"I had always hoped my stellar vocals, captivating writing or general intoxicating personality would win me my 15 minutes, but alas, life doesn't always come as we planned."
Karen Fern Anderson
5.20.1962 - 8.27.2010

Those taken by war or terrorism garner public attention, but loss is loss to any family. Grief is ultimately private, yet cuts especially deep, I now know, when overshadowed by public demonstrations of national mourning as on 9/11.

A member of our family was taken by a different enemy: Cancer. That loss is no less tragic, no less special. But we can better understand the enormity of each family’s grief on 9/11/01.

Our Karen, my very first niece, my sister Judy’s daughter, wife, mother, sister, cousin, teacher, healer, friend, after three long years fighting the deadly cancer melanoma with single-minded determination and eight final days of incredible staying power, finally left us. Friday, August 27, 2010.

Only two weeks ago. Such a short anniversary. Those commemorating the anniversary of September 11 have had nine years for the reality of personal loss to sink in -- if it ever will. But most had little time, no time, to say good-bye.

We have something to offer them, in retrospect. Not comfort exactly, but validation of one regret we want them to know should not haunt them. I wish I could tell them it would have helped, but I can’t.

Of the many lessons we learned during Karen’s intrepid journey, here’s the hardest one: No matter how much advance notice you’re given, it’s never enough. It will not make a dent in your grief.

Even if you know it will happen, when it finally comes, especially to one much too young, much too soon, it's a gut punch you can’t avoid. 

You think you’re prepared. You aren’t. You think you’ve said your good-byes. You haven’t. You think, you hope the end of her suffering will be welcome. It isn’t. Not really. Not when your pain continues. Not when your whole reality has shifted. Forever.

“I’ve been expecting the phone to ring, and Karen either laughing, complaining about something, or asking a favor, or telling me something.  And it hasn’t rung.  Not once. It’s going to take me a while to get used to that. But I’m never going to like it.” Karen’s mother Judy

The loss of a home’s central figure, a family’s shining star, a focus of so much energy and love, both in sickness and in healthy times, is catastrophic. Infuriating. Bewildering. It leaves a gaping hole in all our lives.

“I don’t understand why this is happening.” Amy, age 12

Without Karen, there is a huge gap in the fabric of our family. We hadn’t realized just how huge until she was actually, truly gone. Yes, life goes on, there are distractions, activities, school, friends, work, whatever … but the emotions of grief, the anger, the memories, the regrets rise up, will stay for a long time.

Another lesson, an important lesson: Tragic loss doesn’t convey “sainthood.” If you’re honest, it reveals the totality of the person’s life. You remember it all, the bad with the good. If you can acknowledge that, you might start to heal a little sooner.

“She was always around, she was sometimes the bane of my existence, and now Karen is gone.  And I miss her. I miss the funny, happy Karen with her excellent mothering techniques and her total devotion to her children.”  Judy

Karen's battle against the implacable disease Uveal Melanoma was unwavering, uncompromising, valiant, an inspiration to all. Yes, she lost the battle. But not the war.

Throughout increasingly toxic procedures, meds, reactions, setbacks, pain, indignities and fears, yes, Karen sometimes cried, raged, complained. But she never lost her iron will to survive or her love for her family. And she more often relied on her unique sense of humor.

“Waiter, may I have a side of nausea with that chemo, please?” Karen

During those final difficult but precious days in hospice, she was still making jokes, reaching out to reassure her children, give comfort to the rest of us and ask questions about the journey ahead.

Eating little, strength lessening, increasing amounts of morphine numbing her body, still she fought to maintain Normal. To grab even the smallest pleasures one more time.

"Screw it, somebody go get me a quarter-pounder with cheese, medium fries and a Diet Coke." Karen, 3 days before her death

Eventually Karen gave in, but she never gave up. Even as her body failed her, she fought to keep her spirit strong. And she won. Only then could she accept the inevitable and agree to leave her legacy –those beautiful children-- in our hands.

Alex , Amy, younger days

Karen's husband and her mother, supported by a devoted community of family and friends will not let her down. She set a standard of excellence we will strive mightily to meet. For her children. For ourselves.

“Her wonderful children haven’t yet realized what the future will bring without Mommy, but as they settle into school and life it will slowly hit them, and I hope I can be there to help get them past it.  My mantra has been that you don’t get over it, but you do get past it.  They’re awfully young to lose a Mom; my heart breaks for them.  But she has instilled in them the best possible values, morals and ethics, which should take them far.” Judy

I remember and treasure the strength, the love, the warmth, the generosity, the humor, the rockin' attitude that drew everyone into Karen's orbit, this extraordinary woman who packed a lifetime of amazing into 48 short years.

Karen and The Boss 

Were there also shadows and dark corners where disappointment, anger, fear, regret, the ups and downs common to every human life lurked? Hell yes. In fact, much darker shadows than any human being should have to bear.

There were times Karen was down, but she was never out. That vibrant personality never flagged. Her positivity and faith and humor never wavered. She gave us hope. As her memory still does. As it always will.

