I Don't Mean To Alarm Anybody, But I Think We're Being Followed

A week ago I started this meager transcription of what had, and was going to, happen while Jayne is fighting cancer.  What I thought was going to be an interpretation of events to keep our family updated has somehow transformed into a portal between Jayne, Shay, and I and the rest of the world.  Maybe that's a bit hyperbolic, despite that fact that, yes, anyone at any place in the world could be reading this.  Still, my sweet boy has managed to capture the hearts and minds of a great many people.  The readership isn't solely comprised of people that we know and, in fact, I'm fairly certain that there are more people who have heard of this young man's struggle through the grapevine rather than firsthand knowledge of who Shay and I are.  Needless to say, I'm appropriately blown away.  Not only because a portion of the people who have invested time out of their days to catch up on Jayne's present condition have also contributed, in some manner, financially to his plight.  While we are both very grateful for their contribution, I think that just the fact that people are interested in his progress and scratching the days into the wall along with us is amazing.

It is because of this outstanding show of compassion that I feel a bit apologetic toward Jayne's fan base.  Not for my droll writing or, at times, irreverent humor.  Nor for my flippancy and frank manner.  No, it is for something that I consider to be much more important, something larger than writing styles: the small things.

Bear with me.

The sign of good writing is capturing the nuances, the idiosyncrasies of life and those who are caught up living it.  It's about finding the minute details and drawing grand pictures which can transform shape and familiarity within each individual imagination.  That is what I would love to be able to do as you, vicariously through me, watch Jayne fight and grow and change over the course of the next half year.  I can tell you about his medicinal regimens, his struggles with the nipple shield, and his inability to be monogamous.  When the moment arrives, I can tell you about the first time he rolls over, the first crawling he starts to do, maybe even the first tentative step he takes, with some assistance from his dear ole' da'.  These are all big(ish) moments for a kid his age much like, when he's a bit older, the first time he holds a lightsaber.  It's easy to paint a picture for you, the reader, describing such events because the only equipment required is a football helmet and primary colors.  Not that these moments don't contain their own beauty and tenderness.

Life, however, is a chain of interlocking links, so fine that you might miss their individuality in lieu of observing the thread as a whole.

I can't describe to you the new way that he's beginning to look at the world, where he needs to see everyone at different angles.  He'll look at you and then cock his head and lean forward.  He wants to take in what he sees in as many ways as possible.  He also knows that this looks fairly ridiculous and, as a byproducts, it will make whoever he performs this act of observation for will smile, if not laugh.  He's becoming an entertainer despite the Lifetime tragedy he has become engulfed in.  He wants to make people laugh at the world which he sees as full of laughter.  (As I type this, he is having an extreme meltdown due to a combination of exhaustion, hunger, monitoring his chemo, and the administration of medicine.  No metaphor is perfectly airtight).

That is just one of the many things that will change and grow with this kid as he goes through the ringer.  Maybe he'll start to eat solid food and discover what he likes to eat and what he likes to throw.  We may have the opportunity to watch as the nature of taste and smell evolves for him and lights up his face as a brave new world opens up to him.  Instead of flinging toys and flailing wildly, perhaps he'll begin to actually play with his toys, the gears in his head working away as he imagines a land whose breadth and scope we couldn't possibly fathom.

I know that he'll make friends; he has already.  He may never remember them after a year has passed but the social development he will acquire will undoubtedly stick with him until his formative years as a young adult.  At that time, any hint of civilized social discourse will be out the window followed by what is sure to be a smart ass streak.  He is, after all, my son.

In light of the daunting task I have set before myself, I hope that I can do justice to the day to day that the three of us are going through.  Because the main issue, on the face of it, may be Jayne's struggle with cancer, but the reality is the deeper and oblique manner in which the three of us cope with it.  Part of that reality is also how you deal process it.  I hope that reading about Jayne's brush with heart wrenching illness will give you a surge of vitality and give you the means, even if for the ten minutes reading this, to have a heart wrenching brush with life.