About Andrew Entries from March 27 to January 29, 2003 Later entries are here Previous entries (January 12 to January 29, 2003) are here

Thanks for your interest in Andrew's progress You can see the latest notes (always current) see the adobe acrobat version of above read the discussion group (and post a message to Andrew) Email the Wark Family

Waiting at LAX Thursday March 27, 2003 01:09 PM At present, all five Warks are comfortably lodged in the Maple Leaf Lounge at LAX, awaiting the next five hours before we depart to Calgary this evening. The Pacific crossing was very comfortable and everyone snatched a little sleep. The kids are playing with their gameboys. Michael is journalling. Andrew and I catch up on our e-mail. Our flight leaves at 6:45 Pacific time. I hate to say it, but LAX is not a pleasant airport. Cheers to everyone, as we are weary but glad to be homeward bound. Judy and Andrew

Heading for Calgary Wednesday March 26, 2003 03:37 PM This morning I wake to the sound of one lone songbird, perhaps a carrawong, calling the day into being. In this quiet suburb of Cremorne, the scurry of rush hour has just started. Today, after a glorious month in Australia, we too begin our journey back to Calgary. All that we wished to accomplish during this month has been fulfilled. We have re-connected with many friends and family. We have returned to our favorite beaches. The children have handfed cattle on the station where Andrew spent his summers growing up. Our ties to Australia have been strengthened. Some of our dearest friends, Bruno and Tina Nardo, hosted a barbeque for us when we arrived back in Sydney. Gathered together were friends and family from so many different slices of our lives. It was a meaningful time – seeing so many people from so many distinct chapters interacting with one another. The rain held off until the moment the last guests left. It hasn’t been lost to us that among our friends and family, no-one has been exempt from the challenges of life. Emma, the beautiful daughter of one of our cousins in Armidale has moved up the date of her wedding due to a tumour that has been discovered in her lung. Karen, after facing her own cancer three years ago, has just been diagnosed as celiac. What amazes us is that despite what has been thrown at them, these women live vibrantly with hope and are an inspiration to us on our own journey. Over the course of our lives, I think we are granted just a few friends the caliber of Bruno and Tina Nardo. It’s not just the length of our friendship, but the camaraderie of spirit that surpasses our circumstances. I think the nature of our friendship is expressed in our ability to so thoroughly enjoy each other’s company. The last time we were together was three-and-a-half years ago and from the moment we walked in their front door it seemed as if no time had passed at all. Together with the Nardos, we became Sydney tourists. The children were in awe as an endless variety of sharks and rays glided over us at the Sydney Aquarium. We played in the waves and ate giant tiger prawns and gelato on the beach in Manly. Andrew’s big brother, Malcolm, flew in to Sydney from Papua New Guinea to spend the last few days with us. We have enjoyed his company immensely. It was a rare and pleasurable sight to see Malcolm, Andrew and Becc walking together in Sydney’s Royal Botanic Gardens yesterday. With the Wark clan spread out all over the world (Australia, Canada, New Zealand/ New Guinea), having three siblings together in such a setting is quite the feat. In a few minutes the kids will begin to wake up, we’ll spend the morning organizing our packing and the taxi will take us to the airport early this afternoon. We are ready to come home. The first two months of the year were horrible as we discovered this cancer and confronted its incurability. The time in Australia has lifted us away from all of that. Andrew has been so healthy here that we could easily deceive ourselves by thinking “all is well”. Alas, in our hearts we know that all is not entirely well…and we must move on. The time has come to bring back a sense of normalcy. The children need the routines of life. Andrew is ready to go back to work. I have yet to launch my voiceover demo. Resolutely, we shall live each day with all the strength, joy and grace that God gives us. There are still adventures ahead. The next 30 hours will be a marathon of travel. The longest stretch will be the eight hour layover in the Los Angeles airport. We are set to arrive in Calgary late Thursday night. Our compensation is the wonderful gift of traveling business class that we are ever grateful for. Our thanks extend to everyone for your continued friendship, commitment and prayers on our behalf. We’ll be back in touch when the jet lag lifts. Judy and Andrew

