For my brother, Alan Stoller
My Brother Alan
Alan was born on September 22, 1962, but the beauty of his story actually began WAY before he was born. You see, the first son born to my parents was Kenneth on September 14, 1961. Tragically, SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) took Kenneth’s life on December 20 at 3 months of age. Mom found Kenneth in his bassinet without breath, and by the time the first responders arrived there was nothing to be done. That was equally painful for my father, who was volunteering at the local First Aid Squad at the time and an eternal optimist. In those days I guess grief counseling wasn’t front and center, because my mother told me the mental health advice they received from the doctor was to get pregnant again right away. That really took my breath away to hear that recommendation, but knowing my mother the way I do, I knew she listened to the professional’s guidance and did just that.
Alan was born exactly 10 months after the passing of Kenneth. He was handsome and an absolute delight.
Alan soothed my parents’ souls and filled their hearts from the minute he arrived, and did so throughout his beautiful 47 years of life. He was brilliant, funny, positive, driven, and the consummate family man. He loved his wife and 3 children with all of his heart and went to the ends of the earth to show them all. He had many close friendships from childhood on, and everyone who met Alan adored him. And oh, his smile…it was his trademark as much as his sharp wit.
My Brother and Me
I was born only 14 months after Alan, and lived in the cocoon of his protective brotherly net while trying hard to be one of his most frequent sidekicks. In my attempt to get to the top of his partner-in-crime pecking order, I asked him to teach me a little about skiing one winter. It was a complete failure in my attempt to prove my value proposition. I can still hear him saying, “Get up, get up already!” as I lay on the ground laughing my butt off, unable to stand up with the constraints of the boots and bindings. We definitely gelled much better on a tennis court or out water skiing on Barnegat Bay, some of my favorite sidekick memories.
Alan’s room was directly across from mine, the walls adorned with red, white, and blue plaid wallpaper. It always smelled like a gym locker room and I loved holding my nose and reminding him the odor was wafting outside his zone. Peering in, I’d find him at his funky sawhorse style desk, flying through his homework so he could head to Frank’s house around the block and shoot hoops. But more often, he’d be on his bed hunched over some Pink Floyd sheet music, strumming his guitar with tongue curled against upper lip in fierce concentration. When he decided to buy an electric guitar and amp, the entire house reverberated with the rock and roll hits of the time. Trying to keep up with him, I took piano lessons and finally mastered all 14 pages of Stairway to Heaven. Score one for me.
After the “teasing versus retaliatory punches” chapter of our teenage years, our hearts became locked without ever consciously acknowledging it. It was sad to hear the unique rhythm of my brother’s heavy footsteps as he bounded down the staircase and out of our home to go to Colorado for college, leaving me to be the solo act in the house for a year before my turn to fly the coop. But man did my heart leap when I heard “Thud, thud, thud, THUD! Thud, thud, thud, THUD!” as his shoes rounded the staircase and he folded his 6 foot frame downward into my sisterly embrace, his mass of curls hitting my cheek in fine reunion during every school break.
During our adult years, we only lived in the same spot for a few years (Washington, DC). But man, it was great to hang with him and my new hubby, and it galvanized us as siblings and friends. When I relocated to Florida for my husband’s job, Alan brought me to the airport. We sobbed in each other’s arms as we said our goodbyes, and I’ll never forget how loved and heartbroken I felt all at the same time.
I had kids before Alan did. He was the best and most devoted uncle I could ever imagine. He flew to Florida to visit countless times and loved on my kids with all his being. Our daughters cherish his photos, stuffed animals, and memories to this very day.
My Brother Was Determined
Alan started his initial chemotherapy for Pleomorphic Rhabdomyosarcoma just before our daughter’s Bat Mitzvah, and he insisted right after that treatment he and his family would drive to North Carolina and not miss a minute of the family festivities. Family meant everything to him, and my heart burst with deep respect and gratitude. The months of suffering that followed until his death in July 2010 were beyond anything my mind could comprehend, and I have chosen not to recount them here. Instead, I’ll share my reflection in the email to friends and family alerting them to his passing.
I am at a loss to describe all that I have felt and learned over this last year, but the most accurate description of it all would be “gratitude”. I am grateful for the many months that I was honored to spend with Alan, Robyn, and the children. I have been brought to my knees in humbled reverence in witnessing Alan’s refusal to surrender literally until his body gave its last breath. I am in awe of Alan’s courage, determination, and eventual acceptance of his fate. I have made new friends, shed countless tears, and laughed until my belly hurt. I have lived and loved fully with my eyes wide open and I have also surrendered a beloved brother and friend to G-d. I would change nothing and I have no regrets. I am grateful.
My Brothers: Flower #177 in Seasons of Life
I chose to donate to the Paula Takacs Foundation and honor Alan and Kenneth’s lives by “sponsoring” Winter Flower #177 in Seasons of Life. My brother’s lives are forever intertwined in my mind, just like the white and blue spiral in gorgeous harmony inside that flower. Likewise, as I stand before Seasons of Life, I see Alan and Kenneth’s lives lovingly surrounded by so many other people, some of whom have befriended me through our shared experiences with cancer. Seasons of Life is a priceless gift from artist Jake Pfeifer. To me, it one great, big show of love for us all. It is reflection of everyone’s light. It reminds us of the fragility of life. Joy, hope, and love in a perfect cadence of shape and color.
Susan Udelson
Growing Hope Through Art Program Lead
The Paula Takacs Foundation for Sarcoma Research
Susan’s brothers are forever honored and remembered by Flower #177, and her mother by Flower #131 in the Seasons of Life art installation.
Please gift a flower of your choice in honor of your loved one who has faced a cancer diagnosis, and help us fund sarcoma research and awareness in the hopes of saving more lives.
