Time to say Goodbye

My little brother, Kevin passed away this past week.  Since 2016 he wrote a weekly column in the San Francisco Chronicle.  His death was not a surprise as he had stage 4 cancer.  So, he had time to think about what he would say in his final column.  In his honor, I would like to reprint his final column here.

“Time to say a final goodbye, and thanks”

By Kevin Fisher-Paulson, Columnist Sep 5, 2024

Editor’s note: Chronicle columnist Kevin Fisher-Paulson died early Thursday, Sept. 5, after a 15-month struggle with cancer. He wrote this column shortly before he died. An obituary for Kevin will be published soon.

“Almost a decade ago, this column began on a baseball diamond on a block in the Outer, Outer, Outer, Outer Excelsior. Excelsior. A Latin term for “ever upward.”

For all that time, it has been the tale of a typical family in the city of St. Francis: a deputy, a dancer, their spirited son with a taste for the wild side, their curious son, as well as the dogs who keep choosing them. In short, this has been about family.

We have told the story of the Fisher-Paulsons, warts and all. One of our sons went across the desert and over the mountains, and the four of us have found a way to save each other.

When the column first came out, a number of readers wrote to tell me that their family was not like my family. Brian and I are gay, having struggled for gay marriage when straight marriage was a fait accompli and had been for more than 2,000 years. We fostered triplets and after that we adopted our two sons, both of whom were born into circumstances that would always challenge us, always keep the Fisher-Paulsons a footstep away from normal.

But you readers came to embrace us. Moms wrote to tell us that their daughters had found new lives across the desert, grandsons had become granddaughters, sons had chosen recovery over the mountains and siblings had chosen forgiveness. If each of us has the courage to change, we all have the courage to hope.

Back in May of 2023, I told you that I had been diagnosed with Stage 4 kidney cancer. My husband and I took up the struggle. We did immunotherapy. When that stopped working, we began radiation therapy. That helped a little and then we started chemo. That proved painful beyond words, and we moved back to radiation until we could stabilize.

In July, it all caught up. I was admitted to the hospital for tests and therapies. At last, on a recent Tuesday, my oncologist called with the results of my spinal tap and bone marrow analysis. The cancer had won the race, suffused throughout my body. It was, he concluded, time for home hospice. A few weeks to go.

This, therefore, is my final column.

Having said that, I would like to thank the family and friends who have made me the person I am, the community that shared the joy of the Blue Bungalow. That includes Brother X and Brother XX, SASB and DVR, Crazy Mike, Uncle Jon and Uncle Doya, Aunt JJ, Aunt Helene, Terry Asten-Bennett, Jill and Sarah. Nurse Vivian.

But it is my husband of 40 years and my sons who have made this life so worth living.

And also you, the readers. We have become friends over the years, sharing a cup of coffee every Wednesday morning. If you feel like it, have a good cry.

And now I go. So I’d like to ask that you be part of the leave taking. Raise a parting glass.

You could describe life as one long process of letting go, which makes death a process of holding on. What remains after death is the way I have changed Zane, Aidan and Brian. And you. We are all connected.

For me, I have my father’s faith in God, my mother’s faith in family, my grandmother’s secret for pie crust and my sixth-grade teacher’s love of French. From you I have my love of garlic French fries and the baseball stadium. Fog sliding down Sutro Tower. Dad jokes.

I hope I have brought you wonder, and I hope you now bring wonder to others. Teach your grandson to bake chocolate chip cookies. Take your niece to high tea at the Sheraton.

I stand on that baseball diamond, and I salute life. My journey is now over and yours must continue. Years ago, I asked you to believe in my family. And you did. You lit candles. You spread pixie dust. I am humbled. I am grateful.

And now I tell you that I believe in you. So go out there. And be kind.”

Kevin Fisher-Paulson’s weekly column has appeared in the Chronicle since May 2016.

Peace & Love, and all of the above.

Earl, a.k.a. Brother XX