Laughter and Tears Tuesday March 18, 2003 03:24 PM We are now approaching our final days here in Australia. Sitting around the pool at the Boambee Bay Resort, watching the kids duck and wave through the water with their Pullar cousins, Calgary and my cancer seem so far away. Alas, I wish it were so easy. My cancer and the sadness that it brings with it are never really that far away. I watch my beautiful daughter emerge from the water. She has goggles and flippers on and a smile that outshines the sun. She is immensely proud of herself for swimming across the pool and is thrilled her parents have just seen her do it. She smiles again, showing the places where she has lost her baby teeth, new teeth growing in. A beautiful smile. A smile that would melt any father’s heart. I am filled with love and joy as I watch Gracie. And yet…as I smile and wave back to her, that sadness begins blending with the joy…almost like two primary colours blending on a paint palate. The sadness increases, almost into anguish. I will not get to witness my darling daughter as she grows into the beautiful, young woman that I know she will become. Later in the evening, as Judy and I sit once again by the pool minding the kids for one last swim…we share another moment of sadness. Sitting there, quietly, Judy reaches over, kisses my large, bald head and tells me she doesn’t want me to go. I tell her I don’t want to go. I love what I see in front of me too much. David, Michael, Grace – the three wonders of our life. I want to be there for them. I want to be there for her. Judy...the love of my life. We have celebrated 14 fabulous years. Together we grieve the loss of the simple dream of growing old together. We think of the many yet-unwritten experiences - as lovers and as a family - which are now moving beyond our grasp. Without actually saying it, I know both of us are wondering why God has chosen to ask our family to walk this path. We ask it not in anger. We know He has a plan. It’s just a really difficult path to walk that’s sometimes hard for our human emotions to grasp. Most days I try to be courageous. The grace of God is very present and that makes the task much easier. Courage and sorrow. Joy and anguish. This is life. It is messy. I don’t want to die…I really don’t. I’m not frightened of the experience – I just long for life with my family. It is a constant struggle of the heart. It is tough and painful because I’m dealing with a human heart and very human emotions. I don’t want to cause my family pain…and yet I know God’s grace and strength is very much at work in their hearts. I fall back on the Lord. I cannot begin to know how all of this will work together. I know God will bring forward miracles from this experience. I offer the sadness, the grieving and the pain to Him as an act of worship. I don’t know what else to do. He is a loving God. He felt the pain of his own son as he wept in the Garden of Gethsemane. We live each day as it comes. We celebrate that day – knowing it is a miracle in of itself. Each day – I must make that very conscious decision to serve God and allow Him to use this condition to his glory. The sorrow will not stop – it will likely increase. So too will the love that we have for one another. Somewhere, through the tears, the anguish, the struggle and copious amounts of God’s grace, we will come through – shining as a light. It’s like after a tropical evening storm at the beach. The rain pounds down, the wind blows and the gutters quickly overflow. Yet we wake the next morning to clear skies. The sun is warm and healing and the beach once again beckons. A new day – clean and clear and made especially by our maker. Heroes rarely set out to become so. They usually just find themselves in unavoidable situations that bring out the extraordinary qualities hidden within. My wife, my two sons and my daughter are my heroes. I do love them. Andrew

Milking cows and flying foxes. Wednesday March 12, 2003 04:32 AM Not much to report. We've had a lovely week back in Armidale. Grace has become quite skilled at milking the cow; David and cousin Tim rigged up a workable 'flying fox' (a contraption that allows David and others to slide from one tree to another); and Michael's skin continues to heal. We've caught up with our extended relatives and close friends. Tomorrow we go to visit some of Andrew's cousins, and the kids have been invited to handfeed the calves. Andrew continues to enjoy good health. And I'm pleased to report that, over the past two months I've never slept so well as I have since we arrived back here in Australia. Next week, back to the ocean. We'll be staying at a resort called Boambee Bay. I've put up some photos on-line from the beaches of Australia That's all for now. To our friends in frozen Calgary, we send warm, balmy Australian breezes. We would love to hear of your own news. You can still e-mail us at ajwark@shaw.ca. much love, Judy and Andrew

The Healing Ocean Wednesday March 05, 2003 03:01 PM If you were to ask any of my children where their most favorite place in the world is, each would answer, without hesitation, Arrawarra Holiday Park - a slightly run-down caravan park, just north of Coffs Harbour. We’ve been coming here for beach holidays as long as the children remember. For our family, Arrawarra Beach holds many treasured memories. Gracie celebrated her first birthday here. We brought my mother, Alice, twice to Arrawarra. Fish and chips on the beach; flying kites in the afternoon breeze; whale watching; building sandcastles, only to have the incoming tide wash them away. So, it was with great pleasure that we were able to return here to our favorite cabin, which overlooks a rickety wooden bridge across the Arrawarra Creek. This, in turn, runs to the ocean. When I look down the endless stretch of beach, I see a landscape full of life. A small handful of surfers ride the waves near the headland. Tiny crabs leave dotted trails along the sand. Kookaburras laugh in the distance. A couple of fishermen scour the beach for bait. Kelp lies in wet tangled clumps, mixed among the shells and other bits of flotsam that the tide leaves behind. When the children were small, they were content to play in the creek, afloat on boogie boards riding the incoming tides. Today, the kids discovered they had outgrown the creek and spent most of the day riding the waves in the ocean. Like Papa Bernstein Bear, Andrew dutifully gave the kids the rules of caution when playing in the ocean. The undertow can reach out and grab the best of swimmers. As the rains swept in during the late afternoon, the kids recognized they were tiring and were happy to call it a day. The ocean brings healing. About a week before we left Calgary, Michael developed a very irritating eczema. He’s been sore and irritated for quite a while. Time spent in the sea has begun a healing effect on his skin. I know his spirit is also being soothed. When the ocean roars, my own inner howling is silenced in its wake. It only takes a few minutes for a tropical storm to sweep in over what was a clear sky. The wind whips up the clouds as I see the rain coming towards me in thick sheets. I am reminded of how small I am in this vast universe…and how great God is. The children laugh as we gather the wet beach towels and bring in the shoes from the deck. Andrew and David are barbequing steaks under a nearby sheltered canopy. Michael runs out with the umbrella and rain gear to help them get back. As soon as they arrive, the rain stops and we eat our dinner. Out in the creek, hungry gulls come back to forage for their own evening meal. The ocean, fresh air, good food, laughter and lots of loving … these simple elements combine to gladden our hearts. And that’s the news for today from Arrawarra Beach: where the children are happy, the women are beautiful and the men are learned in matters that really count (such as fixing a broken bathroom door and uncorking a fine champagne). Cheers, Judy and Andrew