Cycle of Life

Karen, me

We joked about this, but it's the essence of family continuity. My sister Judy babysat for me. Then I babysat for her kids, Gary and Karen. Then they did the same for my son. And he did the same for their kids. As we expect they will do someday for his. And so on, and so on.

Mike, Karen, Kenny, first cousins at play

I remember some of her early years, her mother remembers every moment.

“She was a crabby, crying baby, our friends in our apartment complex referred to her as ‘Lungs.’

She suddenly turned so pretty. She hadn’t begun that way but my Grandmother pointed out how pretty she was. She was about 3 or 4 and just charming.” Judy

Gary and Karen

My best memories are not of Karen's childhood but her college and adult years, when our age difference became insignificant. When we were close, intimate friends, more like sisters.

I can’t embarrass my grown son by sharing the classic video of Karen and him when he was 9, side by side on hands and knees on his bed, Karen teaching him how to fart to relieve a stomachache. But I can tell you that every time we watched it we laughed again at all of us laughing just as much on screen. (Yes, he achieved success under her guidance).

No farting, just cuddling

Memories filled with joy, fun, and most of all, best of all, howling, side-splitting laughter. In fact, I can't remember a time we talked, hung out or got together as a family (outside a hospital... although often inside one too) where laughter didn't rule at Karen's command.

I’ve written about our annual Thanksgiving feasts filled with so much food and laughter it was hard to tell which really sent us all staggering to easy chairs and sofas, bent over, exhausted.

Long after the sharp pain of her loss has dimmed, even now while it's still fresh, my most enduring images of Karen are bathed in humor and sound: her dry, deadpan delivery, her multi-layered laugh, sliding from little girl giggles into a raucous roar, down to breathless guffaws and back up to helpless howls. Infectious beyond words. And her golden singing voice.

Fast forward through her Mad Men suburban childhood, high school, college (Junior Year abroad in France, she missed my wedding!) to the heady days as lead singer for the John Alexander Band and for the tribute band Living Earth.

Karen, public performance

That voice. Part Janice, part Carly, part Bette, all Karen. That mane of wild blond curls. That lush body. That face, different from every angle, expressing toughness, tenderness, pixie or sexy, always the hint of laughter, a glimpse of a soul bursting with joy.  

At Karen's memorial, the synagogue was packed to the rafters, standing room only. The rabbi, whose voice broke often even as he tried to guide us in a celebration of her life, told a crucial piece of her story.

Singer, Friend, Wife

Behind the scenes with the band was a quiet guy named Bob, a bit of a nerd, he ran the equipment, had his eye on Karen from the start. Those long legs in mini skirt or shorts and cowboy boots. That take-no-prisoners confidence. The little girl grins breaking through the come-hither glances.

He was a goner. She wouldn't, couldn't see him.

Almost five years later, back from LA where she'd done a little modeling, a little singing, a little show-biz, a lot of growing, they met up again, became friends. Close, trusting friends.

She saw him clearly then, straight through to the true heart of the kind, decent, smart, honorable rock of a man who became her soul mate, her husband, the love of her life. As she was his.

Mother, Daughter

Karen left her rock star days behind for a new dream, a solid marriage to a loving, hard-working husband, a quiet suburban life, two kids and a dog, teaching and some massage therapy too, still the healer. First and foremost, a Mom. 

Karen, baby Alex

"She fought for them. I’m so proud that both kids are in all honors classes.  She taught music at the synagogue Sunday School, and began substitute teaching in the Margate Schools. Her students loved her, quite obvious when she bumped into them outside of school and everyone was so happy to see everyone else." Judy

Judy, Karen, Amy

Judy, Karen

"I already miss Karen’s hourly/daily calls. I could always tell by her ‘Hello’ voice what frame of mind she was in, and when I heard the ‘down’ voice I just listened. Not just during her illness, it  goes back years. I could go somewhere even I didn’t know I was going, and the minute I got there the phone would ring and it was Karen.  We joked that I could run but I couldn’t hide." Judy

Karen continued singing, in community theaters, first on her own, then with Amy, now 12, who inherited her mother's golden voice. Listening to tapes of them singing, the memory of their voices blending, fills my eyes and my heart.

Amy as 'Belle'

They were mother and daughter, but more than that, yet another generation filled with love and laughter and a solid bond. Plus, of course, the rules and boundaries and responsibilities a good mother instills.

"Twenty sixth graders at my house? Security!! Party is on, Amy is in charge and I have doubled up on my meds. This will be so much fun!!!" Karen

Amy has Karen’s determination, ambition, her iron will, her sense of humor. She’ll learn about that as she grows, becoming all that her mother was, and more, with the depth and strength and committed work ethic of her father too.

Cancer-Fighting Mother

Every parent's nightmare became an everyday fact of life for Karen and Bob, for all of us, when Alex was only four. VHL (Von Hippel-Lindau) disease, a very rare cancer which had invaded his brain.

