[1] the initial announcement - january 2017

I’m not quite sure how to start this as it greatly pains me to even type the words. My dad, who is quite literally the best person on earth, was recently diagnosed with Brain Cancer. 

As a friend stated to me this morning, “You and your dad are as close as a father/daughter tandem that I’ve ever seen.” There’s no other way to put it.  The nurse at Strong Hospital told me that dad is more concerned about me than he is himself. Because that’s Steve Ragan. As I rushed up to Rochester to be by his side for his biopsy, he apologized profusely if i was missing “any fun parties or good concerts in Austin." Because that’s Steve Ragan. Dad noticed something was severely wrong hours prior to his poker party at our house last week, but kept it quiet as he didn’t want to cancel or disappoint anyone. Because that’s Steve Ragan. Poker and fun first, hospital and severity later. (...I am my father’s daughter). Perhaps to have one last slice of a normal life, which my parents attempted to grant me as they pushed off that somber phone call hour by hour. I’ve gotten these phone calls several times now. As many as you know, in the past six years, I have lost all of my grandparents as well as my little brother Jeremy. But the experiences have allowed mom, dad and I to become this trio of a team, which we presumed indestructible. 
Now my dad, who would do anything at anytime for anyone, will battle for his life. We won’t sugarcoat it, his Cancer is aggressive. (I would like to take the time to throw in here a just-as-aggressive #FUCKcancer).

If you’ve ever met him, which so many of you have, you love him. As there is no other way. Dad was our childhood soccer coach. Dad tells, and laughs at, his own dad jokes. Dad was phenomenal to both Jeremy and me growing up. He drove 6 hours through the night when I was a college sophomore and experiencing my first real heartbreak. He continued to make that same drive annually to UCONN and Boston just to treat me and my friends to dinner for my birthday, turn around and drive home, arrive back in Spencerport at 3 a.m., rise and go to work in the morning. Dad has flown to Austin to meet my friends several times, and happily bar hopped with us in 105 degree weather, never a complaint uttered from the man who much prefers blizzards to even mild heat. He wrote meaningful thank you notes to those who attended my brother's funeral. Dad tried to help me for an hour last week from 1,600 miles away when I locked my keys in my trunk. 

He is attempting to hold as much positivity as possible, presumably more for us than for himself, and continues to make the same old dad jokes. Upon my arrival to the hospital and him spotting my new-(ish) upward arrow tattoo, he couldn’t help but rib me and inquire, “Why and when did you get that dog bone tattooed on your arm?” Upon hearing latest boy news, he asked if I was trying to give him a heart attack, too. Because although I'm 27, to him, I’m still his little girl.

He credits me as getting him out of the northeast over the past few years, with visits to Texas and NOLA and Nashville and Vegas and this past year a few flights out to California. We road tripped to the desert and to the mountains and to a wedding and to witness the Bills emerge victorious in L.A. We attended Desert Trip and both had tears as together we watched the Rolling Stones and our fave, Paul McCartney, perform live. At first, dad protested and suggested we wait and see if Desert Trip 2 would happen in summer 2017, as he was in the midst of dealing with his own mother’s death. For me, that was a big "Hell no," as I shelled out my usual and expected response of, “We’re going this summer, because you never know what could happen to either one of us.” 

You guys, I can’t stress enough: GO, do, fly, drive, adventure, take a sick day, attend the music fest, take the road trip, go see your parents, never leave that concert early to avoid traffic, never leave the Bills game early for any reason (Dad still has the copy of the front page of the D&C he was interviewed for after leaving his beloved Bills prematurely on the night of the “biggest comeback in the NFL in history.”) So please, do it all. And do it now. Don’t wait until “it makes sense.” 

So, why be so public? Well, writing and storytelling is therapeutic for me. And I’ve always believed that the world could use a little more candid honesty and a little less bullshit. We have had enough days to privately grasp and process the severity of the situation. And quite honestly, at this point we can all use any level of support. A profound thank you to those who have continuously been there for me over the past week. This is not a bullshit blanket, “Thanks to my friends” statement. To me, friends are family and the outreach has kept me going. Dad has received messages from many of my friends and each has made him smile (I’m happy to give out his cell number or AOL ((lol)) email to anyone who would like to share anything with him. An anecdote of hope in a similar situation, your thoughts, well-wishes or #goodvibes. The prognosis isn’t great, and we’re now solely operating with and focusing on positivity. A testament to said positivity of Steve Ragan: his response to this diagnosis was, “How long has someone lived with this? Because I want to beat that record.” He’s antsy and anxious to start the fight of his life. 

As for me, I’ll be in Rochester indefinitely. I may be able to pop in and out sporadically if I feel comfortable doing so. But my focus now is to be in Spencerport and assist with treatment in any way that I can. I know, this is shocking and it’s thoughtful and much appreciated of y’all to continuously check in. But friends, please also continue to share details with me about your everyday lives. Distractions are needed. Continue to tag me in amusing memes and send along pointless Buzzfeed lists. Pass along any part-time work or volunteer opportunities in ROC, and book and Netflix suggestions are appreciated. Send and send and send and send Dad your prayers. The short-term goal is for the three of us to attend to Grateful Dead and Company in Chicago this summer as planned. The long-term goal is to beat the Hell out of the odds. I wholeheartedly thank you all for keeping me, Mom and Dad in your thoughts and prayers. 

"When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be"