, I have to start with the worst news possible. I am dying. I have terminal colon cancer which has spread extensively. As of my oncologist appointment last week, I have been told I have weeks to live. Maybe a month or two if extended with chemotherapy, but right now that would probably just end it quicker. There will never be a stage where it’s reduced enough that surgery would be even possible. There is no doubt.
This is horrible news for anyone. As you read this now, I know you’re all stunned. You are wondering what you can possibly say in the face of such news. That was me a couple of days ago, but the unbelievable support I’ve already received talking with the UK and Global Champs over the weekend have led me to realise that there is still positivity to be found.
So if you don’t know what to say, don’t feel trapped. How could anyone know what to say? Please believe me when I say that behind that barrier of shock, I know you care and I can feel your love without the need for you to find the words.
There’s the old story about being trapped in a train tunnel and seeing an oncoming light. Yes, it’s a freight train. But there’s another light behind me – a life well-lived about which I have no regrets. And around the edges of that oncoming train is the light of the other side of the tunnel. I may not walk out there, but it is a real future that will happen and on which, I hope, I will continue to have an effect beyond this one moment in time.
I’ve never had a bucket list. Now I’m prompted to think about it, I have literally nothing to put on it. I may not have lived a great life or accomplished anything world-shaking, but I am happy with the life I have lived and have no regrets about how I’ve lived it. I’ve brought up some wonderful children and done some good for those around me. Even in this darkest of moments, I feel a pride in what I’ve accomplished and a hope that what I can give will last belong a physical moment that is coming.
A life is not simply a period of time between a birth and a death in isolation. It’s a story that begins before we’re conceived and lasts far past the date on a tombstone if people still remember you. If I can carry away one conceited fantasy, it’s a room full of Global Champs in Tel Aviv in 10 years’ time. Just for a moment, one of you catch a movement from the corner of your eye and think you just saw a glance of a strange bearded guy in a baseball cap and a Hawaiian shirt sitting quietly in a corner getting ready to cause some trouble! If that happens, I will still be there in that room.
An intermission for a brief word from our sponsor: Iain’s sick sense of humour
Things I don’t have to worry about any more:
• Whilst UK consumers make idiots of themselves sucking dry petrol stations to hoard 1 litre of petrol in a water bottle in case they want to visit Aunt Betty at the weekend, the quarter-tank of fuel left in my tank will probably last me beyond my my future driving needs.
• Whilst gas prices and Brexit means UK households will be facing massively increased heating bills next year, my last gas expenditure will be a crematorium in the next few weeks.
• My CAT scan shows a wonderfully clean & unscarred pair of lungs despite 40 years of smoking. Guess I don’t need to give that up now.
• After 10+ years of being divorced, I might finally be able to discover what it’s like not to talk to my ex-wife any more!
• Those shelves of ridiculously overpriced, fancy tubs of luxury ice-cream are no longer a waste of money to be despised, but an interesting way to spend a few bucks whenever I feel like it.
• That ridiculously over-hyped tub of orange-haired lard sitting next to the ice creams. I don’t have to sit through the next episode of Make Arseholes Great Again.
Re: Farewell from Iainhouse