Cancer Boy's Last Days

Jackson and I were sitting in the living room one evening last week. He was working on his laptop and I was drawing and sort of halfway watching something on the travel channel. For some reason, something clicked in my head and right out of the blue I asked him:

“When is your five years up?”

There must have been some sort of telepathic wavelength that we were both tuned into because he said, without hesitation: “August.”

“Really? You only have three months left to live? That’s a bit of a shame. I certainly hope you finish building the backyard deck by then.”

He grunted something - something I found to be rather rude, actually - and turned his attention back to his online class or his online girlfriend. Whichever.

I think someone who only has three months to clean up their act before meeting their maker would want to be a little nicer than that. I’m just sayin’.

The End.

Well, ok, not really the end.

The reason Jackson only has three months to live is because he was diagnosed with colon cancer about five years ago. It was in one of those nasty later stages where it sort of explodes out of the confines of your lower gut and hooks up with a few friendly lymph nodes. The hippy-dippy surgeon took out a large chunk of his guts and told him to live fast cause he was sure as hell gonna die young.

Perhaps not in those exact words, but that’s what he meant.

They gave him five years. They also gave him radiation, chemotherapy and several other surgeries which eventually resulted in the removal of basically all of his guts. I like to refer to him on occasion as The Gutless Wonder. He is not nearly as appreciative of that as you’d think he might be.

Anyway, after realizing he only had three months left to live, I told him he ought to start planning his funeral now. I didn’t think he’d really want me doing that for him once he’s cashed in his chips and bought the farm. Sometimes we don't see eye to eye on those sorts of things. Although, I think most of us could agree that my dead party would be a lot livelier than anything he would plan.

His only plan is to be cremated so he can make sure can make for damn sure doesn't get stuck with this body again in the afterlife! He also has plans on what he wants done with the ashes, but I ain't tellin' ya that, because it's just gross. (Suffice it to say, don't eat the potato salad at the funeral meal.)

I hadn’t realized how much he’s changed in the past five years. I was going through some old photos, looking for more tombstone and I came across some snapshots of him that I’ve taken over the past five years. (I do occasionally take pictures of humans, and he’s used to me sticking a camera in his face.)

Here is what he looked like not long after we hooked up, which was two years before he became Cancer Boy:

This is him while he was on chemotherapy.

This is Jackson on steroids. Lots and lots of steroids. Not long after this, they finished ripping his guts out.

This is him a few weeks ago at a redneck wedding. (Don't ya love those kinds of weddings?)Notice the Crocodile Hunter hat. He is still in mourning for that guy.

So, you'll have to make plans to come for Jackson's funeral, sometime in August. And, provided he finishes that damn deck before he keels over, we might even have an after party in the backyard!