Cancer: The Legacy.
My name is Jeremy. I’m 41 years old. And I have cancer.
A topic that has been on my mind a lot lately has been death. Not in a concerning self-harm kind of way, but what kind of legacy I’m going to leave behind when the final curtain falls.
It goes without saying, but those who have cancer and go through all the treatments to purge the disease from their bodies have a lot of time to think. And, also not surprising, one topic that keeps resurfacing is what in their lives led them up to this point. What may I have done, verdantly or inadvertently to reach this place? Did I bring this upon myself or was this just a cosmic roll of the dice? In short, the never-ending question of “why”.
Which, also not surprising, often leads to the question of “what kind of legacy am I going to leave behind”?
It goes without saying that those who are facing a life-threatening illness or situation are faced with the very real possibility of their own demise. Which, let me tell you, is very humbling. To say the least.
My name is Jeremy. I’m 41 years old. And I have cancer.
I’m also that guy you know.
Everyone has at least of person in their lives who is “that guy you know”. The guy who seems to know everyone. That guy who’s not, per se, popular — but does seem to both know and hangout with everyone. The guy who gets the invites to the parties because, well, ten to one everyone who is also going to said party will know him. That guy who you can share a laugh with and get some serious life advice from.
That guy you know knows a lot of people, but he always makes time for you. He’s always there for you when the chips are down and things look bleak. That guy you know who you would do anything for — because you know he would do anything for you.
That guy you know is generally thought of as a pretty decent guy. Not perfect. Not by a long shot. But willing to admit to his own faults and try and better himself as much as he can. And encourages you to do the same for yourself.
And, let’s be honest, when you need to move and don’t know who else to call, you know you can call on “that guy you know”.
This is my legacy. This much I know. I am “that guy you know” and I’m proud of that fact. I’ve worked hard to be that guy. I try and see both sides to the story. I try and be there for everyone — even to the detriment of my own health and sanity. I try and encourage others to take care of themselves. To make the hard choices. To enjoy life — especially when you’re going through hell.
Is that enough? Honestly, it’s more than enough. The world needs more people like that. Not self-help gurus, but people who are actually there to listen and coach you through the hard stuff. Because you know that they’ve gone through the hard stuff as well and know what it’s like to be in that storm.
But that doesn’t mean that I’m done. I have so much more life that I want to live. I have so much more of that legacy that I want to grow. I want to write more. I want to be published and have people read my books. I want to travel and see the world. I want to spend as many decades with my girlfriend as possible. I want to live more. I want to love more. I want to explore more.
And when you have cancer, you’re very aware that all of that can be gone before you have a chance to experience it.
That is my reality.
Which is why my legacy means so much to me,
