It was with some trepidation that I began blogging. I was discouraged by the makeshift tone of blogs.
There would be a few breathless entries. Then the entries would grow farther apart in time. Sometimes there were apologies for not keeping current. Then a short goodbye. Or, more often, an abrupt cessation.
Scott Swaner (1968-2006)
“People move on to other things, other projects,” a friend explained. “But we still have their words.”
One blogger’s name was Scott Swaner.
I found him the way one usually does in the post-millenium world. You do a search, or someone sends you a link. Somehow I became aware of a man who was diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer and died in 2006 at the age of 38.
I must confess: I have a thing for pancreatic cancer patients. When I was a lonely clear-cell ovarian gal, one of the lowliest of the low forms of cancer, I took comfort in the knowledge that there were others even more frightened than me.
But that doesn’t work for long because pathos sets in. Once you’ve had cancer, it’s all too easy to imagine yourself in the worst possible circumstance. Others may say: There but for the grace of God go I. But they don’t really mean it. Because they don’t really understand it.
Scott Swaner was a man of extraordinary ability. His resume is here. But I know him best through his cancer journal: donotgogentle, a site which is still maintained by his sister Sheri Swaner. On Scott’s blog you’ll find opinions on everything from poetry to The Sopranos. And, of course, cancer.
An excerpt from one entry on July 22, 2006:
The psychology: You receive the shittiest news, you absorb and process it, then you begin to live your new life with this knowledge. The infinite amount of time ahead of you, the juggling of projects within the mind indefinitely, the procrastination with little consequence, and simply taking every day for granted and people for granted and the concept of “tomorrow” for granted, all of that is wrenched up, turned over or around, and slammed down in some disfigured form. You still have to make use of it, just that now this thing, it is misshapen and unfamiliar.
On May 17, 2006, near the anniversary of his nephew’s death, Scott quoted e.e. cummings, and then wrote:
That, my friends, is a poem! Love and death in the lost and found; or, the wager between the two.
It was during the previous spring that Scott Swaner delivered a eulogy at the funeral of his 23-year-old nephew Daniel Ray Luna. At the time Scott was healthy. In just 13 months Scott would receive his own deadly diagnosis.
From the eulogy Scott Swaner delivered:
Since the middle of Friday night, when too many of us were ripped from an ignorant sleep, I’ve been searching for “death.” What now? What next? The more I looked around for “death” the more I found that another term, another experience, always seemed to occupy the same page: wherever I found “death” I seemed to find “love,” someone’s love.
When we think of death we are most commonly strictured in our minds by what we assume is the usual pairing of experiences and feelings — in other words, the pair, Life and Death. This, however, begs the question: Should we think of these as a natural pair?
The answer is no. Rather, it should be thought as Love and Death. Because life and death are not opposites. They are the same. Love and death are opposed, and yet complimentary. It is through love that death acquires meaning, it is through love that death becomes more than Nothingness with a capital “N.”
I used to know a poet who would say of poetry, and therefore of life, that “Fear of loss is every lover’s fear.” If death is the personification of loss, then the lover, is left alone by death, alone to live on until released from, or reconstituted by that loss.
Life, of course, as Daniel has reminded us, simply dies. Death, of course, is already dead, leaving us with love alone. Love alone survives.
Love alone resists. To put it in the harshest possible light, love alone is too goddam stubborn or stupid to know any better. So we are left here, after Dan, either too ignorant or too intransigent, standing gaping around this frightful rent in life’s fabric. The gaping hole in meaning where Daniel used to stand.
How long will the edge of this fabric support us? We wonder while we weep and gaze into that oblivion. On this side of death we are only left to remember – with pain as the most powerful reminder. We are left to be chastened, at least a little. And we are left to be admonished, somehow, next time, to do better.
Alive, dead. Lost, found. Loved. That is Scott Swaner.
Excerpts posted with kind permission of the family
Dear Donna,
Thank you so, so much. Your post means the world to me.