Coming home to Australia Friday February 28, 2003 02:15 PM Coming home to Australia. As the small Dash 8 plane rolled to a stop at the Armidale Airport runway, I could see Andrew’s sister, Kim and her husband, Neil displaying the Australian and Canadian flags to welcome us. After nearly 28 hours of travel and transit time from Calgary to Armidale, we wearily stepped from the plane onto the tarmac and walked into the warm embrace of our Aussie family. A warm blast of air hit us, in sharp contrast to the Calgary winter we left behind. The afternoon we departed from Calgary it was minus 22 degrees C. Since arriving in Armidale (which is midway between Sydney and Brisbane), the temperature has hovered in the pleasant 20 – 30 degree C. range. Driving back to Andrew’s parents’ place, we saw that the grass was lush and green. Apparently, the week before we arrived 15cm of rain had fallen. The moment I knew we were really back was when we drove out to Kim and Neil’s property, crossed the cattle grid, and saw a grey kangaroo and her joey bounding through the gum trees in the paddock beside us. It was a glorious sight. We’ve been gone for three-and-a-half years, but it took all of a few seconds for the kids to re-connect with their cousins: Alex, 17, Tim, 15, Stuart, 11, Rosie, 9; and Robbie, 4. The last few days have been spent with the cousins catching yabbies (crayfish), building cubbies in the bush, milking the cow, swinging from ropes into the creek and toasting marshmallows around the bonfire. Michael brought over the game “Risk 2288 A.D.” The boy cousins have all been occupied questing for world domination. Grace and Rosie have been inseparable. David tells me he has learned to jump from the tree house onto the trampoline and back up again. There are some things a mother just doesn’t need to know! Andrew and I had a wander up to the university, where he formerly worked, where we looked up a few of his mates. Three weeks ago, I had e-mailed one of our friends at the university, telling him about Andrew’s condition. Regrettably, he never received the message. I was heartbroken for him as I saw him trying to digest our terrible news. We’ve had some time to work through this stuff, but I realize how hard it is for family and friends who haven’t actually seen Andrew to take this all in. I’ve woken up lately, to hear my husband quietly weeping. He’s thinking about each of the children and the milestones in their lives that he will miss. He is reflecting about his sisters and brother… his relationships with each of them and those they love. In the quiet of the early morning, he has told me just how much he loves his Mum and Dad, lamenting that he will predecease them. In the normal course of things, he would have been there at the conclusion of their lives – bringing honour to two lives well lived. As wonderful as this trip is, it is tinged with the reality of what lies ahead and how Andrew’s circumstances will change us all. In the meantime, we take each day as it comes, enjoying the relationships that we cherish. Andrew and I want to thank his Mum and Dad and Kim and Neil for accommodating our dreams and wishes – from picnics at the falls to barbeque lamb chops. Many thanks to Becc, who dropped everything to come to Calgary to accompany us back to Australia. We are mindful of the fact that this melanoma has ripped us to the core. The first seven weeks of the year were quite traumatic, as we found out what we were dealing with and the fact that it is incurable. Now we are here in Australia, we really sense this will be a time of renewal. Our energy reserves – both physically and emotionally - are quite low. I am sure they will be built up again while we are here so that we may face the next part of the journey. As I mentioned, incurable cancer may be devastating, but we refuse to let it get the better of us. As Andrew said to me yesterday, “This cancer may take hold of my body – it will not take hold of my spirit.” That’s it for now. We’ll report back in after we get back from our beloved beach getaway to Arrawarra next week. Cheers, Judy and Andrew

