I have a friend who is going through a bitter divorce. She discovered her husband was cheating on her recently. It was going on for a while, but she honestly had no idea. They've been married for 15 years and have two children. She's devastated.

I had this conversation before. Although I do not have any experience with divorce, I truly believe a bad divorce can be worse than the death of a spouse. Having experienced the death of a spouse, people think I'm crazy when I say that.

But I know our love was always real. I don't look back and think, Did he ever love me? Did he mean anything he ever said to me? I have no self-esteem issues because of his death. I am not left to wonder if there is something wrong with me or if maybe I did something wrong in the marriage.

Oh, there are tons of emotions that run through me on a daily basis--survivor's guilt, wondering if I did enough, questioning if I somehow could have prevented it from happening. But when all is said and done, I know deep down those are typical feeling we all have when we lose someone we love and they are not the least bit logical. At the end of the day, I will always know the love was real.

Labels: Life, Love

I have a lot to be pissed about. With Father's Day right around the corner I do not have a living father, grandfather, uncle or husband. I decided I needed to reflect on the things I should be grateful for:

• The three uncles my children are lucky enough to have as a huge part of their lives--and the two sisters-in-law who would not have it any other way.
• The nanny who is a kind, wonderful and sweet person who also sends her husband to my house to do odd jobs for me.
• The 17-year-old babysitter who is incredibly responsible and reliable and so selfless that she donated a week's salary to the Lustgarten Foundation in my husband's name.
• The daycare center that purposely chose a Father's Day project that could include my children (they can put their projects on his grave).
• My mother who is my number 1 support and advocate.
• My grandmother, who at the age of 88 cooks the most wonderful meals for my family.
• The friends, both old and new, who have reached out and given me their support.
• My co-workers, who are the kindest, most wonderful group of people in the world.
• My husband's friends who have shown through their actions how much he meant to them.
• And of course, my two beautiful children. John will always live on through them. I don't know where I'd be right now without them.

Labels: Life, Love

Dear John--

How can I even explain everything you've missed in the last 8 months?

Ava has changed so much since October. She never stops talking and if she runs out of things to say, she just sings. She loves to sing "The Wheels on the Bus" and "Twinkle Twinkle". She tries to sing the alphabet, but when she gets to "Q. R. S." she goes right back to LMNOP. She counts to 10, but forgets there is a 5 and 6 in there. She does and says everything her brother does. She even tries to pee standing up like him. I know that you would find these things hilarious about her.

Aidan is a little man. He can be stubborn, and he misses you terribly. He talks to you in his heart and had trouble letting himself be happy for a long time. I think our vacation resolved that issue, though. He is as funny as hell and is a bit of the class clown at preschool (remind you of someone, John?). While we were fortunate he did not hit the "terrible twos" I am dealing with the "trying threes." He loves his uncles and cousins and loves having visitors and going places. He doesn't like to just sit at home which makes rainy days a bit trying, but you have to admire his energy. And he is so smart. He recognizes his letters and can spell his name. He wants to read so badly and I think he will soon.

Aidan and Ava are the best of friends. They grew so close while you were sick and continue to be close. They fight and bicker and needle each other (Ava LOVES to needle her brother), but they always look out for each other. They still share a room because they don't want to sleep without the other one.

As for me, I miss you every day. When I pull up to the house after picking the kids up, I still picture you coming out of the house to help bring the kids and all their "stuff" inside. I wish you were here to play outside with them while I get dinner ready; to take them to the pond; to take Aidan fishing like you always talked about doing. Your brother does that now. He loves taking Aidan fishing. I know that would make you happy.

I go to work, I take care of the kids, I take care of the house and the bills, but I don't take care of myself. I know you would be mad about that, but I promise I will do better.

I miss you and I will always love you.

Sandi

Labels: Love

My husband's beautiful friends raised $5000 for the Lustgarten Foundation for Pancreatic Cancer Research.

Labels: Life, Love

I have discovered a new hobby--gardening.

John always did the gardening. He would pick out the flowers and plants and take care of them. I would help, but always under his supervision. It just wasn't my thing.

But now he's gone and I refuse to have THAT house on the street. You know, the sad, pathetic house that isn't kept up-- with weeds in the gardens and no flowers; with the bushes and hedges not trimmed. I can't have that house.

Last October, just a few days before John died, I had ripped up one of the gardens. It helped get my frustration out and it was an awful garden. All it had growing in it was ivy and a couple of tulips. That was a remnant of the previous owners. They had ivy everywhere and throughout that summer and into the fall, I managed to rip out ever piece of it. Of course, this left me with an empty garden.

