Worth Fighting For: Love, Loss, and Moving Forward

by Lisa Niemi Swayze; Lisa Niemi

  June 7, 2008

  I had been learning to “Embrace the Alligator,” as I called it. Those thoughts about the future were about hurt and fear. But under that hurt and beyond that fear lay love and gratitude.

  —

  ON JUNE 12, 2008, we were on our ranch in New Mexico for the thirty-third anniversary of our marriage. Once Patrick was feeling better and his treatment was stable, we started spending as much time at our ranch as we could. Rancho de Dias Alegres had been our longtime dream from when we were first together as teenagers and young adults and is several thousand acres of varied mountain forest, streams, and open rolling terrain in raw New Mexico beauty.

  We had been looking at ranches in various states for a number of years when we, by accident, happened to visit an Arabian horse breeder’s ranch just a stone’s throw from Rancho de Dias Alegres. I remember driving onto the horse ranch’s property in a beat-up old car we had borrowed from the local airport we had flown into, and we worried that the car wouldn’t get us back since we had to time the climb up the hills so that we’d be heading downhill when it stalled. Anyway, we pulled into the breeder’s drive. And when I got out, and my foot touched the ground . . . tears came into my eyes out of nowhere. The land had so much soul. I was so moved, and I knew for myself that this was the place. Patrick loved it, too, and wholeheartedly agreed.

  When Patrick got sick, one of the first things he said, and said painfully, was, “I just got all the camping equipment organized at the ranch . . . and now I may not ever get to use it.” It was curious that this was one of his first comments when he got sick, but it showed me how much joy the ranch gave him. And he’d spent hours, days, weeks organizing, wrapping, and fixing camping equipment for us and for our friends when they’d visit. He loved it there. So much so that it was hard for him to leave it sometimes.

  For our anniversary on that June 12, I fixed a picnic of food that I could heat up over a fire, and we headed out to our favorite camping spot—a lovely sloping meadow with a pond reflecting Hermit’s Peak in the distance. We had a fancy lunch (for a cookout anyway) with a red-checked tablecloth set out with champagne for me and Gatorade for him, and enjoyed the afternoon, strolling through the camp talking about what else we’d like to do with the campsite and watching the sun set with the smell of warm pine surrounding us.

  In earlier weeks we had tentatively broached the idea of renewing our wedding vows. I say tentatively because neither of us wanted the other to think that this was some kind of last-ditch effort because someone might die in the near future. When we finally said it out loud to each other, we discovered that we had both been thinking the same thing.

  “I always thought renewing our vows would be a neat thing to do,” Patrick said.

  “Really? Me, too!” I replied.

  But we put the thought on hold. Mostly because things had been so busy and stressful, and then shortly after, the tabloids reported that we had already renewed our vows in New Mexico and somehow it just kinda spoiled the spontaneity of the idea!

  In late June we joined our friends Steve and Marci at what we called the “Burro Pasture” on the south part of the ranch. It was a family round-up, doctoring and branding the new babies near the Tecalote River. We gathered up about thirty mamas and their young calves.

  Steve had brought an extra horse that was well trained for cattle work, and entreated Patrick, “Ride him, I think you’ll like him.” Patrick, dressed in his cowboy gear and chaps, jumped on him to start roping and bringing calves over to be treated.