Hope surrounds us. Saturday February 22, 2003 10:00 PM Andrew and I were pleasantly surprised to realize that we had slept undisturbed until 5:00 this morning. The kids were soon up as Michael and David prepared to head out to Banff, to snowboard and ski with Auntie Becc. After they bravely set out in the minus 22 degree temps, we who were left behind went back to bed. The day was spent making lamb and barley soup; packing up; and visiting with friends who dropped in to say good-bye. The weary ones returned from the mountains just in time for dinner. And as I write the children are tucked into bed and fast asleep. Lately, Andrew has been telling me about how, even under these rotten circumstances, he sees so much life and hope. He recalled walking through the Belizean rainforest, where he would sometimes see the remains of a mature tree that had been felled. From its roots he would spy a new shoot reaching up to the forest canopy. Life emerging from that which had been struck down. We spoke of the good that is arising from this blow that has been hurled at us. Amongst our children and in the lives of our friends, we see hope all around us. Andrew and I want to thank everyone who made this trip to Australia possible. To our friends at the university, your care and generosity has surpassed what anything we could have imagined. To our neighbours, we always knew this was a great neighbourhood, but you have demonstrated the true meaning of community towards us. To our families: mums and dads on both sides, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins - your love has been like a wall that has buffeted us from the storms that could have made us desperate. Friends in Christ, your prayers have enfolded us and we walk in the grace of God as you hold us up. To all our friends, here in Canada, Hong Kong, Australia, Switzerland, Belize, the Philippines, the United States and around the world, thank you for reaching out to us and reminding us of the goodness of God that he has placed in each of us. We are planning a grand time in Australia, making it up as we go and as energy allows. We’ll update the website about once a week and we’ll be checking our e-mail. God bless you all, Judy and Andrew

One Crowded Hour Wednesday February 19 2003 5:37 PM One Crowded Hour. Today, Judy and I celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary. As I woke this morning, I thought I’d like to capture some of what this day means to me and to honour the extraordinary woman, friend and wife who shares my life. Fourteen years ago, as we stood nervously at the alter and recited our vows, Judy looked me right in the eye and said, “I give myself to you, knowing our lives will never be ordinary. We may never amass great riches, but our treasure is hidden in God’s love for us and our love for each other.” True enough, our life together has been an extraordinary journey. Alas, we have not accrued great riches, but hidden treasures of the heart, we have in abundance. These 14 years have been marked by joy and laughter, discovery and celebration. They have not all been easy ones - like the rest of the human race, we have had the ups and downs of life's experiences, reminding us that life is wonderfully messy. It’s supposed to be. Through it all, we have grown together and grown more in love. We have travelled much - made homes in Australia, Hong Kong and Canada. Along the way, three wonderful children - Michael, David and Grace - have joined us on the journey. I am smitten by each of them. They love and laugh freely and they remind me of my love for Judy. In each chapter of our travels, we’ve had the priviledge of being part of the lives of so many remarkable people. We are richer for knowing you. The strong hand of love once again at work... transforming our lives. Our 14th anniversary... a sobering moment. It is a bitter-sweet moment. How could it be anything but? Short of a miracle, Judy and I know that this will likely be the last one we celebrate together. Sadness, mingled with a deep sense of gratitude, love for my wife and joy for what we have been given. Sadness and joy - two emotions (or are they more than emotions?) inextricably entwined in the heart. They seem to complement each other - the sorrow serves only to remind me of just what a priviledge it is to love a woman like Judy - and so I embrace it. I guess this is life...gritty, wonderful, painful, messy, magnificent life. Oh, that I could celebrate 50 more anniversaries with my darling wife! Oh that we could grow old together, see our children married, celebrate our grandchildren’s births, become grey and wrinkly and eccentric oldies. Alas, life rarely works the way we want it to. Dreams and hopes...we can’t always bank on, but love endures. There is a sense of eternity to my relationship with Judy. When you love someone deeply, such that your spirits truly become one - that love begins to transcend time. Dare I say even defy time? Perhaps we begin to experience...in some small way...a little bit of what heaven is like. I love Judy...I always will...and paddling off to Patgonia won’t change that. Judy is courageous - though she doesn’t realise just how courageous she is. She is gentle and full of grace. She listens to my heart and we talk about everything. She looks after me...far better than I deserve. She is patient with me when I do all those things that men love to do (like providing unsolicited advice about things she knows much more about than I). She provides our children with a place to discover and love and learn and grow. Judy is my best friend. “One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name.” Judy and I may not have 50 more anniversaries to look forward to, but we have much to be thankful for, much life yet to live and eternity in our hearts. Judy, this letter is my anniversary gift to you. I love you. I always have, I always will. Andrew.

