thedrifter
06-02-09, 11:44 AM
A father’s strength inspires son to keep family going while dad is hospitalized.
By LEE HILL KAVANAUGH
The Kansas City Star
To his oldest son, David Cheney has always been Superman.
A firefighter for 28 years. Always strong. Always confident. Always knowing just what to do.
Jason Cheney, 23, and his three younger brothers grew up hearing stories about fires and rescues and lost lives. After a bad day, David Cheney would come home, eyes haggard, hair wet with sweat, and go straight to bed.
The boys would hear what had happened later, from their mother, who tried to soften the ugliness for her sons. She wanted them to know the risks their father took for others.
The lessons they learned, about selflessness and service, went deep.
“My dad is brave and he cares,” Jason says. “Superman. … It fits.”
In January 2008, David Cheney went to the doctor because he wasn’t feeling well. The diagnosis: non-Hodgkins lymphoma, stage 4.
Jason saw his father cry for the first time.
“I didn’t think he could get sick,” Jason says. “Didn’t think it was possible.”
Chemotherapy was brutal. The two middle brothers, Marines, were deployed to Iraq. More than once, Jason went to his parents’ home and sat at the kitchen table with his mom, letting her cry out her fears, sometimes crying with her.
Bad news kept coming.
His mom was laid off. His dad’s medical disability payments were slow to arrive. Their basement flooded. Mold grew where the water had seeped. Collection agencies called.
One night, the baby brother, Jeff, called Jason. The electricity is shut off, he said. No money.
Jason knew what to do.
He moved back in with his parents. Figured out how to pay them rent so they’d accept the money without a fight. Mowed the grass. Did the laundry. Bought food.
Superman needed him.
One day, the entire Gladstone Fire Department arrived at their door with hammers, nails and wood to fix what the mold had ruined.
Jason started working out almost every day at the gym, building his biceps into tree limbs. Most folks think he’s a football player. Or a Marine. He grins at that. Jason chose the Air National Guard. He wants to be a military policeman.
Last July, when he enlisted, the recruiters told him boot camp was nearly a year off. That was fine with him. By then, the middle brothers would be back in the States.
His dad’s cancer slipped away, but returned last fall.
This time, the doctors prescribed more aggressive therapy: a stem-cell transplant.
For a time, David Cheney, 49, would be without an immune system. A common cold could kill. He would face two months of nausea and isolation in a Nebraska hospital.
As his parents drove to Omaha last month to start the stem-cell transplant process, Jason told them he’d look after Jeff, 19. Reminded himself late at night, when his own worries peaked, that his dad is Superman.
“When I was a kid I was deathly afraid of thunderstorms,” Jason says. “One time, when I was really scared, Dad came into the bedroom. He knew I was a real history buff. He told me to pretend that the rain was musket fire and the thunder was cannons.
“To this day, when I hear a thunderstorm, I think of my dad.”
But now, Jason’s time at home is over. Boot camp begins Wednesday. And then, he has been told, he’ll be deployed to Afghanistan.
“Every decision I’ve made, I’ve thought about my dad. I know it really hurts him that he won’t be able to take me to the airport like he did with the other guys.
“But he will be at my (boot camp) graduation in July, though. … I know it.”
The words spill out fast, as if saying it will make it so.
At the very least, they show the universe a son’s deep love for his dad.
To reach Lee Hill Kavanaugh, call 816-234-4420 or e-mail lkavanaugh@kcstar.com.
Ellie
By LEE HILL KAVANAUGH
The Kansas City Star
To his oldest son, David Cheney has always been Superman.
A firefighter for 28 years. Always strong. Always confident. Always knowing just what to do.
Jason Cheney, 23, and his three younger brothers grew up hearing stories about fires and rescues and lost lives. After a bad day, David Cheney would come home, eyes haggard, hair wet with sweat, and go straight to bed.
The boys would hear what had happened later, from their mother, who tried to soften the ugliness for her sons. She wanted them to know the risks their father took for others.
The lessons they learned, about selflessness and service, went deep.
“My dad is brave and he cares,” Jason says. “Superman. … It fits.”
In January 2008, David Cheney went to the doctor because he wasn’t feeling well. The diagnosis: non-Hodgkins lymphoma, stage 4.
Jason saw his father cry for the first time.
“I didn’t think he could get sick,” Jason says. “Didn’t think it was possible.”
Chemotherapy was brutal. The two middle brothers, Marines, were deployed to Iraq. More than once, Jason went to his parents’ home and sat at the kitchen table with his mom, letting her cry out her fears, sometimes crying with her.
Bad news kept coming.
His mom was laid off. His dad’s medical disability payments were slow to arrive. Their basement flooded. Mold grew where the water had seeped. Collection agencies called.
One night, the baby brother, Jeff, called Jason. The electricity is shut off, he said. No money.
Jason knew what to do.
He moved back in with his parents. Figured out how to pay them rent so they’d accept the money without a fight. Mowed the grass. Did the laundry. Bought food.
Superman needed him.
One day, the entire Gladstone Fire Department arrived at their door with hammers, nails and wood to fix what the mold had ruined.
Jason started working out almost every day at the gym, building his biceps into tree limbs. Most folks think he’s a football player. Or a Marine. He grins at that. Jason chose the Air National Guard. He wants to be a military policeman.
Last July, when he enlisted, the recruiters told him boot camp was nearly a year off. That was fine with him. By then, the middle brothers would be back in the States.
His dad’s cancer slipped away, but returned last fall.
This time, the doctors prescribed more aggressive therapy: a stem-cell transplant.
For a time, David Cheney, 49, would be without an immune system. A common cold could kill. He would face two months of nausea and isolation in a Nebraska hospital.
As his parents drove to Omaha last month to start the stem-cell transplant process, Jason told them he’d look after Jeff, 19. Reminded himself late at night, when his own worries peaked, that his dad is Superman.
“When I was a kid I was deathly afraid of thunderstorms,” Jason says. “One time, when I was really scared, Dad came into the bedroom. He knew I was a real history buff. He told me to pretend that the rain was musket fire and the thunder was cannons.
“To this day, when I hear a thunderstorm, I think of my dad.”
But now, Jason’s time at home is over. Boot camp begins Wednesday. And then, he has been told, he’ll be deployed to Afghanistan.
“Every decision I’ve made, I’ve thought about my dad. I know it really hurts him that he won’t be able to take me to the airport like he did with the other guys.
“But he will be at my (boot camp) graduation in July, though. … I know it.”
The words spill out fast, as if saying it will make it so.
At the very least, they show the universe a son’s deep love for his dad.
To reach Lee Hill Kavanaugh, call 816-234-4420 or e-mail lkavanaugh@kcstar.com.
Ellie