MSI Press Blog

  There’s more hope these days when it comes to cancer—if it’s caught early, you’ve got a fighting chance. But people still die. Every year, every month, every day. Carl did. And recently, I stumbled across an article I wish had found its way to me before he died. It was written by Barbara Karnes, and it laid out something I hadn’t heard said quite so plainly before: “We die the way we live.” That line stopped me cold. Because she’s right—at least about Carl. He was an introvert to the core. Even after his diagnosis, there were no late-night heart-to-hearts, no raw confessions, no leaning into each other with the kind of aching honesty I craved. He simply couldn’t go there. And that silence—it wears on a caregiver. Carl was also an ostrich. I don’t say that with judgment. It’s just... true. All through our life together, I handled the hard stuff. He stayed sunny, cheerful, often by refusing to acknowledge the storm clouds altogether. Denial was his way of coping. It was how he kep...

  Someone in authority said this week—though I can’t quite recall who—that “Anyone who does not die of something else will die of cancer.” It stopped me in my tracks. Is that where we are now? It might sound like a grim philosophical riddle, but the context was very real. The speaker wasn’t invoking fate; they were pointing to a terrifying truth about how prevalent cancer has become . If heart disease doesn’t get you, if you don’t have a fatal accident, if infection is avoided, if the brain stays strong and the organs keep going… then yes, cancer is waiting in the wings, statistically speaking. And it’s not an exaggeration. Cancer is already one of the leading causes of death worldwide—and the longer we live, the more chances cells have to misbehave. But does it have to be this way? Let’s walk through the logic. Yes, if you subtract all other causes of death, then—by default—cancer becomes the final villain. But that doesn’t mean we are powerless. That doesn’t mean cancer i...

  Small businesses are often co-owned by spouses. The partnership blends life and work, weaving together shared goals, hopes, and sacrifices. But what happens when one of those partners becomes terminally ill—and not gradually, but suddenly, with a diagnosis that leaves little time to prepare? That was the reality I faced when Carl, my husband of over 51 years, was diagnosed with multiple late-stage cancers. His health declined rapidly, and he pushed hard to close our business—something we had built together—because he could no longer do the work he had always managed. On the surface, his wish was simple: “I’m dying, and I want everything to stop with me.” But for those left behind, nothing stops. Life keeps demanding care, attention, and difficult decisions. I was caring not only for Carl, but also for our disabled son and a daughter who needed support. And the business—our livelihood—still needed running. Carl saw one piece of the picture: his need for full-time care and atten...

  Memorial Day is more than a holiday for me—it’s a deeply personal day of remembrance, reflection, and gratitude. It holds significance for me in three ways, each carrying its own weight of emotion and meaning. First, as a veteran who served during the Vietnam Conflict, I take this day to honor those I knew—those who fought, those who sacrificed, and those whose lives were forever altered by their service. Some of my military friends never returned home, and others carried the burdens of war long after leaving the battlefield. Today, I remember them. Memorial Day, traditionally observed by visiting cemeteries, is an opportunity for all of us to pause and recognize their courage. That brings me to Carl. His grave is another stop I will make today—not for military service, but because he, too, was taken far too soon. Cancer of Unknown Primary was his battle, and although his illness wasn’t linked to war, I can’t help but think of the veterans—especially those who served during Vie...