Valentines, lost taste buds and a shaven head. Monday February 17, 2003 01:32 PM I never imagined that Valentine’s Day would include all the kids being invited out for sleepovers; and a quiet dinner for two, sipping dry champagne in front of our open hearth. But once in a while, quite out of the blue, a celebration will spontaneously happen, without any scheming on my part. Usually the month of February is one of constant celebration with Chinese New Year, our anniversary and my birthday. But this month, my main cause to revel is purely for the fact that we somehow managed to survive January. I sigh in relief. Our ‘night on the town’ was just perfect. We had a quiet, corner suite on the ninth floor of The Palliser. I had forgotten the simple pleasure of casually browsing through bookshops and perusing art galleries without children. Hy’s Steakhouse provided a classic ambiance. The New York strip steaks, followed by creme brulé and coffee were perfect. Theatre Calgary’s production of Evita impressed us greatly, particularly the scene, “I’d be surprisingly good for you” in which Eva introduces herself to Peron, amidst a backdrop of tango dancers. Here’s an unusual prayer request. A few days ago, Andrew started commenting that the food was under flavoured. Everything seemed bland to him, particularly spicy foods. We have hence discovered that one of the side effects of radiation therapy to the head, is the loss of taste. How cruel! When we were out for dinner, Andrew closed his eyes and smiled when he said he could taste the wasabe and soy marinated tuna appetiser. But flavours are definitely dulling. The research we’ve done indicates that the sense of taste does return within three to six months, but how long is that in this new time/space continuum? A good hound-dog could have easily followed our trail of shedding hair all over downtown. Maybe I should have brought one of those little dust-busters and vacuumed him everytime he took off his pullover or put on his coat. How romantic is that? We returned home Sunday afternoon to see Andrew’s sister, Becc, had arrived from Sydney. Although weary from the long flight and ghastly connection in San Francisco she was a welcome sight. Becc was given the honour of ‘shaving the head’. Andrew says his head feels much better. Hair or not, he can still make my heart skip a beat. Now comes the challenge of finding just the right hat. Yesterday afternoon Michael and I were driving along Deerfoot Trail, returning home from an errand. He told me that some of his friends are worried for him and Andrew. He said, “I don’t feel that worried, Mum. I know I’ll see Dad again.” I leave you with that comment because it defines the peace we are experiencing. Later on when the journey gets really rough, we’ll remember this time and cling, with certainty, to the ship of grace that has been very carefully crafted for us now.

PERIPATETIC PATAGONIAN Thursday February 13, 2003 02:44 PM Sydney Morning Herald, February 8-9, 2003 PERIPATETIC PATAGONIAN Giant fish a long way from home Paris: A fish that normally inhabits the frigid waters around Antarctica has been caught off Greenland. University of Copenhagen zoologists who examined the 1.8-metre, 70-kilogram Patagonian toothfish concluded that deep ocean currents must have helped it on its extraordinary trek. Agence France-Presse I was amused by this tiny newsbrief that surfaced about a Patagonian toothfish, a long way from home. To some degree, it mirrors how we feel right now. Andrew is still a long way from Patagonia. Deep currents are keeping him on the move and continuing on this extraordinary journey. Almost daily, Andrew and I continue to receive suggestions from friends and families pointing the way to alternative therapies. Herbal remedies and intense vitamin treatments surface as friends want to help. Some want us to consult with doctors in the United States. Others suggest clinics in Mexico. In all this, I’d like to clarify the position Andrew and I have chosen. There are many different kinds of cancer. Most respond well to systemic treatment - either medical science and/or a combination of complementary therapies. Statistically 82 per cent of the people who contact cancer will beat it. However 18 per cent will not. By the time melanoma reaches the stage that Andrew’s cancer has, it is incurable. We have decided to make the most of the time that we have remaining. For us, that means doing the things which promote well-being: laugh with the kids; work for as long as possible, live humbly and with honour; go to Australia; pray much; worship more; and enjoy the friendships that we have renewed. If these things don’t extend life than it’s still worth it all. Therefore, as much we appreciate the alternative suggestions that have come our way, to expend the time, energy and finances on such pursuits would rob us of the gift of time that we have to enjoy that which is really important. Let us consider the further discussion of alternative therapies as ‘now closed.’ Thank you for respecting our decision. We are at peace. The course of radiation treatment has finished and Andrew is shedding his hair worse than the dog. He is trying to hold off the haircut until his sister Rebecca arrives on the weekend. The medication he is on seems to block his sleep patterns from settling so pray that we all find deep rest and sleep. My Dad flew in from Toronto for a brief visit. We enjoyed his company and wise conversation immensely. Grace and I were praying the other night, just before she went to sleep. I was saying, “Lord, we pray for Daddy, please...” Grace stepped into the ring and with her little fists tightly clenched as if to throw a punch, said, “tell those tumours to BUG OFF!” We opened our eyes and started smiling and laughing together and then we hugged and kissed. It was one of the highlights of my week. Thanks for bearing with my silence. Weariness makes not for prolific writing. We have wonderful plans for a downtown getaway on Saturday which include staying at The Palliser and the performance of Evita. Local Calgarians please send me the name of the best steakhouse in downtown Calgary. Thanks to everyone. Judy

