Remembering Jon. Remembering me.

My nephew died yesterday.

Jon had been, as far as I knew, in all-but-perfect health. He was large, friendly, pleasant, and always eager to help anyone in any way he could. He was a varsity wrestler in high school and had competed for -- and nearly won -- the Virginia Sate Championship in the Unlimited weight group. He was clever and thoughtful and he was very good with his hands: auto repairs, plumbing, carpentry, electrical work -- Jon could do it all.

He was also 24 years old -- and engaged to be married. A first-timer.

He was a wonderful young man with enormous potential.

Jon had some difficulty "getting traction" in his life after high school, but recently had seemed to be putting pieces in their proper place. And I looked forward to hearing which of his many career opportunities he would decide to follow.

I only met his fiancee once, but I remember thinking, "Yes, this is a life partner with whom Jon can flourish." I couldn't make it to his engagement party -- which took place last weekend. That's right: last weekend.

Y'know, sometimes death can seem just unimaginably cruel. That such a splendid young man should be killed at such an early age. And that we should all be deprived of his gifts. His presence.

(I'm fairly sure I have the following story right, but all these events are so recent... And I will correct the story as I learn more.)

My brother-in-law checked Jon's Facebook page after he heard of Jon's death. And he found out that, the morning of the day he died, Jon wrote that he felt a cramp in his leg that wouldn't release and that he had some trouble breathing.

Classic symptoms of a pulmonary embolism: a blood clot that had broken loose and travelled towards his heart and lungs. But who would expect a robust young man like Jon to have such a condition? And who of you out there reading this would have recognized these symptoms?

Now, I know the first of these two symptoms because I had that "cramp-that-won't-go-away" feeling twice: I felt it once last year in association with the blood clot in my right leg and once again six or seven weeks ago associated with the clot in my left leg. But there's no reason on earth that Jon would have known this...

(If you've been reading this blog since its inception, you may recall the following story from the July 1, 2009 posting titled "Me and My Blood Clot." I'll give you a capsule summary:)

In late June of last year, I felt a cramp in my lower right leg, but it didn't concern me much and I didn't think much about it. (Being in the middle of radiation and chemotherapy, I had other physical issues to hold my attention.) But it kept getting worse, and I wound up going to one of my radiation treatments on crutches. The nurse on duty saw me hobble into the treatment center and she got very alert, very quickly and started asking very specific questions. Questions that started with "Why?" and "How?" and "When?" She then notified the doctor on duty.

The doc followed up by asking more questions, then saying, "Randy, we're going to give you your radiation treatment today and then send you immediately to the hospital. Don't waste time by going home and then to the hospital! By the time you're done here, I will have given the hospital staff their 'stat' instructions. Just drive immediately there and tell them your name. They'll be waiting for you." And things unfolded just that way.

I was processed through the hospital admission procedures at high speed and wound up with a Heparin drip and inflatable "stockings" that gently squeezed both right and left legs with a gentle pulsing motion. I stayed at the hospital overnight, with an hourly checking on my situation. (Yup, being awakened every hour to make sure I way okay.)

And up until yesterday, that the entire incident seemed unnecessarily dramatic. And it seemed so even after I came across the on-line statistic that 200,000 people a year die from pulmonary embolism.

But today I understand. While all this was happening last year, I had no idea that my life could literally be "hanging by a thread" -- that is, the "thread" that was keeping the blood clot in place in my leg. Now I can see that the rush to get me admitted to the hospital and into treatment, that the Heparin and follow-up Lovenox and Coumadin and the compression stockings -- all this was thoroughly justified.

Two very different stories. But I find the irony in juxtaposing them to be both frightening and humbling: if I had not been receiving radiation treatment, I would not have been swept into the hospital so quickly and I would simply have waited for the cramping to go away. And quite possibly, I would have died from a pulmonary embolism while I waited for my leg to heal itself. And if I had died, Jon would probably have heard my story from his folks, and maybe would have recognized his symptoms as matching mine and maybe then he would have sought treatment. And then maybe he wouldn't have died yesterday.

When the blood clot showed up in my left leg a couple of weeks ago, I recognized the symptoms quickly and got treatment as soon as I could. As a result, this new clot was not nearly as advanced as last year's when treatment started -- and there was no rushing around, no Heparin, no inflatable stockings, no overnight stay in the hospital. And as a result, the residual swelling was not and is not nearly as noticeable. And I was off crutches in two days rather than ten.

Over the course of my cancer treatment, I have been constantly amazed at how tough and durable life can be -- not only in my situation but in the treatment of dozens of other cancer patients I've met along the way. Our bodies want very much to stay alive and heal.

But Jon's death tells a different story -- one that doesn't necessarily contradict the "tough-and-durable" story, but one that adds an important caveat: Life can also be fragile and easily lost. Lost sometimes by what we do, sometimes by what we don't do, and sometimes independently of anything we might or might not do.

And what I've learned is that now is a time to celebrate who and what we are. And a time to be grateful for life in all its glory.

And for those of us who knew Jon, it is especially time to be grateful for having had his presence in our lives.