Life is defined by moments when the winds change and unforeseen obstacles present themselves. For Ricky Sandoval, his moment was the afternoon of May 30, 2006, when doctors told him he had 3-5 months to live.
How do you absorb a blow like that? What in life prepares you to shoulder such news?
Ricky breathed deeply, digested the diagnosis and figuratively shoved it back in the doctor’s face. He grabbed his pancreatic cancer by the neck, strangled it with all his might and cracked open a beer five months later to celebrate what seemed at the time like a notable accomplishment.
It was just the start.
Today, 37 months after the initial diagnosis and two days after his 49th birthday, Ricky Sandoval went home to God.
I can’t bear to write the words “lost his battle or succumbed to cancer,” with any form of sincerity. Growing as close to Ricky as I have in the last three years, I know he’d cringe at the notion.
At some point during this fight, Ricky separated mind and body. He coupled his warrior spirit with an implausible attitude to motivate, inspire and amaze thousands of people.
No matter how lousy he felt, he did everything in his power to make sure you didn’t know. Ricky was more interested in your life, your journey.
“How are the girls?” was his favorite question whenever we talked. He loved to hear stories about my daughters, and if he didn’t, he faked it pretty well.
Tuesday, I joined many others in wishing Ricky a happy birthday in his hospital room. Though he was physically ravaged, Ricky still managed to smile, laugh and acknowledge the kindness of everyone in the room.
Through hacking coughs and winces of pain, every request was accompanied by a please and thank you.
He was overwhelmed by a level of excitement his body couldn’t handle anymore, but his mind cherished. He lit up when his dogs, Gidget and Wowee, paid him a final visit.
The body lying in the hospital bed betrayed a mind that changed lives. Ricky was always positive, thinking about the next challenge, the next round of chemo, the next trip up north with his wife, Gael.
He took countless phone calls from other people fighting cancer, offered them encouragement and passed along words of wisdom. In February, he told me the toughest part of being so generous with his time was growing close to people and sharing in their pain when they said goodbye to loved ones.
Now I know how he felt. Today, we’re sharing in Gael’s pain as we say goodbye to a dear friend and professional colleague.
“Fighting to Live” were the words that fueled Ricky Sandoval, but a simple slogan can’t capture his impact on those around him. The trail of inspiration he left behind is sprinkled with lessons each of us should remember when it’s our time to fight.
As I left Ricky’s room Tuesday, figuring it would be our last time together, I grabbed his hand, kissed him on the forehead and said, “I love you. You’re an amazing guy.”
He responded by saying, “We’ll see you soon. Say hi to the girls for me.”
What else did I expect to hear?