The Strong Hand of Love Friday February 07, 2003 10:10 PM “We can laugh and we can cry and never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows. We can dance and we can sigh and never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows.” These lyrics were penned by Mark Heard, an exceptional musician who died of a congenital heart problem at the age of 41. His chorus captures for me the paradox of my tears and blessings. ‘The strong hand of love’ is all around us and in every moment of today, I saw that it was not hidden. Today actually began about 3:30 this morning, when I was woke to the rapid tapping on the computer keyboard. The first thought that came to my groggy mind was, “Oh no, not another mouse.” But then I realized the noise was Andrew merrily MSN messaging back and forth with Kim, his sister in Australia. This carried on for the best part of an hour. True sleep never came back for either of us, but I did notice when I finally gave Andrew his coffee at 6:30 that he looked jolly chuffed. “I chatted with Kim this morning,” he smiled. I tell you this, so you know that I write tonight from sheer fatigue. After Andrew and I headed off to the Cancer Clinic, a small army of University of Calgary Medical School communicators descended on our home. Headed by Lois Epp, this merry band of women cleaned windows, attacked the bathrooms, straightened bedrooms, washed floors and dusted. I arrived home just as they were leaving. Do you know how humbling it is to have someone else throw out the ‘double-dead’ stuff from your fridge? A very special thank you to Lois, Brooke, Leora and Lisa for being part of the ‘strong hand of love’ today. Karen Thomas, another friend from the university, decided to spearhead a campaign, “Send the Warks to Australia”. In a rare exception to Areoplan policy, the company allowed many people to transfer their points to my account. To Andrew’s many university associates and our friends who worked and gave to make this happen, please accept our heart-felt thanks. I cannot tell you how much it meant to us when we found out this afternoon that the accumulated points equaled five return business class tickets to Australia. There were also enough points to bring over Andrew’s sister, Rebecca, from Sydney, to escort us back. A very special thanks to Karen who was undeterred from the beginning. The ‘strong hand of love’ at work amongst us. To those whom I spoke with today, I know I sounded shaky. It wasn’t the emotions so much as the weariness. There is a constant fatigue that plagues me and I fear it brings out the best and worst of me. Your forbearance is truly grace in action. Thank you. Two more thanks: to Jim for harbouring Winston, the pooch, allowing the communications team to clean sans chien; and also to Janice for the comforting soup, rolls, and dessert. That’s it for the weekend. Our next update will be early next week. For now, it’s time to get some rest.

Patagonia and other euphemisms Wednesday February 05, 2003 08:28 PM To some degree, I think every family creates its own secret language. In our family, we use certain words or expressions which ‘members only’ can grasp, especially in public. For example, we always thought that the word ‘pog’ (Passing Of Gas) was a kinder way of letting someone know that flatulence had been released. It’s a tad gentler than, “who cut the cheese?” or other pre-teen boy vocabulary. A very few select friends, know the meaning of our expression, ‘gone fishin’. I leave the interpretation to your imagination. My sister-in-law’s family uses the word, “penguins” when a member of the family wants to let someone else know that they are giving out more information than required. Lately, Andrew and I have been discussing things which involve the “D” word. A few nights ago, we were relaxing in the jacuzzi and discussing where Andrew wanted to be buried. He declared that he wants a big party before he goes, one which celebrates life. We floated different ideas around so that he could consider what he wants. But every time we used the dark word ‘death’, I had to close my eyes, lest tears appear. Yesterday, we decided that we had to have a euphemism. Something whimsical that rolled off the tongue and made us smile. A word which took the edge off a very serious topic, yet one, which in these days, needs to be addressed. Recalling a favorite story Andrew wrote when he was working for the University of New England, the word “Patagonia” surfaced. So, I’m warning you now, if, at a later date, I refer to “Patagonia”, you know what I mean. Andrew progresses through radiation. The side-effects are a lingering weariness, a few tingles in his head and other things which, in and of themselves seem minor, but when added up, make us realize that something is happening to his body that he doesn’t like. Michael is trying hard but is still adjusting and it’s not easy for him. David mostly bounces through life like “Tigger”, but lately, is particularly in need of cuddles. Grace came home from school very sad, proclaiming, “Nobody at school wants to play with me.” A few minutes later she was invited to a friend’s house for a play date. A big grin emerged and off she went happily. As for me, I’m a bit wobbly. Imagine the worst case of PMS and multiply it several times over. When I don’t think one of my kids is ‘getting it’, I speak to them like a terrible tourist in a foreign country - loudly and slowly. Andrew always pulls me back to calm reason. I have to tell you that as much as we have an overiding undeniable peace, this whole thing stinks and I hate it. Just before dinner, in the dusk of a Calgarian winter’s night, Andrew and I leaned into each other and slow danced to, “Somewhere over the Rainbow/What a wonderful world” by Israel Kamakawo’ole. This Hawaiian ukulele player lulled us into that private place that only ‘we’ know. So that’s it for tonight. Consider Andrew and I, ‘gone fishin.’ Many thanks to Cathy for attacking my laundry room with gusto; and to Gloria for doing the ironing. And my love to my Mum who arrived at 7:30 this morning, to see the kids off to school, while I escorted Andrew to radiation.

