[5] fall
september 29
With still some hope but an insurmountable amount of sadness, after nine long months of treatment, I'm heartbroken to report that Dad's chemo is no longer effective. One of the tumors in his brain has unfortunately grown. Hope is not yet lost, as we're about to begin an alternative treatment called Avastin.
We have to face reality, though. And as far as life expectancy, what comes along with Avastin is typically a numbered amount of months, up to a year. This has always been terminal Cancer, and we're happy the chemo has been effective for as long as it was. This has been an unbelievably tough pill to swallow, to start to accept, to type, to share. But I've always been a story-teller. And this is a grim, but very real part of Dad's story.
I wish I could say that I have went about my days as normal since the latest MRI results. Still in Texas, I instead transformed my living room into a cave for a few days, played The Beatles on repeat and the delivery driver has now seen me wearing the same sorority t-shirt and ripped leggings from Wednesday-Friday. But that's the antithesis of what my dad wants me doing.
Steve Ragan is likely on his last leg. And never-have-I-ever heard an utterance of, "I should have spent more time at work," or "Man, am I glad I saved some cash by skipping that concert/wedding/party." It's the exact opposite. It's, "I wish I had made it to Red Rocks Amphitheater like I always wanted to," and, "I regret not doing that/going there/seeing them before all of this started."
We're unsure of how Dad will respond to the new treatment, beginning on Thursday. Perhaps he'll be immune to the side effects, as he mostly was throughout chemo. As for now, he's (somewhat remarkably) still not in pain. Next week, I'll be headed up to ROC for a bit.
And as a testament to Dad himself, he's not scared yet. He's more scared for my mom and me. I thought that when my only sibling passed, perhaps my family would now have some sort of immunity to tragedy. But, that's simply not how the world works. I quite literally cannot imagine this world without the best person in it. But instead of dwelling, I'm trying to focus on all of the good around me. Dad always says he's not entirely worried for my future because I have accrued the best people to surround myself with.
I legitimately have gotten "by with a little help from my friends." And by a little, I mean y'all have been my life support. As has my Mom, whose heart is also breaking. Thank you to my boyfriend for keeping me sane at all hours, and who is still getting to know him, but spent quite awhile crafting the perfect message that caused Dad some tears upon receiving. Corey was brought back into my life 20 days prior to Dad's diagnosis, and I can't help but think that was not an accident. Thank you to each and every single one of my friends, from the Spencerport days, the UCONN/Boston ones as well as Austin. The texts/calls/FaceTimes, the four ranch dressings that accompanied the gifted pizza, the ceaseless support, the preliminary idea to gather and watch a Bills game with Dad, the Steve anecdotes, the voicemails, the arbitrary stories I've requested when I can no longer discuss Cancer. I've never seen a Dad invest so much time in getting to know their daughters friends. And it reflects in just how much I see you all care.
We're not an entirely religious family, but if you are, please keep Dad in your prayers as we begin a new treatment. Try to cheer for the Bills this weekend. Don't sit around and waste a single day for a seemingly-practical reason. Please ask me for contact info for either of my parents. Please don't forget that my Mom needs support as well. Don't think that seeking therapy should be in any way, shape, or form embarrassing (it's beyond helpful). Please continue to tag me in entertaining memes or text me with gossip/stories/drama.
Mom, Dad and I are still in this fight, it's just dimmer now.
But as we know, "When the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow. Let it be."
october 15
Stumbled across a stack of handwritten letters from dad over the weekend. These letters were sent to me in Connecticut, Boston and Texas and span the entire decade since I last lived in New York.
I'm lucky to have a dad who supplemented phone calls and texts (..who didn't send his first text until 2015 b/c "technology is evil") with something tangible. These letters were written about everything. My breakups and how I would be okay, planning fun vacas, his pride when I delivered my brothers eulogy, excitement over upcoming holidays. Each one is signed, "love always, Dad."
It's been a tough week in Rochester, Dad's had some complications and has been in and out of both the hospital and a physical rehabilitation center for 14 days, fighting to make it back home to his place of comfort. For those who wish to correspond with dad, we would recommend it's not put off.
Whereas his cancer had plateaued for the past nine months, the fight is getting visibly, physically, and audibly tougher. But Dad (and mom) want me to continue any slice of normalcy as well as finish the Master's I'm 8 weeks away from in Austin. There's a letter of congratulations in that stack from my 2011 graduation from UCONN and I hope I'm able to complete this degree with Dad still here to echo that congratulatory sentiment. I'll be racking up more miles than usual between TX & NY for now.
And for the days we're apart, keep on fighting Daddio 💌 love always, Ash.
#screwcancerbecausedadhateswhenisayfuck
october 24
An insurmountable amount of sorrow surrounds me as I type the words that Dad will shortly enter into hospice care. Our family, along with the physical rehabilitation facility, have determined comfort ideally in a place closer to his beloved Spencerport home, our home for 23 years, is the best option at this point.