I sketched out the garden, measured it and went to the local garden center. I wanted a flowering perennial garden. I had even bought some magazines to get ideas. I've never taken such an interest before, but this year it was important to me. The owner of the garden center helped me out tremendously and I went home and planted my plants and flowers. Everyone who came to my home this weekend commented on my gardens--my family, my sister-in-law, my nanny, my housekeeper. It was pretty much the first thing they all said to me.

I am so proud of that. It doesn't seem like much, but John was a tough act to follow. Whenever I master something he was good at, I feel good, too. I feel like he is there guiding me.

Labels: Life, Love

Following is the eulogy for my husband given by his dear friend Paul. Warning, make sure you have tissues with you.

Today we’ve gathered to say goodbye to a great man…a husband, father, son, brother, uncle and dear dear friend. It’s also a day to celebrate his life and our memories of him and a day to look forward, to begin to try to put the pain of his passing behind us and to prepare to carry on without him. Sadly, that is what we MUST do for we have no other choice but to do so.

Duff is often called “the funniest guy I ever met” and “the life of the party”…that he was, but he was so much more than that. He was a loyal friend, always willing to help you out or lift your spirits when you were down. He was always upbeat, even during the past several months, and no matter how bad things were going for him he always maintained a positive and courageous attitude.

I have so many great memories of Duff since we first met and immediately bonded almost 40 years ago. I know he would agree that we couldn’t have picked a better group of friends to grow up with or a better place to grow up in than Croton. We had quiet could walk or ride your bike anywhere, to the Croton River, the Dam, Senasqua, it was like growing up in an outdoor adventure park where we’d go fishing, camping, play ice hockey, basketball-whatever—what great times we had. More than that though, it was the PEOPLE that made Croton so special; it was a life-size Cheers where everybody knew your name, your brothers and sisters, your parents and a lot of times much more than you wanted them to know. Our neighborhood, like all of Croton, was full of families with lots of kids, good, bad and some really strange ones too. Duff could befriend any of them…and with that sharp wit of his he could really tick ‘em off too-he didn’t mean to, he just had this incredible sense of humor and timing and always just let it rip-not maliciously but all in good fun

Duff always had a very close relationship with his family, he really looked up to his older brothers Eddie and Patrick and adored his little sister Janey. Mr and Mrs Duffy (Vin and Fleish) are great people and John was very close with them. When we lived together at the Hood House, I remember kidding him about how often he would call them, several times a week, just to say hi and talk. Duff and his Dad both loved with figuring out the best way to get from here to there, the best short cuts. In fact, if John could make a couple of calls from Heaven, I’m sure one of the first would be to his Dad to tell him the best way to get there-no rush though Dad. I know you’re up there watching over us Duff, no doubt having a cold one with your Poppy-maybe fishing with him too.

In the mid-70’s Duff and I did a charity walk, the Walk for Water, where we were photographed by a reporter from the local newspaper-the byline read “Happy Go Lucky Hams”-I can’t think of a better way to describe Duff-he was always so upbeat, so-happy-go-lucky, I honestly can’t remember a time when he was in a bad mood (don’t roll your eyes Sandi!).

Our high school years were a blast-there were all the parties in Greg’s basement with Hot Rocks blasting on the stereo, hanging out at the high school wall, behind Gumba’s where Moods could buy beer with his lifesaving license (which didn’t even have a birthdate on it). There were the Keg parties at Silver Lake, CET, and the Cottonfields; Duff never missed one and was always in the middle of the action, in the spotlight making people laugh. It was during high school that we became known as the Harmon Hoods (ok, we called ourselves that anyway) and we and Duff tried our best to live up to the name. Ah the mischief we’d get into…. stories better left for another day.

Another great memory was our first real road trip for a weekend visit to see Patrick at Delhi. Moods, Duff and I (it seemed we were always together) packed our bags full of extra clothes just in case of bad weather. Patrick’s friend Reno who drove us brought only a toothbrush and an extra pair of socks. First stop was Gumba’s for roadies (Genny Creams), we were so psyched. Halfway through our first beverage Reno turned to us and said “these beers are going down like oil”-the three of us just nodded in agreement-we didn’t know that wasn’t a good thing.

Then there was the Senior Trip, the entire high school senior class in Ocean City Maryland, basically unchaperoned; what a week that was. Duff again showed what a great friend he was to me then; it seemed that all of the cool guys were handpicked to go drive down to Ocean City Maryland in a van w/Fred Brooks; I unfortunately didn’t make the cut-Duff of course did. He gave up his seat in the cool van for the not so cool bus just so that we could party together-I’ll never forget that he did that for me. It was just one of those not so random acts of kindness that told me so much about Duff and our friendship.