God sends a Rose Monday February 03, 2003 10:20 PM A good and proper Chinese New Year begins with thoroughly cleaning one’s house and feasting until one groans. We managed to fulfill one half of the requirement and I think you can guess which one it was. We enjoyed a quiet weekend. Andrew was able to get his steroid/radiation cocktail just right so that he was up and about without any headaches. Saturday afternoon, Dennis, a mate from work, showed up with two overflowing bags from A & B Sound. We want to thank everyone at the university who contributed to this amazing gift of the digital video camcorder. We know it will be an important resource in helping us chronicle this next chapter of our family’s journey and we are so grateful. Already a resident videographer has come forward. I can only attest to the truth that twelve-year old kids have that certain technological ability that muddle-headed parents lack. Michael was so jazzed at this gift and has become the self-appointed expert of Wark Film Productions. By Sunday evening we were ready to celebrate Chinese New Year in style. My Mum had outdone herself with an incredible feast that included roast duck, crispy skin chicken, prawns, and several other dishes. My sister-in-law Pam created an inspired tofu. We did the cooks proud by eating far more than we should, in the good company of family and friends. Today Andrew had his third treatment of radiation and I dropped him off at the university. I then found myself waiting for 90 minutes in a long queue at the passport office downtown. Having forgotten a book, I soon chatting with Rose, a graceful retiree who had driven from Lethbridge (two hours south of Calgary) to renew her passport. We spoke about our travel plans - she to join her five friends in a condo in Florida and we, off to Australia. Somehow I found myself “spilling the beans” about Andrew. Very soon, neither of us were even aware of the how slow the line was moving. Rose spoke of her husband who died nine years ago of lymphoma. While she was nursing him on the family farm, she was also caring for his sister who had breast cancer. The sister died six weeks after Rose’s husband passed away. I know the other people around us must have looked on us strangely - with our tears and soggy tissues. Here we were, two strangers, sharing on a deeply personal level. She told me that caring for her dying husband taught her to find strength and talents she never knew she had. She told me that I, too, will find that same strength. Rose also said that the hurting never stops but it does get better. As I finished at the passport officer, I saw Rose waiting for me at the entrance. She took my hand and said she would always pray for Andrew and me. Then she walked out. I will likely never see her again. If there was ever a case for angels, I think this makes for a pretty good defense. David has always enjoyed tactile pursuits (Lego especially) and any other thing which involves wheels, speed and preferably an element of danger (i.e. skateboarding, biking and skiing). These activities often outweigh the priority of homework. Many times I’ve had to sit on him to make sure that what needs to be done gets done. In these strange days, I can barely ensure that everyone gets fed, let alone be the homework watchdog. He had a report on bison that was due today. I only found out this afternoon that he hadn’t completed it...for any number of good reasons. I called David’s teacher and explained that I was at a loss to help him at this time. Irene Bodnar then spoke to David and gave him a few options. Can you believe that within one hour he had finished his research on the internet, written his notes by hand and then typed up his report with hand drawn illustrations? Today I experienced two miracles. The first was an angel who met me in the passport queue. The second was the miracle of a caring and wise teacher. I am so thankful for both. On a practical note, we have been inundated with offers of help. I know it sounds very silly, but I have to prepare this house for the trip to Australia and I can’t even seem to get something as simple as the bathrooms cleaned. If anyone might be interested in helping me fold the laundry or run the vacuum over the carpet, I could sure use a hand. Regarding meals, thank you to everyone for the Swedish meatballs, lasagna, casseroles, quiche (I enjoy it but Andrew had a traumatic incident with pastry when he was a child),and many other wonderful baskets of treats and baked goods. For those from our church, Gloria Baker is now coordinating the food brigade. If you want to contribute, please give her a call. To our neighbours and other friends, you can e-mail me first and I’ll let you know the state of the pantry. Many thanks to our “mystery snow shoveller”. What a saint. We haven’t been able to return every phone call and e-mail, as most mornings are spent at the Cancer Clinic and the rest of the day is consumed with preparations for the trip and long-term planning. Nevertheless, we thrive on your caring and prayers. Andrew and I thank God for each of you.

