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Stories that explain our purpose and passion
Denise Motley, Esq.
Raleigh, NC
James McKinley Motley was my ‘Daddy, the best DAD ever! Rewinding my memory clock back to 1962, that was the year Daddy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The USNA Hospital medical team did not know what caused his cancer. Was it his diet, some pre-existing condition, or asbestos or other cancer-causing toxins which lived around the poles at the bottom of the Navy ship on which Daddy, a Chief Petty Officer, lived for several months at a time? He retired in 1958, but the pancreatic cancer was not diagnosed until 1962, four years later. The doctors told Mommy that there was nothing they could do for Daddy, so they sent him home…… to die. They gave him 6 weeks to 3 months to live. Even at eight years old I wondered, since when did doctors become God or fortune tellers?
I was hurt and angry. I created a daily ritual with Daddy, unbeknownst to him, Mommy or my big sister, Reesa. Every day before I’d hop on the school bus I would sneak into Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom, where he was sleeping so peacefully, and I’d lean my head sideways over his face, to feel his breath, which assured me he was still alive. I did this every day, and it gave me comfort and got me through each school day. I repeated this ritual until one day, I leaned over him, and he grabbed me and scared the heck out of me. He said, “Denise, what are you doing?’ I responded, ‘I wanted to make sure you were still alive’. The next day Mommy helped him sit up in his chair before Reesa or I came home. I learned later that it took three hours to get him in the chair, but he was determined to show us he was not dying. I shouted, “Yay! You’re going to live!”
Each day, he improved and eventually started a new career in the car business and living his life on purpose. Cancer reared its ugly head again 12 years later, spreading throughout his body. When Daddy returned to the hospital in November of 1974, in his bed helped me complete my law school applications. The next day he was transferred to intensive care, as his condition was deteriorating. This hospital stay he decided to make his own statement, with the counsel of his FATHER. In his labored breath he told me to tell Mommy to bring him his navy-blue suit, shirt, tie and shoes to the hospital because he was going ‘HOME.’ I knew HOME meant his heavenly HOME, and I sobbed in private. He was tired and his work was complete in the garden of life. He had lived twelve more GOD-gifted bonus years being the best Daddy, Husband, Son, Brother, Grandfather, and great human being. I learned from his living and in his death that even in the midst of a storm, GOD is always in control, and nothing has to be a death sentence. HE decides when it’s TIME, and HE gave us 12 more beautiful, memorable years with Daddy. I am forever grateful!
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Michael J. Reed
Washington, DC
My grandfather died of Pancreatic Cancer during my senior year of high school when I was seventeen years old. During this time, there was a period when we did not hear from him for several days, which was unusual. My uncle went over to check on him. He was in bed writhing in pain, having taken several over the counter remedies for constipation, which he thought was the problem. My grandfather was immediately taken to the hospital, diagnosed three days later with Pancreatic Cancer and beyond any potential treatment, other than making him as comfortable and pain free as possible. He died two weeks later. We would often talk about my aspirations and plans once I completed high school. And then, the time came when experiencing and sharing those dreams with him was no longer a reality. He was taken from our family far too early.
Reesa Motley Reynolds
Washington, DC
My loving husband, Charles McKinley Reynolds, Jr., died of pancreatic cancer on the night of December 26, 2020. His journey was painful and labored. During the summer of 2020, toward the end of August, I noticed that Charles had slowed down considerably. He would say he was tired and hurting. Charles had Type 2 diabetes but, hating pain and the sight of blood, he refused to prick his finger to check his daily glucose levels.
We went to the doctor, who tested his glucose level and found it dangerously high: over 500. The doctor changed his medication and his levels lowered but not enough to reach normal range. I tracked his levels for weeks as my husband grew weaker and weaker.
One Friday night, Charles was in such pain that I insisted we go to the emergency room. He was reluctant but had promised me that we would not argue over his health care, and I was worried. I texted his primary care physician and she reminded me to let the ER know that he had stenosis and they needed to check his heart. The test showed significant blockage and he was admitted.
The next day his blood pressure plummeted, and I was concerned about his care. I made some calls and a dear friend put me in touch with someone who called the head of cardiology at Tampa General Hospital, who helicoptered him to Tampa that night. He went through the process for a heart valve replacement only to find that he had pancreatic cancer that had spread to his liver. He received the new valve in hopes of strengthening him to fight the cancer. That did not turn out to be the case. Charles deteriorated quickly. The cancer spread fast and I watched him suffer with excruciating pain. The morphine he was given left him lethargic and incoherent most of the time.
At my behest, the doctors ordered a better pain regimen with Dilaudid. Now more lucid, Charles told me that he had a talk with God and was ready to go. He told me, “I want you to study and find a cure” for the pain he was experiencing. He wanted my assurance that his suffering would not have been in vain; that others would benefit somehow from what he had endured.
I arranged to bring him home to hospice because we had promised each other to respect our end-of-life decisions and Charles wanted to go home. He came home on December 22nd, the children and grandchildren came on December 23rd, we all spent time from then on, praying, singing and visiting nonstop! Charles was not conscious on Christmas Day. I did not want him to leave me.
Late the next night, he passed away. My heart still bears the pain of losing him. He was the man who taught me to love, and I will carry that love in my heart forever.