I will forever opt to remember the adventurous father as seen in these 2016 vids in Texas, Cali & NY (#volume for ceaselessly positive Super Bowl hope) as opposed to the repercussions of the Cancer progressing over the past 10 months. Any ray of hope we've had is barely a flicker of light now. But in one of our most recent conversations, I assured dad that I would forever choose the 28 years we've had together than choose 60+ years with anyone else.
'one day, you'll look, to see I've gone. for tomorrow may rain so, I'll follow the sun' 🎵
Continue to shine on, Daddio
november 1
Yesterday morning, Dad was transferred to the Aurora House hospice in Spencerport, an effortless 3 minutes down the road from our home ♥️. The house is beautiful (complete with a spacious living room, stocked kitchen, he's situated in a large room with a nice deck where our dog is able to visit) staff is equal parts affable, incredible (to all of us) and informative, and he is comfortable surrounded by meaningful items he loves.
While he is still accepting visitors, we would advise visits be kept to 30/45 minutes or less. This is partially because he tires easily and partially due to his selflessness continuing and causing guilt since according to him people have, "more interesting things to do in the world." As far as what to expect: Dad still looks pretty good! His physical limitations are pretty severe, though, and it's becoming more difficult for him to verbalize sentences in a timely fashion. His long-term memory is relatively good and as proof, he just recounted a detailed story from his college/party days (..apple doesn't fall far from the tree) and then proceeded to (slowly) tell a hospice nurse the set list from when we saw The Rolling Stones in Cali last year. Try to keep conversations positive as emotions tend to run high these days. Visits are still encouraged, though! 🙂
I know several of Dad's friends have added me on here for the purpose of updates. Feel free to text me for information or to inquire about visits any time.
One last request: everyone has been amazing asking how to best help. A few of us hope to watch the Bills/Jets game with Dad tomorrow but the Aurora House doesn't carry the NFL network. If anyone local has login info so I can stream it on my laptop, please let me know! (I attempted a Boston friends info and apparently we need a local provider). Overall, Mom and I feel a little better that Dad is in such caring hands and in such close proximity to his beloved Barkwood Lane. Happy November, y'all and #GoBills ♥️
november 8
We have come to a point where time is significantly beginning to dwindle down, and we are requesting no more non-family visitors. Bedside at the hospice, I often feel ineffably helpless, until I begin to tell Steve stories to the staff. We are honoring his request, as Dad wants you all to remember him the way that he was in said stories. During his good hours, I’ve conducted a final interview of sorts to ask about regrets, favorite moments, etc. It’s a project I’ll fully piece together later, but I would like to highlight his answer when I probed for advice he would give. “Tell everyone don’t waste time. Don’t ever waste time.” I know I’ve reiterated this but I continue to hear of friends implementing what’s happening to Dad into their own lives with concerts and travel and family time. And that’s literally all I can ask for.
Dad wants you to all remember him as the guy who would drive 13 hours round trip to Boston in one day to take our friends out to dinner for my birthday. As the Dad who road tripped with me to Austin for my 2014 move, fascinated as he saw the south for the first time. We spread that 24 hour drive out over 4 days and as much as he loved the bright lights of Austin and Nashville, his biggest takeaways and the stories he always tells are about the overalls and accents in Arkansas. For Steve is a lover of simplicity. While my favorite place in the world is Santorini or Spain, his is Spencerport. With a runner up of Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, a road trip we made every summer for 22 years. On the Vineyard we played the same board games and climbed the same lighthouse and had the same fish fry and chicken fingers as the sun set, year after year. And it never got old.
Staff seem to be astonished at his selflessness even in this final and finite time, until I told them about when he ran out of gas and walked a half mile to a gas station as to not disturb anyones plans. Even though she’s known him for a week, a nurse smiled and said, “Yep, that’s Steve.” After a family death on my 22nd birthday, my parents withheld funeral plans so I could stay and celebrate college graduation for a week. They postponed services yet again to allow me to stay in Austin last year during SXSW after my Grandma passed. Never wanting to miss out on life, even after a death. The Ragans… we just get it.
Dad wants to be remembered as the guy who unapologetically never gave up on the Bills. He would stick out games in rain and snow (except that oneee time he didn’t, and was on the front page of the D&C after the biggest comeback of NFL history with the headline, “I'm Going to Have to Live With This." photo #5). One game of a warmer climate was a Bills/Jaguars game in Florida. Dad funneled for the very first time (Dad!! Thought you were cool in college) per my request and played beer pong and when he was victorious, boasted, “so I paid for four years of college and you can’t even win in beer pong?” I didn’t get shamed from the trickle of C’s I got at UCONN on my parents dime, but that day I was shamed for my beer pong skills.
We’re all well aware of his passion for the Bills and the Beatles, but that same passion carried over for Saint Bonaventure. Dad went so far as to inform me for decades that I could date an individual of any race or sexual orientation… as long as they didn’t attend his rival school, Syracuse. As fate would have it, two weeks prior to his diagnosis, I had to say “Sorry Dad, he’s a ‘Cuse grad.” (Luckily, Dad has given Cor a fair shot but made sure he wore St. Bona' attire at the introductory dinner).