  All the cowboys at the ranch like to do things the old-fashioned way. Keeping the old skills alive. They also believe it’s less stressful on the calves than driving them through tight-squeeze chutes and such. I have to say, it’s probably more work doing it the old-fashioned way, but more fun for them. I was impressed with how much more organized everyone was than the last time I saw them do this. I say “I saw them” because I don’t have much of a desire to tug little calves around and stick something hot and sizzling into their backsides! But I love the cattle, and I enjoy walking alongside them on my horse, and looking at their big beautiful eyes. Everyone had a job—Patrick, Steve, and Steve’s ranch manager, Jeff, would sort, rope the rear legs of the calves, and drag them to the fire. Steve and Marci’s sons and a couple of friends held the calves down while one did the branding. Marci and Jeff’s wife, Phyllis, prepared the shots and administered them quickly before the calves got too rowdy. Me? I took pictures and tried not to get run over by a horse steamrolling my way. And then it started to rain! One of our freezing afternoon thundershowers. Take all this activity and speed it up two to three times faster! Patrick was soaked to the bone as he rode out the gate. We were wet and cold as we hurried to load horses back in the trailers, grab our overcoats, and get in our cars, wondering about the mud we’d encounter on the way out. What the hell. We were having fun! And I have to say that inside I was laughing. I was laughing happily because Patrick wasn’t even supposed to be alive. And here he was. Doing ranch work and fully living his life.

  —

  DR. FISHER had always said to Patrick that he should give himself the freedom to do what he wants to do during his illness. Does he want to work? Does he want to go off and spend time on an island somewhere? Travel?

  Patrick would kind of screw up his face in puzzlement at that question. Later he would confide in me, “I don’t know what to think about that.”

  “You have any ideas?” I asked.

  He thought a moment, and then said, “Well, I don’t see myself going on vacation.” Like it was some kind of preposterous notion.

  So that left the second option—to work. I’m glad he didn’t dream up the third option—to do nothing and be depressed. It’s an option that would be easy to choose when you’ve been diagnosed with a fatal disease. How could you not be depressed and just give up? Many people do under the weight of such an oppressive diagnosis. Many just don’t have the energy. Patrick’s courage and commitment wouldn’t allow him to accept his diagnosis. And he never said, Just leave me alone. He was going to move forward. And with the reward of a prognosis that definitely indicated a positive trend, he had dared to move ahead with a TV series, The Beast.

  Returning to work, especially on a project that demanded so much time and commitment, was a bold decision. We had about a month and a half from his last scans before we had to be in Chicago where the series was going to be shot. There was a lot to do. Meetings, phone conversations about what Patrick needed there, prepping the transfer of all his medical stuff, deciding where his scans would be done, figuring out the best shooting versus chemo schedule, finding where we were going to live for five months, talking to lawyers, doctors, and insurers . . . A big hurdle in getting the TV series together was the fact that A&E and Sony were unable to find a company to insure Patrick for less than it cost to shoot the entire series itself! A&E and Sony took a leap of faith and decided to move ahead—if Patrick wasn’t insured, at least the rest of the production would be.

  I was busy preparing and carefully anticipating everything I possibly could for the series while he continued his treatment at Stanford. And we kept busy just plain living, living as much and as fully as we could every day. That was the easy part.

  And it was a week and a half before we were due to be in Chicago that we finally made the last-minute decision—to get married again.

  —

  IT WAS a Wednesday when we again brought up the subject of renewing our vows. And we agreed that—to hell with being busy, or how this or that might look—we both wanted to do it. Okay, great . . . how to do a wedding ceremony in—we checked the chemo schedule, appointments, travel plans—four days. And that included the Wednesday we were now in. Patrick would have chemo the next day and be pretty much down for the count with fatigue for the following two days. I don’t know how I thought I’d organize it all to happen in such a short time, but I knew I could and a little bit of magic would just have to take care of everything else. I
figured I’d go for everything—the flowers, the music—and then let go of the things I couldn’t get.

  Amazingly, I got it all . . .

  We decided we would get new wedding rings to add to our original ones. And through the help of our jeweler friend, Kenny G, we were able to get two beautiful, slender, diamond-dotted bands. We got this accomplished with FedEx shipments, so we had the final rings in a Saturday morning delivery.

  Wouldn’t it be great to have a quartet playing before the wedding?

  “I don’t know of anyone that could do this. Let’s ask Will,” my brother Eric and his wife, Mary, said. Will’s my wonderfully talented violinist nephew, and with a couple of phone calls, he had a worthy quartet for us.

