Commentary
After cancer diagnosis, talk came more easily on Roller Coaster Road
By Alexandra Sobiech
Alexandra Sobiech is a senior at the University of Minnesota in the Twin Cities, studying journalism and English. She is a source in MPR News' Public Insight Network.
Cancer is the combination of many things, not just the tumor. It's the antiseptic wipes in purple containers, soppy bloody nose tissues piled high in the bathroom trash can, skin cleanser called Hibiclens, prayer cards of St. Peregrine and toenails with white stripes from chemotherapy.
It's also the combination of many events: my dad telling me he doesn't see the point in praying to a God that wants to kill his 15-year-old son, my brother Sam swearing to me that he will never come home when Zach is gone, finding my mom sprawled on the floor crying. Even if my brother died, she told me, she thanked God for every day she knew him at all.
One night, not long after we found out that my brother might have five years to live, I saw the words "F*** Cancer" etched on the bottom of my 11-year-old sister's bunk bed. I was impressed she could use that word in context. But my sister had explained it as well as any of us could. The formula for expressing cancer is basic. Expletive + Cancer.
For some reason, though all us siblings were close, my father said I was the one who would have to get Zach used to the idea of cancer — as if it were a cold pool. I'm still not sure why he said this. All I know is that I took it in and eventually took it on.
The venue became the road. Despite the cancer, Zach was determined to get his driver's license. He would always ask me to drive with him. I always went.
The most illegal thing my brother did was tear down the highway that he and I called Roller Coaster Road going 60 in a 30 mph zone. When your diagnosis is three months to five years, any range between numbers means little. You die or you live. Sitting in the passenger seat, I'd say, "Watch it, Zach, slow it up ... don't want to get pulled over." He'd smile, even as I felt the car losing its grip on the road. "I've got it, Al," he'd say.
Winding curves, hills and bumps, a little ice, trees passing in a blur of black silhouettes — it was all very clear to me that he did not have control. But I would always stay calm, hold my breath and let him go. I was, after all, the cool older sister, the inspiration, the one he could talk to about matters of life and death, God or nothing, fear and strength, keeping it in the present.
The drives were excursions in risk, in life. Sometimes, even in the middle of winter, we'd roll down the windows about halfway. He'd let go of the steering wheel and flail his arms like Gumby, his 6-foot frame hunched over in our 1997 Geo Prizm. We listened to loud techno CDs. He shared his quirks, like the defective plastic spoon broken and sharp like a knife that he had stowed in the glove box for years.
"Look, Al!" he'd say whenever I pulled it out. "It's a spife!" Every time he showed me, I pretended I hadn't seen it before. He would grin, one of his front teeth slightly bigger than the other. He had opted out of braces so he could use that money for college. Whenever I put the spife back in the glove box, I thought, I'm keeping that in there forever.
And every drive was a chance to talk about the deepest matters. I would always ask him about his feelings, his fears and his doubts about God. Once, when I could not offer anything that seemed to comfort him, I asked him to be sure to come back and visit me after he died, to tell me everything. He turned his head to face me and said, "You're not the first to ask that. Don't worry, I will."
By that time we were back at the house. He shut off the car and we sat in the cold. Neither of us, it seemed, wanted to get out first.
Comments (16)
Well played, Zach. Beautifully written, Alli.
Thank you for this Allie. Much love and strength to your family.
So thoughtfully written! You are an inspiring family.
You guys are something special. I wish Deede and I knew you both better.
Love you guys.
Brava, Alli. Your words were perfectly chosen, and the result is an immensely powerful reflection. Thank you for sharing it with us.
I have followed your story through my niece. The article is very poignant and comforting in a way. I can understand why you are all loved. Hold tight. Bless you.
Beautiful piece Alli, thanks for sharing.
Thank you. It's touching to get an honest glimpse into such a rarely talked about experience. Our thoughts are with you and your family.
Thankyou for using your amazing writing talent to tell your family's story, allowing us a small window into your world.
Your brother will always be with you-I know. Thank you for your loving article. Kathy Albrecht
As one Canadian speaking for all of us, this is beautiful, and Zach is the biggest inspiration . He has bettered millions of people. My Facebook friends, it seems like all 950 of them have kept the story circulating , we love your whole family. Youngest to oldest. Speaking for Ontario Canada we love and support you.
I already sent you a message on FB. I almost feel like I am stalking your family now, lol, in light of the situation. Hearing stories like Zach's always fascinates me. The idea that someone only has a short while to live, and instead of fearing death or questioning God... he chose to better his life and the people around him. His message has now reach millions of people from around the world, and I have no doubt that it will reach millions and millions more. Zach was a remarkable young man. And just from the short videos and messages I have read about him; I feel like I knew him myself.
He is and forever will be a Brother in Christ. His works on this Earth are unparalel to many others who claim fame and fortune. To win at life is not to live a long life with many riches and many acculades; it is simply to leave an impact and change the world. No matter how long, or how short, you have on this Earth... changing someone else for the better is everyone's hope and dream. Zach has done that a million + times over.
All the words in the world can not fully comfort anyone who feels the pain of losing Zach. But knowing that his life lives on now in the lives of so many others proves that God is good. And God had a purpose for Zach.
Once again I pray for God's blessings on your friends and your family.
I just watched the video of Zach's last days on YouTube yesterday. My son, a 7th grader at Stillwater Jr. High, was watching it on his phone on the way home from school Wednesday afternoon and part-way through it, he stopped it and turned to me and said, I can't watch the rest of this right now, it is too sad." However, in its sadness, it provides amazing strength, love, and beauty. Thank you all for sharing your family and Zach's strength and reminding us to live every day to its fullest.
Take heart! This good bye is just temporary. Zach is alive in spirit with Christ and I know one day you will get to see him again. And you will never have to say good bye again. And I hope I will get to meet him too one day. He is a very inspiring young man! Peace of God be with you.
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