Rocky Road - Downs

I'm sure plenty of 49er fans still feel the sting from that day too, but mine was different. This was the first day when the grief really set in and got comfortable.

This was the first, and ultimately only, time the group of old University of Nebraska Omaha (UNO) roommates would make the drive to Indianapolis to see Phil in person while he was going through treatment. We arrived Friday evening, hung out all day Saturday, and departed Sunday morning to bet back to Omaha to watch the Super Bowl.

The trip started off with a bang when we pulled up to Phil's dad's house in Indianapolis and Phil was slightly confused with who arrived. Long story short, I have two Scott Olson's in my life. One is my brother. One is an unrelated Scott who was a college roommate to both Phil and myself, in different years though. So when I told Phil that Scott was coming, he assumed I was referring to my brother, who had gone to Europe with us. So Phil had a brief moment of confusion when he saw us pull up, but the silhouette of the person sitting next to me was not my brother. Did we then make jokes for the remainder of the weekend about bringing the wrong Scott? Of course we did.

There is only one word to describe that weekend: Perfect. Nothing short of a gift from God. A trip I'll always be thankful for. It was a borderline miracle.  I mean, we first checked out Indianapolis Speedway, because Phil was always trying to convince us of the Indy 500's greatness. It never worked, but that didn't stop him from being proud of it. That was followed by Phil giving us the tour of his childhood neighborhood, school, and collectively playing a set of holes from the family golf course he grew up playing. He still had it, even with a spleen filled with cancerous cells hindering his stroke.We then   killed time exploring a mall, putting on a practice green at Dick's Sporting Goods, playing Coup in a Starbucks, then eventually went downtown in the evening for dinner and to see what goes on in downtown Indy. It took a little while, but we eventually realized the excess of pedestrian traffic around Bankers Life Fieldhouse was caused by a Pacers' game. We got close to check it out and walked into the lobby to get a feel of the atmosphere. Then in a classic "Phil" move, he goes up to the ticket office, asks if we could get five discounted tickets since it was already the fourth quarter, and instead walks away with free tickets to catch the end of the game from the upper balcony seats. I'll never understand how he did it, but things just always seemed to work out for the best with Phil. Sometimes you just need to ask and see what life gives you in return. 

A full day of random activities, jokes, heavy talks, and philosophical discussions about faith and hope. Phil was Catholic and the rest of us were Protestant, so there were always some underlying differences in beliefs that would come up in conversations. I even beat Phil in a game of cribbage, which I was extremely proud of. Phil had that extremely annoying knack at being good at everything, especially games and competitions. It'd been years since the last time I was able to beat him in a round of frisbee golf. Most games weren't even close. So you better believe I relished the moment of beating Phil in a game in which he just taught us.

If you were wondering, yes, the weather was above freezing and decent enough to actually hang outside and get in some golfing, on February 2nd. Toss in the fact that the trip was timed between Phil's chemotherapy sessions, so he had a decent amount of energy that weekend and wanted to make the most out of our trip. The timing was incredible. A gift from God.

Grief settled in throughout this joyful trip though. Some things don't really hit home until you see them with your own eyes. Phil's bald head from the chemo. His frail body, way thinner than on that Cinque Terre hike only 8 months prior. The lack of his usually flair and spontaneity, replaced instead with slower, more energy-conservative movements. No more randomly jumping up on walls and balancing on them like a tightrope. The slight grimaces you could catch when his enlarged spleen stifled his mobility, like while sliding in and out of cars. Phil was always optimistic and was selective in the information about his status that he would share with others. But he couldn't hide his rough status from us as well when we were face-to-face. That weekend hit home the gravity of his situation and that he had a long road ahead of him if he was going to beat lymphoma.

Mentally and emotionally, that weekend wrecked me.

I slept on an air mattress Saturday night at Phil's dad's house with a steady stream of silent tears running from my eyes, along the side of my face, and into the pillow, before eventually falling asleep. We woke up incredibly early Sunday morning to make the nine-hour drive back to Omaha so we could get home in time for a Super Bowl party that evening. We said a brief goodbye to Phil, trying not to wake up the others who would drive back to Kansas City later in the day, and started the drive to Omaha. I spent much of the first hour driving with another steady stream of silent tears blurring my vision. My co-driver was asleep in the passenger seat for the first stretch, so I was trying not to sniffle and wake him up. I remember being thankful that it was still dark, before the sun had fully risen, so my tears wouldn't be obvious if he awoke. After driving home to Omaha in time for the Super Bowl, I ultimately bailed on party plans and instead picked up some Raising Canes chicken fingers and sat alone at the apartment as the tears kept coming. 

The tears just would not stop flowing. Tears of sorrow, seeing Phil's terrible condition first-hand. Tears of gratitude, knowing how many things lined up perfectly to make that weekend possible. Tears of fear. I hope you have never had to drive nine hours home, realizing you might be driving away from your friend for the last time. Trust me, that's a difficult thought to shake. It sticks in your mind like glue. You try to convince yourself otherwise, but realize visits are going to be nearly impossible as chemotherapy is taken up a notch and the impending transition into a clinic if Phil's condition didn't improve soon. Plus, Coronavirus began to be a concern in the US. Impending lockdowns would definitely make it impossible to spend time in person with an individual whose treatments were literally killing their immune system. A nine-hour car ride with those thoughts is enough to send anyone to a mental and emotional point that is difficult to recover from.

This day left a scar. A wound that'd be picked, prodded, and re-exposed all year long and more. The mental and emotional scar is still there. As a typically unemotional, controlled guy, I fell into tears more times in the twelve months of 2020 than the previous twelve years combined. Surprisingly, I was generally able to keep it to myself. Some people might see me when I was tired and get the hint that something was off inside, but not enough to be seriously concerned. Other times I was less successful. My manager asked me about the trip during our bi-weekly 1-1 the following week and I started talking about what all we did. Eventually my voice cracked and I stopped talking. Tears dripping from my eyes as I lowered my face.

College gets pretty crazy, right? Although, everyone's definition of crazy is different. For us, it was buying giant bags of Sour Patch Kids, propping up the TV to the living room window, hauling the living room furniture outside our first-floor window, and playing FIFA or rocket league late into the night. Four guys trying to troll the opposing player into quitting from an Ultimate Team FIFA match? It is an extremely satisfying feeling when you're successful. It became an annual tradition while in the dorms.