My brother's obituary as it appeared in the Dallas Morning News on October 25 (only viewable for 30 days after publication):
Richard Elliott Smith passed away Oct. 23, 2009 after fighting a 3-year battle with lung cancer. He was born Jan. 12, 1953 in Anderson, Indiana to parents Lynn and Lorraine Smith. He graduated from Anderson University and Dallas Baptist University. He held 2 Master's degrees.
Richard's special joy was being a special education teacher. He recently worked at Highland Park High School in the Special Ed department. He was featured in the May 1st edition of "The Bagpipe" in which he spoke of his cancer battle. His favorite shirt to wear to school was a T-shirt with the phrase from "Spamalot", "I'm not dead yet". The saying was from a spoof on the 14th century black plague. He also loved telling his doctors and nurses "I'm alive and well and kicking" when asked the question "how are you doing?"
Richard is survived by his wife of 4 years, Susan Peterson-Smith. Also survived by his parents, sister Judy Zack and brother-in-law Sam, brother Michael Smith and sister-in-law Terri, sister and brother-in-law Anne and Mike Hahn, sister and brother-in-law, Christa and Floyd Stanley, nephews Stephen, Jonathan and Benjamin Zack, Matthew Smith, nieces, Stephanie Smith, Gretchen and Delaney Hahn, Emily Stanley and nephew Samuel Stanley and mother-in-law Anne Peterson. Richard was loved by his furry children, Harry Potter, Narnia, Clarrie and Liaku.
Special thanks to Dr. Gupta, Dr. Samsula, Dr. Engleman and Dr. Cheek. Also to the wonderful staff at Texas Oncology Plano Baylor special thanks. A big thank you to Baylor Regional Plano Hospital and their staff for the care they gave to Richard throughout his illness.
Funeral services will be at The Church of the Incarnation on Oct. 30th, 2009 at 3:00 p.m., followed by inurnment at the Church of the Incarnation Memorial Garden, The Reverend Father Matthew Oliver, presiding and The Right Reverend Anthony Burton, assisting. Memorials to be given to the Church of the Incarnation Foundation, Granger Fund.
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| From Richard |
I know that Susan had to undertake the task of putting this together, which really sucks. In the middle of mourning, you're supposed to write a life story that sums up 55 years on earth. I wish she had asked me to do it, but I know only a small portion of his time in Dallas and certainly not enough about his last three years.
I was telling my daughter before I flew to Dallas that Richard really should have felt fulfilled at this stage of his life: he had a meaningful career, teaching special ed, after decades of seeking a profession that was rewarding; he had met the girl of his dreams, Susan, after decades of seeking a soul mate, and both of them had purchased a beautiful house in the suburbs of Dallas. It just a bitch that once he had all these things in hand, he had to share them with the cancer monster.
He was a seeker all his life, and it took him all the way down to Texas. He ended up having two Master's degrees and probably enough extra credits to qualify for another degree. He could have made a fortune at accounting if he had bothered to get certified as a CPA, and indeed his skill with numbers and spreadsheets served him well.
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| From Richard |
I spent six days with him in June. That was the most time that I've had with him since I left for Mexico and Peru in 1973, and he was going to be a sophomore at Anderson College. Even as kids, we were separated by four years, which meant that I was over high school when he started, and graduated from college when he was freshman. When you're young, you think that four years of age difference create huge barriers, but today I look back and think how trivial those differences seem.
Since then, we spent little time together. He made a short visit to Peru in 1976 (he broke his leg just before the Tri-S trip and wore a cast in the Peruvian rain forest, doing service work in Pucallpa). We spoke on the phone, wrote a few letters, had a few family reunions together, but never more than a few hours. When I came back to the States in 1990, he had left my folks' place to work in Texas. More short encounters until his marriage in October 2005 and then the illness.
I wish I had sought out more opportunities to be a big brother to him. Over the past 30-some months, we've spoken on the phone more than we ever did, but it always seemed that he could never hold a conversation for more than 10-15 minutes before getting fatigued, especially in the evening. Plus, at the end, the treatments had stolen 80 percent of his hearing so carrying on a phone conversation was a burden. He hated his hearing aid.
Post Script: Susan has put up a commemorative site with lots of photographs of Richard, some that I had never seen before.