  I luckily was able to contact a singer (the wonderful Suzie Benson-Rose, who sang with Patrick on a song for our film One Last Dance) and a pianist (Donnie Demers, who also composes) to play and sing the song “Since You’ve Asked” by Judy Collins. (Will would accompany on the violin.) Patrick and I had this song performed at our original wedding thirty-three years ago. We still loved it. And it meant so much to us. Even more so thirty-three years later . . .

  What I’ll give you since you asked

  Is all my time together

  Take the rugged sunny days, the warm and rocky weather

  Take the roads that I have walked along

  Looking for tomorrow’s time, peace of mind . . .

  I bought loads of one of my favorite flowers, blue hydrangeas, from the local nursery to scatter around. Food for a buffet (friends and family could help lay it out). I moved my baby grand piano out onto the flagstone patio, overlooking the pool, where the ceremony would take place. Set out chairs . . .

  But who was going to preside over the ceremony? I tried to find Father Welch, who had married us over three decades ago! Maybe I could fly him out here to do the ceremony. I was sad to learn that he had passed on several years ago. A woman minister came highly recommended, but she was out of town until Tuesday. I found someone else who ended up not being available but had a wonderful American Indian ritual to suggest. This was getting tough. And then I decided . . . Mary, my sister-in-law, could preside. Mary has always been very spiritual and has beliefs similar to those (or a similar openness to beliefs) that Patrick and I have.

  “Yes, I am a minister,” said Mary, “and actually anyone can be a minister. It’s pretty easy to do online,” she said. Mary doesn’t know how to be anything but completely honest, “So, legally I can do it. But unfortunately, with the organization I work with, we promise not to use our ministry to do things like legally marrying people.”

  Ah, hah! “So, Mary,” I started to reason, “Buddy and I are already married. So, you’re not really breaking the rule.”

  Mary thought and then grinned, nodding in agreement.

  Sunday morning, since I had some time, I went over to a designer friend’s house to see if I could find a dress. And I did. A long dress with an Empire waist in luxurious, thick, white, Irish linen. And I decided to go barefoot.

  Oops. Before I went to Jane’s for the dress, I needed to write my personal vows to Patrick. I sat out on a raised part of the patio that has a pergola covered with wisteria vine. It would be the spot where the classical quartet would play before the ceremony later that day. I hoped with my whole being that I could just open my heart and let the words flow. I hoped they would have the same magic that I felt. And as I wrote, I cried.

  As we reached that afternoon, people started to show up. We were still running around getting things ready, and everyone was fine. Everyone was happy. It was like there was truly magic in the air. Like a love potion had been emitted into the atmosphere and made everyone unusually happy and giddy. Patrick came up to me, standing and discussing final ceremony notes with Mary. And then said . . .

  “I think I want to ride in on Roh.”

  “Huh, really?” I balked, quickly thinking of all the problems a strong handsome stallion not ridden that often could cause.

  “I think it’s a fabulous idea!” Mary enthused.

  I smiled. And Patrick turned to go off and get the horse.

  I was standing at the back door ready to make my entrance, and Patrick was at the side of the house, mounting Roh, who was prancing all about, nervously wondering what the hell was suddenly going on. Once Patrick was aboard, he and Roh, our silvery, blinding-white, brilliant stallion, set off and trotted out and fairly floated around the pool to the “Ooohs” and “Aaaahs” of all our guests. And they were breathtaking indeed. He dismounted near the patio when Roh had settled . . . and held out his hand.

  I was smiling ear to ear as I walked forward through the crowd and up to him, taking his hand . . . And I couldn’t resist. I turned to our guests and grinned, “After thirty-three years, he finally rides up on a white horse!”

  They all laughed. And tears sprang into my eyes . . .

  Susie, Donnie, and Will performed the song beautifully: “We have seen a million stones lying by the water . . . You have climbed the hill with me to the mountain shelter . . . Taking off the days one by one, Setting them to breathe in the sun . . .”

  Mary stepped forward to us and beamed as she introduced the Native American Indian hand-washing ceremony we had planned. As she poured water over our hands into a bowl she explained, “Water is used as a symbol of purification and cleansing as the bride and the groom wash away all past hurts.”

