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My Dad was a remarkable man. He died from blood cancer, multiple myeloma. Since January 23, 2002, 9:12 a.m. I have lived with the feeling of guilt that I had not done enough for him. Certainly not even close to what he had done for me. Not a good feeling to live with. When Susan approached me and asked if I can briefly summarize why contributing to Multiple Myeloma Foundation is so important to me, I paused and asked myself I can really do it because even thinking about him, forget about talking is painful enough.
However, I feel that it is important for people to be aware of the following:
Multiple myeloma originates in a bone marrow. First signs of the disease besides tiredness, etc. are a backache. My Dad was treated for six months with physical therapy for a backache at the time multiple myeloma was marching full speed. A good doctor (orthopedists, chiropractor, and physical therapy doctor) should eliminate the possibility of cancer before jumping to a backache treatment.
Kidneys failure. Dizziness, fainting, high level of creatinine are also signs of multiple myeloma. So, please be aware, backache and problems with kidneys are the first symptoms.
Stubbornness. I am fine, I hate going to doctors. My Dad was athletic, healthy man, who hated going to the doctors. We fought on many occasions over changing doctors, going to a hospital...Only when he was unable to pick up the phone because of the severe pain just stretching his arm, and I had to quietly call 911, that is when we discovered about multiple myeloma. I will never forget the doctor, who was rushing to me and saying very seriously, "Ms. Sandler, you father is in serious condition." So, please see doctors immediately.
So, almost two years we battled with multiple myeloma. It was certainly not the first battle we had to fight. Two times our houses were leveled to the ground. ..We rebuilt and came out more strong and prosperous than before. Chernobyl nuclear power station explosion...We survived despite radiation. So in my naïve mind some multiple myeloma had no chance to win. After all, we had always survived, and my Dad never failed. So, one day in a hospital I told him with absolute belief, "We will overcome this, just like everything else before, and we will celebrate your sixty fifth birthday in Israel." He cried. That was the second time I saw him crying.
The first time when I was nine. The tractor leveled our house, and then it was leveling the second alley of apple trees. I remember everybody left; it was only my Dad and me there. He was holding my hand and crying telling me,"I want you remember this." You see, we had many apple trees, pear trees, cherry trees and many different bushes with all kinds of berries. I was growing up with apples, storing them for the winter, putting them in boxes with straw, delivering them to people, so they could have fruits during long cold winter. I learned how to divide, multiply, add and subtract with apples way before I was due to a kindergarten. It was always our time together collecting them, storing them, and giving them away to people. ..

I remember one time when it was announced that our street would be liquidated and everybody left their houses, my Dad stayed in protest. Because we were alone, it was very easy for Russians to loot.
On many occasions we saw people in our backyard taking anything they wanted. So one time, when we were driving in a car and had to stop at a traffic light, we saw that woman selling our apples at an intersection. We could recognize our apples out of thousands. My Dad quickly got out of the car, came to the woman, and said, "I want all the apples you have." She said, "They are very good quality apples and a lot more expensive than others." My Dad repeated that he wanted all of the apples. He paid her one- week wages, her jaw hit the floor, and she enthusiastically helped him load our apples in a trunk. When my Dad got back in a car, he just simply said,"My apples are not for sale for as long as I live." Yep, that was my Dad.
So, the second time he cried in his life because he knew that this is different kind of battle, because he knew that he would not win, because he knew that for the first time in his life he would not be able to deliver what I wanted, because he knew that he would not be celebrating his sixty fifth birthday in Israel. He gave me a long look and said, "Remember to live."
It took me a long time after he died to see goodness around me, to appreciate small things, and to be joyful again.
So, in the spirit of upcoming holiday and in honor of his name--"L'Chaim! For Life!"