druidspell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
druidspell) wrote2011-01-19 10:57 am
druidspell) wrote2011-01-19 10:57 am
sadness
My best friend's father passed away yesterday.
He was diagnosed with cancer in 2008, and though it started in his kidneys and lungs, it had spread to his spine before they discovered it. Chemotherapy and radiation were able to hold it back for a while, but by February 2009 the doctors and his family knew it was terminal. They gave him an estimated 6 months to live; he lived another 17 months after that. By the end of his life, the cancer had spread to his liver, pancreas, and finally his brain. After it spread to his liver and pancreas, he declined further treatment beyond pain management--they knew it was going to kill him, and kill him relatively soon; if the chemo were effective, it wouldn't have metastasized to his pancreas and liver in the first place. Hospice nurses told them that at the very end, he would be very lethargic, but as Ria and I acknowledged last night, Mr. Wallace was far too stubborn to do things the expected way. He was very restless, all the way until the end, and after the disease spread to his brain he was very much like a dementia patient--wandering, high fall risks, unable to recognize place or time, hallucinating...the sole mercy was that he still recognized his family members. The cancer didn't take away his ability to tell them that he loved them.
I've been friends with Ria, and to a lesser extent her brother Russ (and later, their sister Taylor), nearly all of my life. We first met when I was 9 months old and Ria was 5 months old; her family had just moved to our neighborhood from Elizabethtown, and our maternal grandmothers were (and are) friends. Her grandma mentioned that her daughter's family had just moved to the Old Nazareth Road area, my grandma mentioned that her daughter's family was living there already, and they apparently told their daughters that they should meet. The rest is history; almost 24 years of the most enduring friendship of my life. There are some things that Jay knows because I've told her, or through more esoteric means; most of the things Ria knows about me, she was there for them happening. One of the main reasons I opened up to Jay initially is because Ria was her friend.
Mr. Wallace taught middle school in the Archdiocese of Louisville. He could rant for hours about ineffective leadership from principals and lack of involvement from parents. (I know, because I've heard these rants many times over the years; sometimes I listened, sometimes I traded desperate looks with Ria to say 'Help! How do I get out of this?!') But at the same time, he was so proud of his students' accomplishments, and loved what he did. He spoke frequently of his time in Brazil as a younger man, and would occasionally lapse into long segues in Portuguese. He also spoke of his time in the Army as a medic in Vietnam, with significantly less fondness. But he was always very dedicated to his vision of America, and didn't regret his service. (The 101st Airborne bumper sticker on the back of his old car once got Ria out of a ticket :D) He was also vocally passionate about Giants football, having grown up in upstate New York. (Ria's told me the name of his hometown several times; I can't remember it for the life of me.) I once got sucked into a debate on football, and Mr. Wallace showed me his extensive football card collection. (Luckily, Ria saved me; I knew nothing about football, cheered for the Packers because it was so exciting to see them win their last Super Bowl, and cared so little about football cards that caring less would have requird more effort than caring at all.) The Beatles were his favorite band, and he shared that love with everyone--I remember once he was talking about Pope John Paul, but all Taylor heard were the names John and Paul, and asked about George and Ringo.
Mr. Wallace (his entire immediate family, in fact) was a devout Catholic who prayed the rosary every day, had a statue of Mary as Blessed Intercessor in the living room, and named his elder daughter after the Virgin Mother and Mary's mother Ann. He taught in Catholic school not because the pay was better, but because he was so impassioned to continue educating young people in their faith. And he successfully passed the best of the Catholic Christian values on to his children; love of neighbors, the Works of Mercy, compassion, and dedication to God.
I adored Mr. Wallace as a child and now as an adult; he was friendly and funny and loud, but not scary, and he had a quick temper but not in a mean way. He was always willing to open his home to any of his children's friends, and would share what he had with everyone. He was vocally proud of his children, and supported them in their individual endeavors. Taylor is a great artist; Russ is a very talented musician and composer; Ria's a wonderful writer. He bragged on all three of them, selflessly proud of their talents and accomplishments. He adored his wife, referred to her in complete seriousness as the love of his life.
He was a great man, and the world is a lesser place without him.
