Several months ago, I was asked by our local chapter of the American Cancer Society to serve as one of this year’s Spirit of Hope Honorees at their 12th annual Black & White Gala “Bow-Tie Experience.” The person who surprised me with the news was one of last year’s honorees, my son, Joel. My initial reaction was bewilderment. Yes, I am a cancer survivor. In 2020 I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. “But there are so many survivors who had to endure much more than my I did,” I said to Joel. “Why did they pick me?”
“Yes, Dad,” he responded, “I felt the same way when I was selected, but it’s not about you, it’s about who you represent.”
Once again, as has been the case so often during my parenthood, my children are my source for wisdom.
This exchange and my selection as an honoree brought back memories of the enormous toll that cancer has had on my family: my six-year-old brother died of Leukemia in 1954. My grandfather died from intestinal cancer in 1964. My father died of lung cancer in 1993. My mother died from breast cancer in 2007. My brother was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2008. My son was diagnosed with bladder cancer in 2010. So, at the Gala, I will not be alone in the spotlight. I will be joined in spirit with too many victims of this dreaded disease. All of us are likewise joined in spirit as friends or family members to those that have survived and those that haven’t.
I recall in January 2011 after my son’s surgery, I penned the following for my Weekend Inspiration. I resurrected it this week as a fitting tribute to all families of those stricken with cancer. They are the second victims of this scourge.
A Lesson on Humility
I’m sure you have heard the term “arrogance of power” used before. Most often it is applied to political leaders, but it certainly can apply to a broader audience than that. I learned this week that it defined me.
For over thirty years I have been a manager, a leader, a mover, and a shaker. I have attained financial success and become fairly renown because of my skills. I didn’t make it on luck. I made luck happen. I’ve invested all my fiber and being into becoming the best at what I do. I helped to build the largest and most successful real estate company in our region. I am known locally, statewide, and even nationally as an authority in my field. Without a doubt, in my mind, most of the importance in my life I’ve attained through my business prowess. My corporate or business self has pretty much defined who I am. And, as that success and stature has grown so has my ego. Interestingly, I’ve never seen myself as self-centered or egotistical. At least that’s what I told myself.
Recently a grand opportunity to test all my skills arose when our company became a party in the acquisition of another real estate company in our marketplace. In mid-December we began those negotiations. This culminated in a general agreement being finalized on December 30th. Over the next three weeks I was involved in all the planning details for the announcement and subsequent assimilation of the company’s agents and staff into our organization. There was a very short timeline and so much to do. As it has been throughout my career, I was not, nor could not, handle all the details. My competent and dedicated staff would carry most of that burden assisted by the wonderful management team of the company we were acquiring. My role was more akin to a conductor of an orchestra or an engineer steering a train . That’s my element. Like a conductor, I had to know the overall score. I had responsibility for defining and understanding each of various player’s parts. I had to listen to their various tunes and meld them into one cohesive melody. If any problem should develop, I, as conductor, was responsible for solving it. Finally, I had to lead the orchestra through its final performance, controlling and directing the tempo and delivery. This was my element – vision, planning, deciding, execution and, most important, control. I was the master of control.
The short period afforded between the agreement and the public announcement made for long hours and stress, but this only fed my ego. At the inception, the number of details that needed to be attended to seemed insurmountable, however as that date drew closer and closer, I became more and more confident that we were going to pull it off without a hitch. On the Friday evening before the Tuesday morning official announcement event, I was driving home exhausted, but convinced that all the wheels of the train were turning in the right direction and I was smug in that familiar feeling that I was the engineer who had everything under control. Little did I know as I walked into my home that all those wheels that I guided so expertly throughout my life were about to come flying off.
As entered our door my wife’s eyes met mine, I immediately knew something was wrong. My first thought was that it was a bottle that I had accidently knocked off a shelf at lunchtime and left on the floor of our pantry with no note of explanation as to “who” or “why.”
I had been just too busy to clean it up. Surely, she would understand. I immediately began my defense. “I’m sorry about not cleaning up the mess.” I muttered. Her response was not at all what I expected. Instead, her eyes were like saucers. She had the look of the proverbial “deer in the headlights.” Her voice cracking, she cried out, “They found cancer in Joel.”
Joel is my youngest son. He’s 29 years old. He is the father of my 10-month-old grandson. We knew he had been experiencing some urological issues. He had consulted with my father-in-law, a retired physician, and subsequently, with my brother, a urologist. We knew all this. But everything up to this point indicated that there was nothing to worry about. It was just an infection. IT WASN”T CANCER!!
I felt my wheels starting to come off.
That night, Joel, his wife, Melanie and my grandson, Grayson, as well as my other son, Justin, came over to our house. We talked a little about the “elephant in the room,” but very little. We just wanted to be together. I could not find my self-assured, in control persona. My wheels, one-by-one were still coming off.
Later, my brother, Frank and his wife Miki came by. Frank is the urologist that found the tumor. He assured us that he could remove the tumor completely and that Joel would be fully cured. He was so confident, so self-assured. He was in his element. It was comforting, but not for me. My wheels were almost gone.
That night, though exhausted from work, and emotionally drained, I couldn’t sleep. I found myself in a completely foreign world. A world where I had no control, no power, no solution, no ability, and no confidence. I was involved in the most significant situation of my life, and I was useless. My wheels were now totally off.
Joel’s surgery was scheduled for the following Wednesday morning. The announcement of the company acquisition was Tuesday morning. I was operating on a business level on Monday and Tuesday, but it was totally by autopilot. There was no ego tripping. It was just going through the motions. Everything went off as planned, but not because of me. My partners, staff and agents were conducting the orchestra.
I was no longer leading the train. I was just along for the ride. My wheels were nowhere to be found. I was a trainwreck.
On Wednesday, Stephanie and I got to the hospital at 6:30 a.m. Joel and Melanie arrived shortly after. He got dressed in his hospital garb. We talked.
The Chaplin came in and we prayed. I prayed. It was a prayer of one who feels helpless, not hopeless but helpless. Justin arrived with Melanie’s mother, Martha.
Finally, around 10:00 a.m. Joel was wheeled out to surgery. His gurney’s wheels rolled him away. My wheels were long gone.
Throughout the next two hours, Frank sent us periodic reports that the surgery was going well. We felt more confident following each communication.
I began to feel a palpable warmth and peace envelope me. It undoubtedly was the hand of God summoned by the scores of friends and colleagues who were holding all of us up in their thoughts and prayers. I began to feel that wheels were back on and turning in my life. They just weren’t my wheels anymore. They belonged to a higher power that had now taken control.
The surgery was successful. My brother got all that evil cancer out of my son. His thoroughness initially discovered the tumor, and his skillful hand exorcised it. He saved my son! Thank God for guiding him.
Thank God for all who held us up in prayer.
Thank God for His wheels. Whatever the circumstance, they are always securely in place and turn smoothly.
And finally, thank God for humbling me!
The reward of humility and fear of the Lord is riches, honor, and life. – Proverbs 22:4
If you would like to donate to the American Cancer Society’s 2022 Spirit of Hope Black Tie Experience, you can do so at:
https://secure.acsevents.org/site/STR?fr_id=103298&pg=personal&px=58023325
Have an awe-full weekend!
William “Bill” Bacque