As surprising as it might seem for such an outwardly confident guy, on the inside Duff was not always as so confident about his “smarts” and career prospects. He was never an A student and I remember him telling me years later that too many teachers and so-called guidance counselors tried to steer him away from going to college. But go to college he did; he entered Delhi College in upstate NY in the fall of 1980. Duff couldn’t have been happier, living on his own, I think in the same house his brother Patrick had lived in. No one ever told him though that he was supposed to actually go to class, instead he did his best work at Anthony’s Attic. He lasted at Delhi until about Thanksgiving when he returned to home at 101 Radnor. He stuck to it his dream though and graduated from Mercy College in 1985.

After college, Duff went to work at the Patent Trader, selling advertising. where he met his protégé, Markie Dolan. They formed an instant friendship and to this day, with Duff’s backing, Markie is the only non-Crotonite to be considered a Hood (you must be awfully proud of him Mary Jane).

Duff really found his niche in sales-a job where his upbeat personality, gift of gab and natural ability to get people to like him right off the bat made him finally realize how smart he was and how successful he could be.

Duff’s career blossomed when he landed a job at Vertical Net; not many of you may know that Duff was a millionaire, a paper millionaire anyway…unfortunately that lasted about as long as his days at Delhi. While the dot.com bubble may have burst, Duff’s upbeat positive attitude never did and his career and life continued to take off.

Around this time Duff moved to Vernon; I’ve got to be honest the first time we drove out here to visit from Croton, passing farms and cows along the way, we couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. He loved it though, the outdoor activities, the mountains, skiing, golf, the wildlife-he loved to tell stories of bear sightings. I’ll never forget the day a few months ago that John and Sandi’s neighbor rallied the community to build a wheelchair ramp for John. It really was an incredible experience; all the materials and heavy equipment were donated by local merchants and 6-8 local men gave up their Saturday, when they could easily have been working for $$ or spending time with their families but instead they were sweating their butts off for a guy they had never met; and they were doing it with smiles on their faces. It really reminded me of the town I grew up in and I think I finally got it as to why John and Sandi decided to live and raise their family here

Duff had great passion for life, he loved playing golf, going to Bruce concerts with Ernie, playing softball and floor hockey or going to Giants games with his brother Eddie, Goop, Chris and the gang. I think his biggest passion, other than his family and friends of course, was the NY Rangers. Duff was thrilled when they won the Stanley Cup in 1994. One of my favorite pictures of Duff is the one with him, Markie and Demmer smoking big cigars in the Canyon of Heroes after the parade with Duff posing, as usual, with his chin up and chest out. He was as avid a Ranger fan as I’ve ever met in my life.

Duff wasn’t perfect though, but who is? He had this really bad habit of slipping out the back door early during our nights out drinking, what he liked to call “adult beverages” ..usually when it was his turn to buy the next round!. We’d always tell him the next day how much he’d missed, but it didn’t matter, the next night out it was the same routine. Sadly, he left us too early again this one last time. I’d give anything to have broken him of that habit.

He also did have this little sleepwalking problem he loved to tell us about. My favorite was the one night, he had snuck away early on us again, Mr Duffy woke up in the middle of the night because the hallway light was going on and off. He got out of bed and saw Duff in the hallway, standing there, flicking the light switch and asked him “John, what are you doing”. “I’m waiting for the bathroom, some jerk’s been in there forever” (of course there was no one even in there). Other nights Duff would sleepwalk into his parents room, pull back the covers and tell ‘em “move over”

So many memories…..Ranger games, yankee games, concerts, lost weekends at the Jersey Shore, the Norwood with Alby, skiing and happy hour at Hunter Mountain with Gordie, nickle beer night at Ryan McFadden’s (duff brought a roll of nickels and bought us beers all night). The common theme was that Duff was always there, making us laugh and having a great time.

You’re probably wondering, is he EVER going to talk about Sandi? Well, like Duff, I like to save the best for last, and the last 7 years of his life married to Sandi were his happiest, HIS best memories.

John may have had other girlfriends before he met you Sandi but no one ever came close to capturing his heart the way that YOU did. For that matter, none of them ever captured OUR hearts the way you have either. It was clear from the start that you were different Sandi, in the way that you handled yourself + as importantly the way that you handled him! You gave him the chance to win your heart and he told me long before he ever got sick how lucky he was to have you; he didn’t feel so lucky however to be in the passenger seat with you behind the wheel! He was so happy with you and I thank you on behalf of all of his friends and family for giving him all of your love, unconditionally, especially over these past difficult months.