SPAGS @ RAGS. Every single, solitary Monday growing up, Dad would invite all of my SHS friends over for spaghetti. Little known fact, in the pre-Jeremy days, “SPAGS” was not only short for the name of the dinner, but also stood for Steve/Patty/Ashley/Ginger-Snap, (Ginger-Snap being the first mini-dachshund to grace the Ragan fam with its presence). Later we would become Steve/Patty/Ashley/Jeremy, then in the physical presence dwindle to Steve/Patty/Ashley. We are soon to be a duo of Patty/Ashley. But first came the duo of Steve/Patty.
Steve/Patty, both Bona’ grads, married at their beloved alma matter in 1985. I often hear stories of their college days as Steve/Patty try to convince me they had more parties and fun than I did in my UCONN days, a “fact” still disputed. They continued the party at countless Grateful Dead shows over the years. Mom and Dad came to every parents weekend I had in Connecticut for 4 years and I flew to hang with them in New Orleans and Vegas and Atlantic City while I lived away after college. (@KellyStewart remember our 21st birthday trip to Vegas when your return plane ticket went missing at the literal last second? I boarded LOLing insisting you’d be fine solo in Sin City for a night (..sry) but Dad stayed with you until you found it). During my interview, Dad said his fave concert of all time was when we saw Paul McCartney in the Cali desert last summer (profile pic). There were tears from both of us throughout Blackbird and Let it Be. His concert runner ups are all of the Dead & Company shows he’s seen with Mom over the years. They’ve done a lot together and Mom has been an incredible and ceaseless caregiver these past 10 months and a partner since the early 80’s.
In the 90s, Dad was my soccer coach for years and strived to be the epitome of fairness, he would rarely start me on the field because he truly did not believe in favoritism and he favored honesty. Our teams were usually less-than-exceptional, and while the Orange Tigers, Maroon Raccoons and Teal Tornadoes weren’t on the winning side of things, Dad ensured we went as a team for ice cream and that we always played fair.
And I wish life had been fair right back to him. He lost his son, parents and in-laws within the span of the last half-decade. His heart broke and never healed in regards to the death of my brother Jeremy. Dad wrote personal thank you notes to many of my friends who attended Jer’s funeral in 2011, and continued to visit the cemetery on a nearly daily basis until his January 2017 diagnosis stripped his ability to drive. Dad was never even given a fair shot at beating this cancer, and that has to be an impossible thing to grapple with.
Equally as impossible is seeing the extent to which everything is dwindling. As we close off the option to visit, we profoundly thank everyone for the parade of visitors we’ve had from every decade of Dads life. He’s been one of the most popular residents that the Aurora House has ever seen, (#hegetsitfromhisdaughter), thank you to those who made his Bills party possible last week. One thing I will not allow to dwindle is the life and legacy of Steve Ragan. After we are gone from this earth, stories are what remain. Dad, I will never stop breathing life into your stories. Bills and Beatles and St. Bonas, me and Mom and Jer, spaghetti and Spencerport, fairness simplicity and honesty. That’s a hell of a legacy you’ve created if I do say so myself ❤
‘blackbird singing in the dead of night,
take these broken wings and learn to fly.
blackbird fly,
blackbird fly,
into the light of the dark black night’
november 12
I've often heard others tell me they admire my strength during this time period. But I can assure those that I literally don't know how I would still be standing without the untiring support from friends all over. Most of our UCONN/Boston bunch has known and loved Dad for a decade since we began college, (pics on phones are those in other corners of the country/globe unable to be there), while a few haven't had the pleasure of meeting him.
On another afternoon that has been particularly tough with Dad in hospice, I'm suddenly made aware that these gems are holding a viewing party in Boston to root for Dad's beloved team, with signs and a t-shirt complete with his garbage plate order. The score of this game (😣) had been reflective of my/mom's spirits this morning, so thank you for genuinely uplifting them from states away♥️💙
november 16
One cool part of Dad's story I've failed to mention thus far is that prior to marketing for the New York Lottery, Dad was a sports writer with a column and a byline and the whole shebang. He's interviewed and told the stories of Bills and Sabres and nabbed newspaper awards and accolades for his writing abilities while remaining incredibly humble about it. Here's Steve in 1984 at his sports desk, awkwardly holding a pencil, clad in Buffalo gear. If this isn't inspo to garner my own byline someday, I don't know what is. #♥️The pride of being your daughter never ceases, Daddio
'so I want to be,
A paperback writer'
november 16
Niagara Falls, 1997. Sitting at Dad's bedside daydreaming of normalcy and childhood. This day I skipped school and we trekked an hour across the border to see the 'Falls and explore a butterfly museum. An actual truly candidly blissful #insta. This was a tremendous (Dad's fave word) day.
🎶 'before you cross the street, take my hand. life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans'