I am sitting here, with tears streaming down my face,
happily uncontrolled;
Because your writing, your descriptors, brought Scott back to life. The alive and living Scott,
Who would exclaim with joy, “That my friends is a poem.”
He loved words, he loved writing and he loved living.
I have no way to adequately thank you for this gift.
It is too dear and precious.
I can only say, that you are remarkable and that I will forever and always be grateful.
I do not want you to have cancer, just as strongly as I didn’t want Scott to have cancer. I don’t want anybody to have cancer.
There are a rare few who’s gift with words and incredible minds touch so many, inspire so many.
They are creators who bring about change-
and make this world a better, more livable and joyful place. Help make sense of the senseless.
Invite and inspire others to want and be more-
That was Scott.
And that is you!
Your blog and post are beautiful
Thank you so much for everything.
Scott would be so pleased.
With much gratitude,
Sheri Swaner
Sheri is my sister. Scott was my brother. Daniel was my son.
I also want to thank you for finding Scott’s blog. It was beautiful and sad, at the same time weirdly enough. He was a beautiful man who loved words.
I work at a cancer hospital. It is my honor to care for these dear people. I’m grateful for what I learn from these people fighting a fight that no one should have to fight. It is inspiring to watch.
Thanks again,
Sue Swaner
Donna,
I also want to thank you for finding Scott’s Blog. He would love to know that his words have inspired so many.
I am Sheri , Sue, and Scott’s sister, Stacey. It is sad to say that cancer touches everyone. Our mother also died from luekimia 2 weeks after Scott past away. My husband had cancer in 2001 and now it has returned. He was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer that in april of 2008 didn’t have a cure and he was given 18 months to live. Now because of research there might be some hope.
Isn’t that what alot of life is about besides love is hope.
I hope for you all good things ! You sound like a wonderful courageous women. Keep fighting! There is always hope.
Sincerely,
Stacey
Sheri, Sue and Stacey: I am so sorry for your losses. Three such big ones in a short span of time is beyond comprehension.
Sheri, your brother had a real gift for words, and an even greater gift for honest reflection. That requires courage. It’s a quiet courage, but hard to miss. Thank you for sharing his words with me.
Sue, thank you for working with cancer patients. People like you saved my life and, I’m sure, made Scott’s life more bearable in the end. That too requires courage.
Stacey, my cancer diagnosis came in 2001 too, and I know the steadily increasing joy after every good checkup. Eventually you almost feel like yourself again, and you might even begin planning a future.
If it’s any comfort, I know of many cases where cancer does not do what is expected.
For example: Clear cell has the reputation as the worst of some three dozen ovarian subtypes. I was diagnosed with clear cell stage III. I knew a woman who was stage II clear cell. Despite her earlier stage, she lived just two years. I am seven years out from diagnosis, and (as far as we know) cancer free.
Cancer does not play by the rule book.
I don’t know what kind of treatment your husband had before, but I’ve read that the longer a patient goes between chemos, the more cancer “forgets” how to resist. Seven years is a long time.
Bless you all. And thanks especially to Sheri for maintaining Scott’s site. Otherwise I would never have heard of him.
Donna,
You have changed my life in a quiet, miraculous way.
I really don’t know how to describe it, except the one feeling that supercedes all others, is that I don’t feel so alone anymore. That is HUGE!
I see, that you have now met the family full of “S’s.” : )
Sue, Sheri, Stacey and Scott.
All are dear to me. The “one and only brother” thing,
Scott’s being a decade younger than me, brings with it maternal instincts and feelings as well.
I just miss him so much!
I was so grateful to learn that you are “cancer free.”
That gives me joy and comfort.
I will write you more about the incredible thoughts and advice you offered– Yes, “a greater gift of honest reflection…”
It makes more sense now.
Truly, you overwhelm me as I stand in awe of your insights, strengths, and gracious kindness.
Also, for your “raw” honesty. That is what touched me the most; what separated your blog from others.
Love you Sue! Love you Stace! Bless you, Donna!
xo, Sheri