MSI Press Blog

  When Carl was diagnosed with cancer of unknown primary (CUP), we didn't know yet what that meant. We had never heard of it before. Even after we learned more, we still clung to hope—because that’s what the doctors appeared to be offering. But their actions told a different story. CUP is brutal. It's rare and aggressive, and statistically, not many people survive it. The median survival rate hovers around 6 to 12 months. Fewer than 20% of patients live longer than a year. And Carl didn’t have just one form of cancer—he had five types present. They still couldn’t tell where the cancer began. Now, looking back, I understand what the oncologist must have seen in those test results. I also understand why they still tried to sound hopeful. The treatment plans were delivered with upbeat tones: targeted therapies, potential clinical trials, aggressive chemo. But there were moments—small, seemingly innocuous moments—when the mask of optimism slipped. One doctor handed Carl an advance ...

  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...

  When Carl fell on February 23, we thought he might have simply twisted something. We didn’t know we were beginning a five-month sprint toward the end of his life — or that he would be diagnosed with not one, but five types of cancer, all in their final stages. There weren’t many “good” days between then and his death on August 16. And yet, in those months, Carl gave us gifts that would outlast him — gifts that would make our lives not just survivable, but better. That reality has filled me with a deep gratitude... and a quiet, stubborn guilt. Because while he was dying, he was also teaching me how to live without him. Carl had always done the cooking. I could burn toast without even trying. But with time running out, he started showing me how to prepare meals — simple at first, then a little more complex. It wasn’t just about food; it was about helping me feed a life he wouldn’t be part of. He taught me about landscaping too — when to prune, what to watch for, how to keep the veg...

Every Earth Day, we’re reminded of the quiet power of planting trees—the way one life can ripple outward, sheltering, nourishing, and healing. For us, it’s not just a metaphor. It’s real. When Carl , a former forester and nature photographer (and MSI Press LLC typesetter and graphic artist), died of cancer of unknown primary, he chose to donate his body to Science Care so it could continue helping others through medical research or education. That final act of generosity didn’t end with science. Every year since, on the anniversary of his death, we receive a certificate: Science Care has planted a tree in Carl’s honor. Somewhere in the world, roots are digging deep, branches are reaching skyward, and green life is quietly unfolding—because of him. Carl taught us that giving doesn’t have to stop when a heartbeat does. That love can be rooted in memory and still grow. That Earth Day isn’t just about the planet—it’s about each other. So today, we plant. We remember. We believe in growth a...