  Patrick and I washed our hands with the cool water, and then reached out to hold each other’s hands. We smiled at each other as Mary continued.

  “You have come into the presence of these loving witnesses to profess that which lies deep in your heart . . .”

  It was a beautiful day, warm, crystal and clear as we stood in the soft, sheltering shade of a coral tree, blue hydrangeas surrounding us. Our guests murmured, smiled. But mostly I just looked in my Buddy’s eyes. And it seemed that I had never looked so deep, so long into his soul as I was now. And I saw in his eyes that he was treading into that same deep place in me and I saw my own joy reflected back at me. How I could breathe, I don’t know, for from the time I stepped out of the house to take his hand, my heart was bursting with a happiness. How it didn’t jump out of my chest and my dress and start dancing, swirling, and celebrating in the air, I don’t know.

  I read my vows to Patrick. Ending with . . .

  “ . . . And then I knew why writing my vows to you had been so hard. Because I am already so committed to you. And have been always. This love I feel for you seems to transcend time. I loved you even when I was a small child and hadn’t met you in flesh and blood yet. And while the future is an unknown, the one thing I do know, is that I will love you. I’m very lucky to have found you in my life and am grateful that I have had the ability to open my eyes and see just what I have (occasionally!) because what I have—the love, the greatness and enormity of what I feel, informs everything around me. And in cherishing the most there is for me, I cherish you even more.”

  Tears were rolling down my cheeks throughout reading this and I had to have someone pass me a wad of tissue to stem the flow. At which point Patrick turned to our guests and shared loudly . . .

  “This, from the woman who, at our twentieth anniversary party, raised her glass for a toast to thank me for three of the happiest years of her life!”

  The guests chuckled, and as they realized what he had really said, erupted into huge laughter. I laughed, too. And Patrick looked very pleased with himself. We high-fived each other. Good one, Buddy!

  We pulled ourselves back together, took a breath . . . It was Patrick’s turn. And he blew me away with the eloquence and beauty of what he had written for his vows . . .

  “How do I tell you how lucky I feel, that you fell into my life? How grateful I am that you chose to love me? I know that because of you, I found my spirit, I saw the man I wanted to be. But most of all, you were my friend.

  “Together, we’ve created journeys that were beyond anything we could imagine. Journ
eys that dreams are made of. We have ridden into the sunset on a white stallion, countless times. We’ve tasted the dust in the birthplaces of religions. Yet you still take my breath away. I’m still not complete until I look in your eyes.

  “You are my woman, my lover, my mate and my lady. I’ve loved you forever, I love you now and I will love you forevermore.”

  We ended the ceremony with the rings . . . As we slipped them on each other’s fingers, Mary read . . .

  “The ring is used in this ceremony because the circle is the only symbol that has no beginning and no ending. The circle is our oldest symbol for God, or Spirit, that which was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end . . .

  “You may kiss the bride! And may you live in Light and Love!”

  We kissed and embraced, warm and strong. There was applause all around. Everyone hung out, ate, laughed, and talked until one in the morning. It was truly a celebration and I felt high as I saw everyone’s smiles and felt the love.

  —

  YOU KNOW . . . back in 1987, Patrick and I did a movie together in Namibia, Africa—Steel Dawn. It was our first time in Africa and I fell in love with Namibia. It turned out to be one of the most special places in the world for me. When we first arrived, we had flown almost thirty hours to get there (with an eight-hour layover in Frankfurt sitting in a hard, molded-plastic seat). When our plane finally landed in Namibia, we went straight to the production office. One of the producers offered to drive me out into the desert to take a quick look. I wasn’t expecting much, but said “Sure.” Why not. The Namib/Kalahari Desert is one the oldest in the world, at one time being beneath the ocean. My tour guide pulled over on the desolate road and I got out and walked a few feet out from the car.

  “We call this the moonscape,” I heard him say.