Two Lucky

A flight supposed to fly Rusty back from DC to Seoul yesterday was canceled. Unfortunately, the scan he took on Friday showed that the air pocket in his lung from surgery last week had not resolved itself. Dr Banavoic said he was not fit to fly.

We are disappointed. I had planned to fly up on Wednesday to spend a week with him. It has been more than a month since we last saw each other. In this past month, Rusty has gone through a lot. He has had lung surgery, followed by another debilitating round of chemo. Only two days after, he willed himself to drive for five hours to his New York office to work. He said he didn’t want his colleagues back in Seoul to think he was “being lazy”.

Next week, he goes back to DC for another operation on the same lung to remove more cancer. I am so impressed with Rusty’s fighting spirit. This show of love fills my heart.

I do not know when I will see Rusty again, but I hope it will be soon. Without clearance from his doctor, he cannot risk taking the 8-hour flight back to Asia. But if he is to remain in the US for treatment, at least I have my air ticket ready to be there in October. Then, Uncle Bernie will celebrate his 70th birthday in New York. It will be a fine reunion, one that I am eagerly looking forward to.

By Jeremy Grand

A poem

1. You make me laugh.
2. You taught me how to say foie gras, and to relish it.
3. You love to kiss my belly.
4. You reach for my hand in bed, even when you’re asleep.
5. You speak French, Korean, Mandarin and can say bacon cheeseburger in American Sign Language.
6. You speak German like a 17-year-old suburban hooligan.
7. You teach English at a home for Korean children with cancer.
8. You are tall, blond and once ran a marathon.
9. You know how to operate a chainsaw.
10. You have traveled to over 50 countries, and have lived in seven.
11. You have a MBA from Harvard.
12. You are my hero.
13. You have lucky T-shirts.
14. You care about my family.
15. You look great in plaid and work boots.
16. You don’t care that I look like Kim Jung Il in the morning.
17. You wrote me a poem.
18. You read my poems, even when they make you sad.
19. You rub your eyes with your fists when you laugh too hard.
20. You make me happy.