Alex lost the inside of his right ear. And a chunk of his skull, replaced with medical cement. Later, Karen would joke with him when he misbehaved, "What’s your problem, you got cement in your head?"

Humor. Most often how Karen regained her footing and stepped up. She reorganized their lives to create a healthier lifestyle. Taught others how to do it too.

“She advocated for any cause she believed in, and threw herself into it all.” Judy

She was a tireless proponent for VHL research and funding to search for a cure. Through more surgeries over the years, the whole family pitched in, joining Karen and Alex's efforts. We will, unfortunately, continue to support his ongoing battle.

Melanoma Fighter

Karen at our house, trying out the eye patch

Uveal Melanoma is not skin cancer, it's more insidious, like VHL, though they are unrelated. Tumors start in the eye, grow and can spread rapidly, without warning.

First doctors tried a radioactive chip in her eye. Her hospital stay was far from pleasant but she managed to be gracious And to make us laugh. When I wrote about her ordeal, she left this comment on my blog:

"Thank you for teaching me about egg crates, keeping the creepy radiation meter guy away, and yes, even ordering the damn injection to make the room stop spinning. Thank you for keeping me stocked in straws. Thanks for taking Alex on the shopping spree and letting him get me organic food. And let’s give thanks together ... for potato chips. Amen.”  

Forget basic black, it's time for bling!

Two years ago, six months after the radiation treatment failed, the same doctors removed Karen’s right eye to stem the disease. I’d have been a wreck. Karen was too busy being a mom, running her home, even cooking. Less than a week later she sent me an IM:

"Bulletin: peeling an onion is now only HALF as annoying." 

The 'Mom Mitzvah'

When it became apparent Karen would not be there for Amy's bat mitzvah in October, we arranged a special service in the hospital chapel, just family and a few close friends. The rabbi offered traditional blessings, Amy read her most important prayers, Karen gave Amy a ring now passed down for five generations.

Spirituality, faith, love, laughter, tradition, family. It was all that and so much more. We know that in October, at Amy's formal bat mitzvah, the memory of the 'Mom Miztvah' as Bob called it, and Karen herself will be there with us in our hearts.

I've chronicled her increasing battle with melanoma during the past two years. She fought to live with everything she had, and then some. I didn't know it at the time, but in describing her courage after losing her eye, I had already written her epitaph.

The rabbi read it at her memorial, an honor that will stay with me the rest of my life.

Karen's Epitaph

Fight back. Mobilize. Energize. Laugh. Love. Live. Learn all you can. Gather your physical and emotional resources. Seek and accept support and advice. Lean on your loved ones and stand on your own two feet.

According to Karen's example, that's what you do to survive. More, that's how you live life to the fullest.

Karen is a survivor of the highest order. An inspiration to cancer victims, mothers of cancer victims, other survivors and those who are trying to be. An object lesson to those of us who waste time moaning about petty problems.

Karen is such a warm, courageous, loving person. She virtually glows with goodness and light. Which she can only see from one side now.

I can tell her what I see when I look at her -- I see unbelievable courage.

I only wish I saw half as much myself.

Karen was a hero, a force of nature. It defined her life. And ours. If you knew her, it had an effect on your life too.

“I will try my best to pick up whatever pieces I can.  I will arrange doctor’s appointments of which, unfortunately, Alex has too many. I will endeavor to take over the enormous amount of day-to-day ‘stuff’ Karen did for her family. But I know I’ll never replace the real Mom, the one with whom they were so close and relied upon so completely.”  Judy

Judy’s right, of course, she can’t replace their mother, no one can. But she has a very special bond of her own with Alex and Amy. This is what I told her, which I believe completely.

“That day in the doctor’s office she couldn't have been clearer, ‘Take care of my children.’ She entrusted them to you, knowing that you will do her proud. You have been a stupendous Grammy and a damn fine mother. She knew that, she trusted you with her most precious ‘legacy,’ her children.”

I hope Judy can hold on to that, remember and take comfort knowing there’s no greater tribute from a daughter than to place her beloved children, and their future, in her own mother’s care.

"So maybe I'll never get to sing with The Grateful Dead, Bruce Springsteen or Carly Simon. I have other gifts to bring to this world and a legacy unmatched by anyone; my children. So I'll Keep on Truckin, in Anticipation, cause baby I was Born to Run!" Karen Fern Anderson, 5.20.1962 - 8.27.2010

Karen's memory will Keep on Truckin for all of us, especially through her priceless legacy, Alex and Amy. Never was a brighter spirit Born to Run through our hearts and minds than Karen.

She is surely laughing and singing on life's greatest stage now, entertaining multitudes. If you listen carefully, with Anticipation, you can hear the heavenly applause.

Rest in peace, Karen. And, as most of us prefer to say, Rock On!

So far, the only one I could find of, Karen singing with the band:

We continue to honor her shining example. You can too at www.teamkaren.net.

Donations in her memory gratefully accepted:

Team Karen, c/o Cape Bank
7806 Ventnor Avenue
Margate City, NJ 08402