Duff loved being a Dad, and he was such a devoted and loving father. When the kids were smaller he used to wake up with Sandi for every late night feeding, I don’t think there are many, if any Dads here who can say that. It wasn’t that Sandi made him either, he wanted to and never, ever complained about it…at least not to me. He was so proud of Aidan and Ava and just loved being around them and bragging about them to his friends. I’m so happy that he got the chance, while all too very short, to be a Dad and to better this world with Aidan and Ava’s presence. They are what life is all about and Duff and Sandi are lucky to have two such beautiful children. They adore their father and will miss him terribly. I am comforted though by knowing how great a mother Sandi is and how much help and support she has gotten from both her and Duff’s families who have been and always will be in their lives; just as John would have wanted it.

You are truly an amazing woman Sandi and your strength and courage throughout this ordeal has been truly inspiring. John couldn’t have picked a better wife and mother for his children. You WILL however need our help and support as well, and I want to ask everyone here today to stay in touch with Sandi, Aidan and Ava; to visit, call, right cards, invite them to parties, barbeques, whatever. Come see Duff through those beautiful children of his-they are spitting images of him and Janey as little kids. Tell them what a great person and friend he was, how good he made you feel, how funny he was and share some stories with them (for now, just the PG ones). Not just today, next week or next month, but next year and all the years that follow…that’s the hard part, but that’s what we all must try our best to do—as Duff would say “why wouldn’t ya”.

We all look forward to that day when we will see Duff again-strong and fit, a full head of blond hair and those bright blue eyes, with a big smile on his face, shouting out from behind Heaven’s gates “Geez, they’ll let anyone in this place” and only on THAT day will the pain and sadness of his passing be gone forever.

Until that day my friend, may God bless you and hold you in the palms of his hands,

Labels: Love

I haven't been able to take my wedding band off (psychologically, not physically). I don't know when or if I ever will. My wedding band is just a plain gold band--no diamonds or gemstones, nothing fancy. A big diamond is not who John was or who we were as a couple. I didn't even want a diamond ring, but John was a traditional guy, so I got one. That's why I am able to have that ring converted into 1/2 of a pair of earrings. The plain gold bands we both wore that symbolized our marriage, though, is who we really were. I will always keep both mine and his in their original form.

Labels: Life, Love

Labels: Children, Life, Love

Here are some pictures from the John V. Duffy Memorial Golf Outing:

Labels: Life, Love

There's a woman I work with who seems to know me better than I know myself (and I still like her--how about that?) This summer she sent me a beautiful card. I had not been in touch with her and she did not know a single detail of what was happening, only that my husband had terminal cancer, yet she seemed to know exactly what I was thinking and what I was doing, or rather wasn't doing. What I wasn't doing was reaching out to people for help and thinking I could handle everything alone. She implored me in her card to ask for help. I did. My life got a little easier.

Yesterday, after some well-meaning co-workers gave me the address to a "social-networking" site (in other words, time to go out and meet men), she told me that this has to be a very difficult time for me because it's coming up on the date when John was diagnosed.

I think maybe the one-year mark of John's diagnosis may be even harder on me than the one year deathiversary (thanks for that work, Snickollet). On June 1, 2007 we got the diagnosis of pancreatic cancer.

The day before John had an MRI which revealed a malignant tumor in his spine. When I picked up the report from his primary care doctor's office I read it. What the doctor left out when he spoke to John on the phone is that the radiologist believed it was a metastatic tumor. I knew that was bad. I knew whatever type of cancer he had, it was in Stage IV and most people don't survive Stage IV of any type of cancer.

I know some of you are thinking, What about Lance Armstrong? He survived Stage IV testicular cancer and went on to win the Tour de France about a million times.

I think Lance Armstrong is a great big phony and liar. I appreciate what he has done with his Live Strong Foundation and I believe he had testicular cancer. I do not believe it was ever in Stage IV and while I'm on a Lance Armstrong rant, I also believe he used performance-enhancing drugs to win the Tour de France.

It is hard for me to think highly of a man who deserted his wife who stuck with him through cancer, and then deserted a girlfriend who had cancer.

Ok, now I completely digressed from my point.

The day before John's official diagnosis I knew we were in for a battle. The day of his diagnosis I knew it was a losing battle. So did he. His first words to me were, "I'm a dead man walking."

Then we cried together.

Then I told him if I knew years ago what I know now I wouldn't have changed a thing. He told me he would have settled down and married me sooner.

Then he told me to re-marry when he's gone.

Then we cried some more.

Labels: Life, Love

I have good instincts. Twice in my life I was talked out of following my instincts and regretted it both times.