Waiting for a Miracle Saturday February 01, 2003 07:04 AM “Andrew, you can come in now,” said the radiation technician. The slender, red-haired lass turned to David and Grace. “Would you like to see where Daddy is going?” Eagerly, the kids hopped off their chairs in the waiting room. As Andrew lay down, the technicians had Grace pressing the button to raise and lower the table, while David manipulated a machine, worth several million dollars, from one side of Andrew’s head to the other. I smiled as I saw their fears melt away by these simple acts of inclusion. The women thanked the children for their help and I whisked them back to the waiting area. The younger ones had come along yesterday because of a professional development day. Initially Grace was reticent but Andrew coaxed her along, saying he could sure use her help. I’m so glad they came because everyone we’ve met at the Cancer Centre has helped to ease our family into this strange reality that is now ours. Sometime later, as I was scurrying to get the passport pictures taken, I received a call from Denise, at the university. She said Andrew was feeling a bit dizzy and his headaches had returned. Earlier that morning, Denise had showed me an empty office which she and another friend had prepared with a camp cot, should he need a rest. It was here that I found him. For Andrew’s work mates, this was the first time to see him really wobbly. It’s hard for all of us, because by in large, he doesn’t look sick. Although his energy is low, he’s calm and cheerful and wants to continue work as normal. So this episode really drove home the fact that nothing is as it appears anymore. The intensity of the headaches continued to escalate. Andrew spent the rest of the day resting in our darkened bedroom. I called Dr. Corbett, our oncologist. He told me the radiation inflames the cancerous tissue and causes pressure and pain to ensue. He upped Andrew’s dosage of steroids and gave me a script for morphine. I knew the meds had kicked in when several hours later, I heard Andrew call out, “What do we have to eat?” In many ways the reading of this journal has evoked an overwhelming response from around the world. We can taste your tears as you’ve written back affirming and encouraging us. Some well-meaning friends and family have offered alternative homeopathic therapies. Advice has come regarding the ‘spiritual cause’ of Andrew’s plight. I know we all want to help. It makes us somehow feel we have a measure of control over this situation. Gentle friends, this is way bigger than all that. Over the past month, any delusions of control of one’s own life were thrown out when my husband was wheeled away to have his brain operated on. We have daily surrendered to Christ, our amazingly God, the governance issues. Andrew said, “The air is somehow clearer when you walk in the valley of the shadow of death.” He is not afraid of what the future holds. He’s confident for our well-being as a family. I stand in awe of my husband. In writing this, I guess I want you to see that healing is already at work. The life lessons go far beyond the physical outcomes. Of course, we’re waiting for a miracle, but I don’t want to miss out on the one that is presently unveiling. We are on orders to have a quiet weekend. Be of good cheer and go raise a ruckus on our behalf. All going well, we plan to feast in the Chinese New Year on Sunday evening at my mum’s place. “Kung Hei Fat Choi!” And, as I was reminded yesterday by a friend, “It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”

Fully Alive. Friday January 31, 2003 06:11 AM Just before we went to bed last night, Andrew said, “Judy, this hurts so bad because we have loved so much.” This paradox is the two sided coin of life and love. If I only loved a little, I would not feel this so terribly. When I chose life with Andrew it was really with the acknowledgment that to be fully alive is to embrace every moment and reap the most from it. “For better or worse, in sickness and in health...” Wednesday after school we gathered the children together and gently told them that Andrew’s cancer was incurable. Telling our children that Andrew might not make it to next Christmas was the most difficult thing we have ever done. Huddled together, we all cried and cried. Andrew and I held them tight as they tried to absorb this terrible news. My cheeks were so sore from the tears, they felt sunburnt. Andrew said, “Why is it in all the movies, like ‘Lion King’, and ‘The Man from Snowy River’, the Dad gets taken out?” Poor, dear Michael. I could see this hurt him deeply. “It’s not fair!” “How can I live without Dad?” Grace and David cannot fathom it all. “Daddy doesn’t look sick.” “What kind of university do you work for that has no cure for this?” Except for Andrew, no one could eat. (those steroids!) But somehow, as those long minutes turned into hours, a supernatural peace gradually descended upon us. The children all slept and went to school the next day. I am encouraging the children to journal their thoughts. One amusing response was that after the kids settled down, each ran to get their cameras and started taking pictures of Andrew. They don’t want to forget him. Suddenly my children have become the paparazzi. I have cried an ocean of tears and its not over yet. We met with our pastor, Rick Scruggs yesterday, and he said that we have begun the grieving process. Candidly, I asked Rick if he would perform Andrew’s funeral. Andrew piped in, “Wait a minute, I’m not gone yet. If they give me one year, I’ll take two. If I make it that far, I’ll take another one.” That was the wake up call to me. We have an awful lot of living and loving yet to do. In the midst of the radiation treatments, we are planning a trip back to Australia, as soon as possible. We have to get the kids passports renewed and tickets ordered. But the desire, on both sides of the Pacific is for Andrew to go home for a little while. I have added a new thread to the discussion forum. It is entitled, “When I think of Andrew I remember...” Please take a few minutes to record how Andrew has, for better or worse, touched your life. Thank you again for the hundreds of people who have joined us in this walk. We have literally felt the scripture, “When one part of the body hurts, we all suffer with it.” (I Corinthians 12:26). Thank you for the meals that have arrived, the offers of help, for the renewed friendships, for the prayers. God is at work in our midst. Well, it’s 6:00 o’ clock now, on Friday morning. There is a lot of living to be done today. So I’d best be on my way.

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