Todd Wallace
February 19, 1954 -- January 18, 2011
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of Your Son, rest in peace.
He was diagnosed with cancer in 2008, and though it started in his kidneys and lungs, it had spread to his spine before they discovered it. Chemotherapy and radiation were able to hold it back for a while, but by February 2009 the doctors and his family knew it was terminal. They gave him an estimated 6 months to live; he lived another 17 months after that. By the end of his life, the cancer had spread to his liver, pancreas, and finally his brain. After it spread to his liver and pancreas, he declined further treatment beyond pain management--they knew it was going to kill him, and kill him relatively soon; if the chemo were effective, it wouldn't have metastasized to his pancreas and liver in the first place. Hospice nurses told them that at the very end, he would be very lethargic, but as Ria and I acknowledged last night, Mr. Wallace was far too stubborn to do things the expected way. He was very restless, all the way until the end, and after the disease spread to his brain he was very much like a dementia patient--wandering, high fall risks, unable to recognize place or time, hallucinating...the sole mercy was that he still recognized his family members. The cancer didn't take away his ability to tell them that he loved them.
I've been friends with Ria, and to a lesser extent her brother Russ (and later, their sister Taylor), nearly all of my life. We first met when I was 9 months old and Ria was 5 months old; her family had just moved to our neighborhood from Elizabethtown, and our maternal grandmothers were (and are) friends. Her grandma mentioned that her daughter's family had just moved to the Old Nazareth Road area, my grandma mentioned that her daughter's family was living there already, and they apparently told their daughters that they should meet. The rest is history; almost 24 years of the most enduring friendship of my life. There are some things that Jay knows because I've told her, or through more esoteric means; most of the things Ria knows about me, she was there for them happening. One of the main reasons I opened up to Jay initially is because Ria was her friend.
Mr. Wallace taught middle school in the Archdiocese of Louisville. He could rant for hours about ineffective leadership from principals and lack of involvement from parents. (I know, because I've heard these rants many times over the years; sometimes I listened, sometimes I traded desperate looks with Ria to say 'Help! How do I get out of this?!') But at the same time, he was so proud of his students' accomplishments, and loved what he did. He spoke frequently of his time in Brazil as a younger man, and would occasionally lapse into long segues in Portuguese. He also spoke of his time in the Army as a medic in Vietnam, with significantly less fondness. But he was always very dedicated to his vision of America, and didn't regret his service. (The 101st Airborne bumper sticker on the back of his old car once got Ria out of a ticket :D) He was also vocally passionate about Giants football, having grown up in upstate New York. (Ria's told me the name of his hometown several times; I can't remember it for the life of me.) I once got sucked into a debate on football, and Mr. Wallace showed me his extensive football card collection. (Luckily, Ria saved me; I knew nothing about football, cheered for the Packers because it was so exciting to see them win their last Super Bowl, and cared so little about football cards that caring less would have requird more effort than caring at all.) The Beatles were his favorite band, and he shared that love with everyone--I remember once he was talking about Pope John Paul, but all Taylor heard were the names John and Paul, and asked about George and Ringo.
Mr. Wallace (his entire immediate family, in fact) was a devout Catholic who prayed the rosary every day, had a statue of Mary as Blessed Intercessor in the living room, and named his elder daughter after the Virgin Mother and Mary's mother Ann. He taught in Catholic school not because the pay was better, but because he was so impassioned to continue educating young people in their faith. And he successfully passed the best of the Catholic Christian values on to his children; love of neighbors, the Works of Mercy, compassion, and dedication to God.
I adored Mr. Wallace as a child and now as an adult; he was friendly and funny and loud, but not scary, and he had a quick temper but not in a mean way. He was always willing to open his home to any of his children's friends, and would share what he had with everyone. He was vocally proud of his children, and supported them in their individual endeavors. Taylor is a great artist; Russ is a very talented musician and composer; Ria's a wonderful writer. He bragged on all three of them, selflessly proud of their talents and accomplishments. He adored his wife, referred to her in complete seriousness as the love of his life.
He was a great man, and the world is a lesser place without him.
February 19, 1954 -- January 18, 2011
Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of Your Son, rest in peace.