The first time was the summer after my and John's broken engagement. I was seeing a gentleman (boy, do I use that term loosely). It was a long distance thing, so it never got very serious. Our families were friends and our respective mothers got us together. He was smart, good-looking; he seemed very nice. We got along very well, but something didn't sit right with me. It began when he revealed a bit about a past relationship. Listen, I was no one to really judge--I was pretty much a runaway bride. But I had concerns. When I voiced them to friends and family they dismissed my concerns, feeling that I had been burned in my last relationship and I was looking for problems. I wasn't, but I let everyone talk me into continuing things.

Thank heavens I never got in too deep.

I slowly found out that the past relationship was with a married woman--and he was the cause for ending the marriage--and she was about 20 years older than him--and had teen-age children--and her husband was a superior to him (he was a naval officer). I am not the moral police, but there were a lot of ANDs in that revelation. There was even more, but for the sake of this individual's privacy I won't go further. I happily ended things. But I should have followed my instincts immediately.

The second time I should have followed my instincts was very recently. About a month ago, my family thought it would be a great idea to go out to brunch for Mother's Day. I did not think it would be a good idea.

My reasoning was that a buffet with my two kids was not going to be a relaxing Mother's Day for me. A sit down lunch where we are being served would be much better. A barbecue at someone's home would be ideal.

I was vetoed and talked into going.

My original reasoning was flawed. My children became very used to buffet dining on vacation, and my mother was a huge help.

My instincts were correct however. The day before Mother's Day, I had an anxiety attack and was either in tears or on the verge of tears the entire day. I couldn't go out to brunch and watch all the other intact families with children celebrating.

We had just left a birthday party where my son announced that his dad died, really bad--he got hurt in his back and then died. The other children stared at him and the parents' mouths dropped. I welled up with tears. I called my mother on the way home and told her I couldn't go to brunch the following day. No one argued with me this time.

In the end, I did go to brunch. I woke up the next day feeling a little (not much) better, and decided my children would love to see their aunt, uncle, cousin, grandmother and great-grandmother. As much as it was Mother's Day, it still wasn't only about me. I cried the whole way home though.

Labels: Children, Life, Love

John has spinal surgery at the beginning of June. He was forced to wear a contraption that looked like this:



It was hideously uncomfortable for him.

After he recovered from surgery he began chemotherapy and radiation. Oncologists don't usually like to do both at the same do. There's only so much the human body can handle and both treatments basically poison your system. But John needed to do both.

He also needed a walker to get around (eventually he would need a wheelchair).

Besides all of this, John was still a dad first and foremost.

In July, we decided to take the kids to the Land of Make Believe, which is a small amusement park about an hour from our home.

I gave John the option of not going, but he was determined to come with us.

He re-arranged his radiation appointment to first thing in the morning, so we could get to the park when it opened.

We spent the morning putting the kids on rides and John videotaped them. We had lunch around noon and then we headed off to the wading pool to take the kids swimming. John was tired by then and went back to the car to listen to sports radio. He was emphatic that we not cut the day short for him and he would be fine in the car.

When we did get back to the car, he was napping.

My mother says to this day, he had balls of steel.

I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and discomfort he was in. I cannot even imagine the exhaustion he felt from all his treatments. But this man loved his family so much, he ignored all of that to spend a fun day in an amusement park with his children.

He was the bravest man I will ever have the pleasure of knowing.

Labels: Children, Life, Love

A good friend of my husband's called me yesterday to let me know he had gotten engaged. I thought that was so kind of him to keep me in the loop like that. If John had been alive, he would have told him, so now that he's gone he made sure to tell me.

He danced uncomfortably around inviting me to the wedding in September. I could tell he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, but I immediately told him I would love to come. When I got off the phone, I thought, what the hell was I thinking? I didn't even give myself the slightest out--if I can find a babysitter I will go; I would love too, but that's so far in advance I don't know for sure yet. No, instead I immediately jumped in with yes.

I know it was the right thing to do and I am genuinely happy for him, but how pathetic am I going to look at that wedding all alone?

And that's when I realized I am lacking a vital relationship in my life. I need a gay boyfriend.

Labels: Laughter, Life, Love

There was only one other person I knew of who had been through what I have been through--you know the whole watching your husband die from pancreatic cancer while raising small children thing. That person is Marcia Wallace. She was kind enough to send me an autographed copy of her book, Don't Look Backwards We're not Going that Way.

Now, I have found a second person who has been through the same hell. She has just marked the one year "deathiversary", as she calls it. Ironically this day was on my birthday.

Her blog is called Snickollet, and while I only started my blog after my husband died, hers details every step of their journey through pancreatic cancer. Our experiences are so similar that when I read this I actually had to remember to breathe.

Labels: Life, Love

When I discussed our vacation, I left out a few events that took place while we were away. My great-uncle passed away and the one-year mark for the passing of my great aunt also took place.

