More Alive Than Ever, Battling Leukemia
My Uncle David Wolf lived his life like a perfectly built car. And he handled death like a perfectly refurbished antique car. He had many passions, one of which was his love of cars. He had a repair business out of his garage early on in life to pay the bills to take care of his family and education for his next career passion, the field of education. And the thing that set him apart with his metaphorical, more antique car, when his body mileage was running out of days, was how he handled those final two years once he was diagnosed with AML or Leukemia. But let me go back in time first with you.
My Uncle, my Dad’s older brother, my Grandparents Rabbi Alfred and Miriam Wolf’s oldest son, was a tough guy. A brief rundown. David played football as a kid. He loved football. He didn’t love when his Mom ran on the field when he got hurt. He was not one to show much emotion. He was a fist bumper before it was cool. He was an action first guy. He road motorcycles until his wife of 55 years, my Aunt Ruth, told him that was no longer acceptable. She had a look when he knew enough was enough, possibly the only look he truly listened to, at least some of the time. He even stole hubcaps as a kid, not something a Rabbi necessarily is pleased with when informed of the situation and must go to a certain location to deal with when his son gets caught. These were some of the earlier years of my Uncle’s life, when his engine to his car was just revving up.
My Uncle was a leader, all the way until his last days. He led by example and he led by his presence. He was the President of Pierce College among many academic leadership positions. He was also on countless boards and started a college fund for kids in need of education. As his life car settled in, always in good condition with some mileage and shine, now in the middle of it’s life, say with 75,000 miles on it, that’s when he really cruised, raising my two cousins, Ben and Eric. He showed what marriage team work is all about, with Ruth, his wife, my aunt. They were a team. They even argued as a team. Their disagreements were stuff of a good movie. A great movie. A comedy too. Their banter was dialogue as if written by Woody Allen meets David E. Kelly. To the point, witty, funny, and Jewish.
My Uncle was my Uncle. I was lucky to be part of his car’s life. I was his only Nephew, an extra privilege. He got me to like football. He got me to like or be interested in near everything he was interested in. His passion for whatever was his thing at the moment was contagious when talking to him or in the room with him. Garage sales, one of his things, were cool because he liked them. And when he was displeased with something, you knew it. In my case, that was not to long ago. He was displeased with me and he knew how to make me know it in that painful way where I knew I had disappointed him. Jewish guilt doesn’t hold a candle to the David Wolf disappointment guilt. Ooof. That’s when you know it’s time to do something about that one. His car was running along. But man I knew that mine needed a major tune up.
And then there were our bets. We had our teams, him, the 49ers, Golden State Warriors and of course, San Francisco Giants. Me, the Dodgers (you see where I’m going here), Clippers and Miami Dolphins. We called our incredibly valuable payments to the winner of the bets Shekels. But they were never Israeli currency. These were mainly worthless items, from weird coins to things like Giants shirts if I won (not my favorite attire), to tokens from Chuck E Cheese, to one particularly odd wooden coin with a cowboy on it. Why this was made in the first place is beyond me. But I own it now and it’s priceless. Our bets were a tradition and while the gifts were worthless, the competition was real.
Now comes the end of his Car’s journey. Let’s say he’d put over 200 thousand miles on the car, likely one of his favorite older model antique BMW, and his Leukemia diagnosis comes in. It was a shock to us all. How could one of the strongest people we know have something that makes someone so weak and then kills him. Impossible. Well it was very possible and very real. The difference here is it didn’t make Uncle David weaker. It made him stronger. He took the diagnosis, not as a feel sorry for yourself, pity sadness, but as a new opportunity to show strength. He wrote a blog documenting what it was like to live with his disease and all he was doing, accomplishing, reading, watching, building (an old Citroen car for one) as well as sharing life lessons and stories of life’s journey, family relationships friendships, experiences, missteps and accomplishments . His final sign off was days before his death, dedicated to his wife Ruth and will be one of the most profound pieces of writing I’ll ever read. People far and wide who didn’t know him read his blogs. These became 600 pages of strength, perseverance and once again, leading by example.
So, to my Uncle David, I will take this all to my grave and share your story far and wide for the rest of my life. Your car of life never stopped running until you decided it was time, even handling your last days on your own accord. A true showpiece, front of the museum, fancy display case car. And Uncle David, from your nephew, me, I will always be looking at the box scores and seeing who wins our bets each year for as long as I am on this earth. And when I lose I will give some Shekels to Aunt Ruth because I know I’ll have to pay off my debts. Right now the Dodgers and Clippers are looking like this year might go my way, so this year I’ll give you a pass. You’ve done your part. I thank you. Your car can be put in the garage now.