This past weekend, I participated in the multiple-session workshop of Brian Kest at Thrive Yoga. I had made a commitment to Susan Bowen, the studio owner, that I would take photos of the sessions, and I was really looking forward to the event. As it turned out, my brother died on the eve of the workshop. Since the funeral was not until the following Friday, I decided to attend. As I told Susan when I showed up on Friday evening, I wanted to celebrate my brother's life on the mat, just as I have included him as my yoga intention for the year.
In a way, the physical demands of the Kest workshop were just what I needed. The need to reach beyond my normal edge in my yoga practice meant that my body's messages overwhelmed the emotional pain of my grief. I had no time to dwell on his death, and when I got home, I had no problem sleeping. Yesterday, I felt so drained and fatigued that I did not go into work, and today, I am dragging again, but I believe it's more because of my grief and pain from my brother's death. Last night I could not get to sleep until 4 am.
Because of these considerations, I have not had a chance to comment on the workshop itself. It was just too difficult to focus on putting ideas down on paper. I don't think I can do more now than jot down some initial ideas and then come back later with something more substantive. Kest leads a physically demanding yoga practice, based on Ashtanga yoga but evolved over 30 years of his own experience. Susan had to wait a full 18-months before she could book a date for him, and we had many people from outside the Thrive Yoga community coming in for the workshop, some as far away as Florida. Many of the participants were repeats, either having taken a class, workshop or retreat previously. His most memorable line was "Some people bring their shit to yoga, and turn yoga into shit."
My brother Richard will be laid to rest on Friday, October 31 in Dallas. I'll be flying down on Thursday to join the family there. He's going to be cremated and buried in the Church of the Incarnation's Memorial Garden, which is located on the church grounds. Richard and I visited the setting when I was there in June, and he was really pleased with the arrangement. I spoke with Susan, his wife, and was comforted by her account of his last days. She told me that he was ready to move on. I believe that I was the last person to speak to him on the phone. He seemed to fall asleep while I was talking to him (probably the medication to relieve the pain and ease his breathing), and he never woke up.
I would also like to thank all those who have posted condolences in this blog, on my Facebook, or via e-mail and phone. Your thoughts and best wishes are appreciated and I will relaying your messages to my parents, sister and sister-in-law.
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| From Richard |
My brother Richard died early this morning at Baylor Regional Medical Center in Plano, Texas. His wife,Susan, was at his side. For 32 months, he fought against lung cancer, beating the original estimate of life expectancy. Now he can rest in peace and shine in the pure essence into which his courage, perseverance and faith distilled his life, loves and dreams.
Labels: brother
I've been commenting here for the past two and a half years about my brother, Richard, and his fight against lung cancer. I got a call from my sister that things have taken a turn for the worse, and Richard has been hospitalized. For the past two weeks, he has needed multiple transfusions because his chemotherapy has been wearing down his defenses. I know he has been worried about what that condition may mean for him. Now it seems that his lungs are giving out on him.
I spoke with him a few minutes on the phone, but he could not talk for long; he had been through a really rough day. I just told him how much I love him and that I am praying that things turn out for the best. He's getting the best treatment possible at Baylor University Hospital, and his wife, Susan, is making sure that nothing is overlooked at this crucial time for him.
You can't believe what a courageous, hard-fighting guy he has been during his treatment. I've learned so much from him, but nothing really has prepared me for this, losing a loved one. For the time being, I am just going to hold steady because there is nothing I can do by rushing down to Texas.
I am a bit hesitant to write extensively about Richard's experience. Having been told that my brother's cancer has become terminal, with an estimated 3-6 months left, his struggle becomes an intensely intimate journey in preparation for his final destination. I don't want to put words into his mouth. It's also the privacy of Susan, his wife, who is the biggest reason that Richard has lasted this long.
Richard has the strong support of a his church, the Church of the Incarnation, which has a cancer support group and an outreach program that helps him a lot. I went to a Sunday church service with him and saw why he appreciates the congregation's efforts.
From my time with my brother and my own dealings with disease, I understand why yoga and meditation can play a healing role in any extended, life-threatening illness. So many factors can sap the physical, mental and emotional reserves of a patient that there is a vital need for restoring those assets. Treatment can do some of that work, but yoga and meditation deal with factors that are not touched by traditional medicine.
Richard gets a kick out of his T-shirt with the Monty Python line.Clarification: the blog entry title is actually a stretch of the time frame of my visit with my brother, which was six days. What I meant was that the trip occupied my mind and energies for about that time, preparing for and then recovering from the trip, both ay work and home.