This isn't quite as sad as it all seems. My great-aunt, while a wonderful and generous person, was 82 and ready to die. When they found the cancer that would kill her she matter-of-factly refused all treatment and told my mother not to cry, she had a good life.

My great-uncle, well quite honestly, he was a bit of a son-of-a-bitch. Oh, he was always nice to my siblings and me, but he lived a life of debauchery, with hard-drinking, spousal abuse, child desertion, and several marriages to show for it all. In later years, he had settled down and found a very nice lady friend. My brother visited him several years ago and he was a wonderful host. My brother still has fond memories of that visit. But all-in-all, he isn't a person many people are going to mourn.

The sad part is my grandmother, who is 88, is the last sibling alive. She is in relatively good health, especially for a woman of her advanced years, but she is not the same person she was a year ago. I know, realistically, she does not have long for this world, and I worry her stay here may be cut even shorter by the loss of her last sibling. My aunt's death was VERY difficult for her. You see, they lived together for over 20 years. And now her brother is gone.

She has a lot to hold onto and I hope she does for as long as she can. She has four grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren and she loves them all dearly.

I also think of all that will die with her. Her famous cookie recipe; her veal spadinis (my absolute favorite meal in the world); all the hand-knit scarves, hats and baby blankets that are truly works of art.

I can't think too much about all of that, though, because while she is alive, I have to continue to enjoy her company and all she has to offer.

Labels: Life, Love

A man I admire very much succumbed to pancreatic cancer at the end of March. I only found this out yesterday, but I am re-printing his New York Times obituary here for all to read. Although I never personally met him, my mother had on several occasions. I also highly recommend the movie The Killing Fields about his experience in Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge regime lead by Pol Pot.

Dith Pran, Photojournalist and Survivor of the Killing Fields, Dies at 65
By DOUGLAS MARTIN
Published: March 31, 2008

Dith Pran, a photojournalist for The New York Times whose gruesome ordeal in the killing fields of Cambodia was re-created in a 1984 movie that gave him an eminence he tenaciously used to press for his people’s rights, died on Sunday at a hospital in New Brunswick, N.J. He was 65 and lived in Woodbridge, N.J.

The cause was pancreatic cancer, which had spread, said his friend Sydney H. Schanberg.

Mr. Dith saw his country descend into a living hell as he scraped and scrambled to survive the barbarous revolutionary regime of the Khmer Rouge from 1975 to 1979, when as many as two million Cambodians — a third of the population — were killed, experts estimate. Mr. Dith survived through nimbleness, guile and sheer desperation. His credo: Make no move unless there was a 50-50 chance of not being killed.

He had been a journalistic partner of Mr. Schanberg, a Times correspondent assigned to Southeast Asia. He translated, took notes and pictures, and helped Mr. Schanberg maneuver in a fast-changing milieu. With the fall of Phnom Penh in 1975, Mr. Schanberg was forced from the country, and Mr. Dith became a prisoner of the Khmer Rouge, the Cambodian Communists.
Mr. Schanberg wrote about Mr. Dith in newspaper articles and in The New York Times Magazine, in a 1980 cover article titled “The Death and Life of Dith Pran.” (A book by the same title appeared in 1985.) The story became the basis of the movie “The Killing Fields.”

The film, directed by Roland Joffé, showed Mr. Schanberg, played by Sam Waterston, arranging for Mr. Dith’s wife and children to be evacuated from Phnom Penh as danger mounted. Mr. Dith, portrayed by Dr. Haing S. Ngor (who won an Academy Award as best supporting actor), insisted on staying in Cambodia with Mr. Schanberg to keep reporting the news. He believed that his country could be saved only if other countries grasped the gathering tragedy and responded.
A dramatic moment, both in reality and cinematically, came when Mr. Dith saved Mr. Schanberg and other Western journalists from certain execution by talking fast and persuasively to the trigger-happy soldiers who had captured them.

But despite his frantic effort, Mr. Schanberg could not keep Mr. Dith from being sent to the countryside to join millions working as virtual slaves.

Mr. Schanberg returned to the United States and was awarded a Pulitzer Prize for his reporting from Cambodia. He accepted it on behalf of Mr. Dith as well.

For years there was no news of Mr. Dith, except for a false rumor that he had been fed to alligators. His brother had been. After more than four years of beatings, backbreaking labor and a diet of a tablespoon of rice a day, Mr. Dith escaped over the Thai border on Oct. 3, 1979. An overjoyed Mr. Schanberg flew to greet him.

