Help Craig Fight Brain Cancer & Make More Music
Donation protected
On June 12, 2019, my life turned upside down. Craig, my dad and our family’s fixer—the glue that holds us all together—suffered a hemorrhagic stroke at age 60. I raced home from Chicago to see him in the most foreign environment, a hospital. The man I just spoke to on the phone two days ago about what he’d like me cook him for Father’s Day lie there as plastic tubes, alarms, and colored wires kept him stable. Memories of baseball games, hockey games, concerts, holidays, and road trips flooded my thoughts. The fear I’d never hear my dad say, “I love you, son” or feel his bear hug before I drove back to Chicago again paralyzed me, but he fought through it. Every doctor and specialist couldn’t believe how quickly he recovered.
He essentially returned to normal life within weeks with a new lease on life—driving, playing guitar, completing home improvement projects. It was as if the universe did him this favor as a thank you for everything my dad has sacrificed for me, my sister, mom, and his family—that a man this loving and devoted to his family and friends deserved this medical miracle.
And then all he wanted to do was spend quality time with everyone. He hosted my sister’s family and played guitar with my nephews. He invited me, my girlfriend, my mom, and my girlfriend’s parents to go see a movie on July 28th.
Then his headaches returned.
Then his speech slowed.
Then he told me how scared he was—how he woke up crying from nightmares of shadowy figures trying to kiss him while his friends and family stood powerless screaming in horror. He told me he summoned every ounce of his strength to push it away because he needed to see me get married, he needed to watch my nephews graduate from high school, and he needed to record plenty more music. It was the first time in 30 years I saw my dad scared, and it broke my heart.
I had to take him back to the ER. After a CT scan, an ER doctor bluntly stated my dad needed surgery immediately or he would die soon because the intense pressure on his brain, yet there was no new bleeding. Other doctors disagreed, so we waited.
The man who reemerged after two weeks in the hospital started to fade, until he became non-responsive and borderline comatose. My mom and my sister fought like hell to get him moved to the ICU, where the team placed my dad on a ventilator.
Finally, a neurosurgeon said it was time to operate. To be honest, I wasn’t that scared. The sight of my dad on a ventilator rattled me, but when I played one of his favorite songs and saw his right foot tap the rhythm almost perfectly, I knew he had this under control. Hours later, the surgeon emerged and revealed that he extracted a primary brain tumor, one that no MRI could detect because the blood in my dad’s brain clouded the scans.
Then the pathology reports arrived. Grade four gliosarcoma. Rare. Aggressive.
It really is just like the movies. When you hear that word, everything becomes fuzzy. The room swirls. Your stomach churns. Your mind travels to the darkest places. You want to vomit. What do you do with that news? How do you process that when everything seemed to be okay just a few days ago? It was as if the universe flipped the script entirely: from miracle patient to one of a few hundred with this disease.
So here we are.
My dad, who is currently progressing astonishingly well in his post-op recovery and rehabilitation after two brain surgeries within a month—seriously, he was talking a day after surgery and walking within three—is now in the fight for his life.
The fight to continue visiting his 97-year-old mom nearly every day. The fight to continue nagging me about producing another batch of grandchildren. The fight to teach my nephews how to play musical instruments. The fight to support and love my mom despite being divorced for nearly a decade. The fight to continue recording music.
He has amassed an incredible army of emotional support, but we need financial reinforcements. He needs help paying for his chemo and radiation treatment in addition to his mortgage and medication for a blood clot that has traveled to his lung; insurance and disability only cover so much.
I know my dad and our entirely family would be grateful for your donations, well-wishes, good vibes, or prayers. (And I especially know my dad would love it if you checked out his music.)
Hear Craig's music here!
Craig keeping his routine visits to his mom just weeks after brain surgery
Craig celebrating his grandson's 15th birthday this past weekend
My dad and I at the second-to-last game at The Joe, a place he'd been taking me to for over 24 years at that point.
Craig teaching one of his grandsons, Andrew, how to skate in 2010
Craig with his two other grandsons at Andrew's hockey game
Craig and his daughter Chandra at a Red Wings game
He essentially returned to normal life within weeks with a new lease on life—driving, playing guitar, completing home improvement projects. It was as if the universe did him this favor as a thank you for everything my dad has sacrificed for me, my sister, mom, and his family—that a man this loving and devoted to his family and friends deserved this medical miracle.
And then all he wanted to do was spend quality time with everyone. He hosted my sister’s family and played guitar with my nephews. He invited me, my girlfriend, my mom, and my girlfriend’s parents to go see a movie on July 28th.
Then his headaches returned.
Then his speech slowed.
Then he told me how scared he was—how he woke up crying from nightmares of shadowy figures trying to kiss him while his friends and family stood powerless screaming in horror. He told me he summoned every ounce of his strength to push it away because he needed to see me get married, he needed to watch my nephews graduate from high school, and he needed to record plenty more music. It was the first time in 30 years I saw my dad scared, and it broke my heart.
I had to take him back to the ER. After a CT scan, an ER doctor bluntly stated my dad needed surgery immediately or he would die soon because the intense pressure on his brain, yet there was no new bleeding. Other doctors disagreed, so we waited.
The man who reemerged after two weeks in the hospital started to fade, until he became non-responsive and borderline comatose. My mom and my sister fought like hell to get him moved to the ICU, where the team placed my dad on a ventilator.
Finally, a neurosurgeon said it was time to operate. To be honest, I wasn’t that scared. The sight of my dad on a ventilator rattled me, but when I played one of his favorite songs and saw his right foot tap the rhythm almost perfectly, I knew he had this under control. Hours later, the surgeon emerged and revealed that he extracted a primary brain tumor, one that no MRI could detect because the blood in my dad’s brain clouded the scans.
Then the pathology reports arrived. Grade four gliosarcoma. Rare. Aggressive.
It really is just like the movies. When you hear that word, everything becomes fuzzy. The room swirls. Your stomach churns. Your mind travels to the darkest places. You want to vomit. What do you do with that news? How do you process that when everything seemed to be okay just a few days ago? It was as if the universe flipped the script entirely: from miracle patient to one of a few hundred with this disease.
So here we are.
My dad, who is currently progressing astonishingly well in his post-op recovery and rehabilitation after two brain surgeries within a month—seriously, he was talking a day after surgery and walking within three—is now in the fight for his life.
The fight to continue visiting his 97-year-old mom nearly every day. The fight to continue nagging me about producing another batch of grandchildren. The fight to teach my nephews how to play musical instruments. The fight to support and love my mom despite being divorced for nearly a decade. The fight to continue recording music.
He has amassed an incredible army of emotional support, but we need financial reinforcements. He needs help paying for his chemo and radiation treatment in addition to his mortgage and medication for a blood clot that has traveled to his lung; insurance and disability only cover so much.
I know my dad and our entirely family would be grateful for your donations, well-wishes, good vibes, or prayers. (And I especially know my dad would love it if you checked out his music.)
Hear Craig's music here!
Craig keeping his routine visits to his mom just weeks after brain surgeryCraig celebrating his grandson's 15th birthday this past weekendMy dad and I at the second-to-last game at The Joe, a place he'd been taking me to for over 24 years at that point.Craig teaching one of his grandsons, Andrew, how to skate in 2010Craig with his two other grandsons at Andrew's hockey gameCraig and his daughter Chandra at a Red Wings gameOrganizer
Zach Truran
Organizer
Royal Oak, MI