I went down to Dallas, Texas, to spend a week (June 24-30) with my brother, Richard. As some may know from reading this blog, Richard has been fighting lung cancer since December 2006, as well as the consequences of treatment. I could have blogged about my time with Rich and his wife, Susan, but it was far to raw to register in daily entries. I twitted a few times just to update where I was.
The last time I went to Dallas was for his wedding in 2005. Now, my brother is fighting for his life. With his cancer now in stage 4, he is undergoing maintenance chemotherapy to slow down the growth of his tumor and prolong his life. So far, the results have been good: the tumor have not grown. Of course, he's down to 103 pounds, skin and bones. He's fought off multiple infections, which have weakened his defenses further, on top of what the chemotherapy does to his metabolism. But despite his plight, my brother demonstrates amazing courage, fortitude and perseverance. He's my little brother, but he's big in so many other respects.
Equipped for hard knocks and saw dust, Richard works in his shop.While I was there, I focused on doing tasks that were too demanding physically and energetically for Richard to undertake. I helped clean up his garage and woodworking area, which did not benefit from air conditioning in Dallas 100-plus temperatures, though it did have shade and a couple of fans. I also helped reorganize his home office so he could tackle his paperwork. Since I am the geek of the family, I next took on the two computers in the household, requiring two days of steady work to get them into shape because they had not been downloading MS updates and were running really slowly and crashing. One was infected by a virus.
Over the course of Richard's illness, we've often spoken over the phone about how yoga, meditation and other methods could aid him in his struggle. I wanted to follow through on that. I got in contact with a great group of people at the Yoga Bear Foundation, which provides cancer survivors with more opportunities for wellness and healing through the practice of yoga by connecting them with local yoga centers. The idea is that Richard would benefit from free or minimum-cost classes. I got in contact with Kelly Hollis, who's been coordinating activities in Texas. She suggested I contact the Ananda Yoga Center in Dallas to arrange for yoga classes. As it turns out, my brother had actually gone to Ananda Yoga Center for several years and felt comfortable in going there.
On Thursday evening (June 25), we went to a class. Sue, the woman who runs the center, remembered Richard and proved to be a conscientious lead in the yoga class. Four other people attended the class. Sue made sure that Richard did not try to do too much, and gave modifications in practically all the poses. My brother has a torn rotator cuff and could not raise his arm above his shoulder. At one point, Sue helped him by positioning blankets to support his shoulders and legs in a prone twist that that might have stressed him too much. In one of the pose, his joints all popped in unison and he thought he had disrupted the class with the noise. Sue's class was very serene and contemplatively paced so it was within his reach.
Now, it's in Richard's hands as to whether he wants to continue. The center is a good 20-minute drive from his home in Garland so it will require some effort to make it to classes. He certainly does not feel like doing yoga after taking chemotherapy. A few days later, I accompanied Richard to his physical therapy session for his shoulder, and the staff said that his shoulder had improved substantially. This was not due to the yoga, but rather the slow accumulation of therapy, treatment and rest over time.
In addition to the Ananda Yoga outing, I introduced Richard to yoga nidra, giving him Richard Miller's CD on the approach. This is definitely something that he could use on a regular basis. But I didn't want to insist too much because Richard has to decide how he spends his time and energy.
I flew back to Washington on Tuesday, and have been trying to catch up with what's piled up at work and at home in my absence. Now is the first opportunity to put together some thoughts about the experience.
Richard at his wedding, looking Texas-tanned and nervous. Probably the happiest day of his life.
Last night I got a call from my younger brother, Richard, in Texas. The news was not good. He has been fighting cancer for the past two and a half years, first in his lungs and then his brain. His doctor told him yesterday that his condition had turned terminal. While treatment of the small brain tumor was successful, the lung tumors keep coming back and now have spread to the point that treatment can only retard their development, not kill them. He has been given 3-6 months, but knowing him, he'll be able to stretch it out longer. He has been tremendously upbeat throughout the whole process.
Whenever someone is diagnosed with cancer, there is always the prospect that the illness could win out in the end. So it did not come as a complete surprise that Richard's condition had become terminal. No matter what, he'd have to remain vigilant for the rest of his life. Now, he has to concentrate on getting the most out of the remaining time that he has.