“To all of us who have worked as foreign reporters in frightening places,” Bill Keller, the executive editor of The Times, said on Sunday, “Pran reminds us of a special category of journalistic heroism — the local partner, the stringer, the interpreter, the driver, the fixer, who knows the ropes, who makes your work possible, who often becomes your friend, who may save your life, who shares little of the glory, and who risks so much more than you do.”

Mr. Dith moved to New York and in 1980 became a photographer for The Times, where he was noted for his imaginative pictures of city scenes and news events. In one, he turned the camera on mourners rather than the coffin to snatch an evocative moment at the funeral of Rabbi Chaskel Werzberger, who was murdered in 1990.

In an e-mail message on Sunday, Mr. Schanberg recalled Mr. Dith’s theory of photojournalism: “You have to be a pineapple. You have to have a hundred eyes.”

“I’m a very lucky man to have had Pran as my reporting partner and even luckier that we came to call each other brother,” Mr. Schanberg said. “His mission with me in Cambodia was to tell the world what suffering his people were going through in a war that was never necessary. It became my mission too. My reporting could not have been done without him.”

Outside The Times, Mr. Dith spoke out about the Cambodian genocide, appearing before student groups and other organizations. “I’m a one-person crusade,” he said.

Dith Pran was born on Sept. 23, 1942, in Siem Reap, Cambodia, a provincial town near the ancient temples at Angkor Wat. His father was a public-works official.

Having learned French at school and taught himself English, Mr. Dith was hired as a translator for the United States Military Assistance Command. When Cambodia severed ties with the United States in 1965, he worked with a British film crew, then as a hotel receptionist.


In the early 1970s, as unrest in neighboring Vietnam spread and Cambodia slipped into civil war, the Khmer Rouge grew more formidable. Tourism ended. Mr. Dith interpreted for foreign journalists. When working for Mr. Schanberg, he taught himself to take pictures.
When the Khmer Rouge won control in 1975, Mr. Dith became part of a monstrous social experiment: the expulsion of hundreds of thousands of people from the cities and the suppression of the educated classes with the goal of re-creating Cambodia as an agricultural nation.

To avoid summary execution, Mr. Dith hid that he was educated or that he knew Americans. He passed himself off as a taxi driver. He even threw away his money and dressed as a peasant.
Over the next 4 ½ years, he worked in the fields and at menial jobs. For sustenance, people ate insects and rats and even the exhumed corpses of the recently executed, he said.

In November 1978, Vietnam, by then a unified Communist nation after the end of the Vietnam War, invaded Cambodia and overthrew the Khmer Rouge. Mr. Dith went home to Siem Reap, where he learned that 50 members of his family had been killed; wells were filled with skulls and bones.

The Vietnamese made him village chief. But he fled when he feared that they had learned of his American ties. His 60-mile trek to the Thai border was fraught with danger. Two companions were killed by a land mine.

He had an emotional reunion with his wife, Ser Moeun Dith, and four children in San Francisco. Though he and his wife later divorced, she was by his bedside in his last weeks, bringing him rice noodles.

Mr. Dith was divorced from his second wife, Kim DePaul.

Mr. Dith is survived by his companion, Bette Parslow; his daughter, Hemkarey; his sons, Titony, Titonath and Titonel; a sister, Samproeuth; six grandchildren; and two stepgrandchildren.
Ms. DePaul now runs the Dith Pran Holocaust Awareness Project, which spreads word about the Cambodian genocide. At his death, Mr. Dith was working to establish another, still-unnamed organization to help Cambodia. In 1997, he published a book of essays by Cambodians who had witnessed the years of terror as children.

Dr. Ngor, the physician turned actor who had himself survived the killing fields, had joined with Mr. Dith in their fight for justice. He was shot to death in 1996 in Los Angeles by a teenage gang member.

“It seems like I lost one hand,” Mr. Dith said of Dr. Ngor’s death.

Mr. Dith nonetheless pushed ahead in his campaign against genocide everywhere.

“One time is too many,” he said in an interview in his last weeks, expressing hope that others would continue his work. “If they can do that for me,” he said, “my spirit will be happy.”

Labels: Love

Labels: Life, Love

Yesterday I got a birthday card from my grandmother. Thanks Nanny (ok, so she's 88 and doesn't even know how to turn on a computer, never mind read this blog). Aidan started talking about my birthday when he saw the card. I mentioned before that my birthday is coming up and how there is no one to take my children shopping to get me a gift and a card. Well, this upset Aidan a bit. He really wants to give me a gift. He then decided to give me one of his balls, his orange ball to be exact. I started crying.

Today I decided to take care of this little issue. I called his pre-school teacher and explained the situation. I asked if he could have some time to make me a card or a little something for my birthday. She told me absolutely.

I think this solution will make both Aidan and I feel better.

As for my birthday, my friends and family have all that under control. My oldest and one of my dearest friends is coming over to my house with her family to celebrate with me on Friday. On Saturday, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law are taking the kids to their house to spend the night and I am spending the day and the night with my mother. We have no real plans (my decision), but I know we will enjoy just playing it by ear and spending time together. Besides, as much as I love my children (and I don't know where I would be right now without them), it will be nice to have some time away from them. Sometimes a mommy needs a break.

Labels: Children, Love

When John came home from the rehab center (wow, that makes him sound like a celebrity, it was a physical rehabilitation center), we had a hospital bed put in for him with a trapeze above it. Since he was paralyzed because of the tumors on his spine, the trapeze was for him to be able to pull himself up in bed.

The last few days of his life, whenever he was in the hospital bed, he had a death grip on that trapeze, even when he was sleeping.

The day before he slipped into a coma, he couldn't eat or drink anything. I called the hospice nurse who explained to me that this was probably the end. I didn't want to hear that, not yet.

That whole day John slept a lot. He was in and out of sleep. I didn't know it yet, but he was heading towards a coma. He also kept his grip on that trapeze.

The hospice nurse came to the house in the early evening. She helped me change his sheets, and get him cleaned up. She tried to release his grip on the trapeze and told him to let go and relax. He whispered to her in a very weak voice that if he lets go he'll go to sleep. She told him that was fine to sleep and got him to let go of the trapeze.

She walked into the living room with me. Before she said a word, she looked over into the kitchen where Aidan and Ava were playing.

"He has a lot to hold onto," she said, almost to herself.

That's when she explained to me that he was phyically hanging onto that trapeze because he was trying to stay alive. When he told her if he let go he would go to sleep, it really meant if he let go, if he let himself relax, he was going to die. Then she stared over at my children again and repeated herself, "He has a lot to hold onto."

I knew this day was coming, but I never thought it would be so soon. John had only entered hospice 5 days before. The night before he was up, sitting on our couch, having pizza and watching TV with his brother, his sister-in-law and me. We were watching Ghost Whisperer and he and his brother were discussing the size of Jennifer Love Hewitt's breasts (2 days before he died he was still a typical man).

He did have a lot to hold onto. But I knew I couldn't make him hold on. It wouldn't be fair. When we started our cancer journey together, I told him from the beginning that he could stop fighting whenever he wished, too; that he should never feel like he was letting us down if he stopped fighting.

And, so, the next morning I sat next him in his hospital bed, held his hand, and gave him permission to die. At 6:30 that evening, John took his last breath while his brother and I sat next to him, crying.

Labels: Life, Love

from William Shakespeare's Henry VI, Part II, Act IV, Scene 2.

For the past two years my husband has been involved in a law suit. I used to make fun of him and call it his bogus law suit. Here's the story behind the lawsuit:

I have written about John riding the dotcom bubble and the bubble bursting. In a nutshell, in the late 90s John was a dotcom millionaire on paper, and then lost it all. He came out of it relatively unscathed. He really only lost "found" money, but it still hurt.

Fast forward six years later. A law firm contacts him. They are bringing a class action suit against the company that took John's former company public--something about not advising the workers properly regarding their stock options, exercising them, and the tax ramifications (In 2000, we wound up owing the IRS $33,000 in taxes for stock options that were practically worthless at that point). Here's the kicker, though. The company that brought John's former company public was bought out by a huge financial institution. That is why the law firm was building the class action suit six years after the fact. When these types of acquisitions happen, they carry insurance to settle all suits brought against the company being bought.

Basically, these lawyers are high end ambulance chasers.

Sure, John lost a lot of money. His dreams of retiring at 40 were dashed. But, and he totally agreed with me about this, people need to take responsibility for their own actions. No one should have counted on the company to advise them. They needed to seek out their own, unbiased, financial advisers. They needed to educate themselves. It was his own damn fault that he lost most of what he had gained when his company went public (again, we had conversations about this and he completely agreed; he laughed about the "bogus" lawsuit, too. He just figured, what the hell, he had nothing to lose and maybe a little bit to gain).

I talk about this now because as the executor of John's estate I now have to sign off on the lawsuit. Most likely, I will not see much money. I was going to decline because I think these are the types of lawsuits that are ruining our country.

But I changed my mind. I changed my mind because I decided whatever I get from the "bogus" lawsuit I will put into the John V. Duffy Foundation for Pancreatic Cancer Research. I decided I am going to accept the "dirty money" and make it clean. I am going to do something good with it in my husband's name. I am going to leave a positive legacy for my children.

Labels: Life, Love