I will continue to dedicate my yoga practice to Richard and his struggle, and keep him in my prayers. He lives in Dallas, TX, so I will probably make a trip soon to visit with him. We've only had a few opportunities to spend time together over the past decades. I was living in Peru, and when I came back to the States, he was in Texas. So it was only on the holidays and family events, like his marriage in 2006, that we got together. We'll have to find a way of compensating for that lost time.
I took my first yoga class tonight and faced the question of what intention will guide my personal practice this year. I decided that I would have two: The first one is discovery because I want to explore the boundaries of my body, mind and spirits. The second one is to use my practice as a cosmic empowerment for my brother, Richard, who is still fighting cancer. Although he made what seemed to be a promising recovery from his initial diagnosis of lung cancer, he recently had a small tumor removed from his brain and, then a few weeks ago, his doctors detected that the lung cancer has come back. Last year, I shaved my head in solidarity with my brother. Apparently that modest gesture was not enough so I am throwing in sweat and energy from my yoga practice this time around.
Last year, my intention was self-acceptance while two years ago it was awareness. I have an annual intention to avoid the uncertainty of picking one at the start of a yoga class.
I started the week thinking that I would have time to practice yoga and pranayama, meditate, and blog now that I am back at home, safe in the structure and security of my daily routine. Fat chance!
I have made it to the studio once, on Sunday evening. I have meditated twice late in the evening. I got to run on the Mall on Tuesday, 4.5 miles. A clipper weather front has blown through Washington, giving us our first blast of cold and has caused my car battery to go belly up, leaving me stranded at the Metro when I wanted to rush over to Thrive for an evening class. My mother-in-law has arrived from Peru to spend the holidays with us and disrupted household routine. My brother in Dallas, Richard, was hospitalized with what looked like a heart attach, throwing in family deliberations about his health.
I will have a full weekend to compensate because I am taking the Beryl Bender Birch workshop at Thrive Yoga -- 10 hours over three days.
While shaving (beard and scalp) this morning, I realized that it had not always been so easy. For the past 10 years, at least, I have cut my own hair, basically buzz-cutting my hair to the smallest setting on the electric hair clipper. This year, I have gone even further and applied an electric razor to give me the billiard ball look. It used to be that I could never get my right hand to reach the left side of my head; I'd have to switch the clipper or razor to my left hand. I noticed this morning that I don't have to make the switch anymore, unless my right arm becomes fatigued from the awkward position. I attribute this improved range to my yoga practice -- what else could it be. All my time spent in downward-facing dog has served a purpose.
I went for the shaved head look as a gesture in support of my brother, Richard, who was undergoing treatment for lung cancer and losing his hair involuntarily. After an operation, chemotherapy and radiation treatment, his doctors have declared the cancer in remission, allowing him to look forward to some semblance of normalcy in his life. I don't know if I am going to stop shaving my head. I kinda like it -- a Buddha look that goes with my increased emphasis on mindfulness.
I've shaved off all my head hair. It was a minor piece of hair styling since I've been wearing my hair as a buzz cut for the past six years, but it was for a big cause, at least for my family.
My younger brother, Richard, was diagnosed with lung cancer in December. This came as a shock since he has never smoked and always had a healthy life style. He got married in October 2005, and cancer is not a good way to start of a marriage. Fortunately, Susan, a neonatal nurse, took the news in stride and has been a tremendous support for Richard throughout the whole process. He underwent surgery to remove about a quarter of his left lung and is now receiving chemotherapy (now getting over his second treatment, which sent him to the hospital for a day because of an adverse reaction). His hair has started falling out and he's shaved it all off. I told him that I would keep my head shaved until he had recovered completely.
More importantly, I believe, I reminded him about the value of meditation in getting through pain and suffering. As a Christmas gift him, I sent him a copy of Full Catastrophe Living: Using the Wisdom of Your Body and Mind to Face Stress, Pain, and Illness by Jon Kabat-Zinn. He had done a research project on biofeedback and was familiar with the idea. He even had some meditation tapes, which he dug out of the boxes remaining from his move to a new home. He says that the meditation has helped him a lot when he's feeling the worst side effects of the therapy.
I hope my karma is not reduced by my liking my new Kojak/Michael Jordan look, which I may keep for good. And it also begs the question of whether it means anything if most of your hair has already turned gray and fallen out.
