Father's Day

Terrific piece in the Globe by Casey's former professor Maddy Blais on Casey's dad on father's day.

SOME STUDENTS arrive in your classroom ready-made, and Casey Kane was one of them. She had graduated second in her class at Holyoke High School, played three sports, was president of the National Honor Society, member of the band, captain of As Schools Match Wits, and eventually ran for colleen in that city’s annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

If you teach in the autumn at a college in Massachusetts and there is a reasonable way to fold baseball into the curriculum, you would be a fool not to try. Casey proved the ideal ally, discussing John Updike’s essay “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu’’ while reciting lines from “Good Will Hunting,’’ “Bull Durham,’’ and George Carlin’s monologue on the differences between football and baseball.

Her major flaw as far as I was concerned was that she took just one class with me, as she disappeared into more and more kudos and accomplishments, including serving as editor-in-chief of the Daily Collegian, supervising, among other aspiring journalists, Jill Carroll, who was later kidnapped while reporting for the Christian Science Monitor in Iraq.

Casey graduated in 1999 and was hired as a sports reporter at the Anderson Independent Mail in South Carolina. Her work there was memorable. One example: “There was never a moment’s doubt in her mind. Pendleton High School softball pitcher Brooke Norris may have worried about how she would throw, or whether she’d be able to make it through the game, but she knew she had to be on the mound. With more than 300 spectators to support her and an empty chair behind the backstop where her father Tommy always sat, Brooke offered the best tribute she could to the man, who died of a heart attack Saturday morning.

“She pitched.’’

The first signs of Hodgkin’s lymphoma were more irksome than frightening: Casey thought she had a flu that wouldn’t go away. When she got the diagnosis and called home from the hospital, her father asked if she had been in an accident. “No, but I have a feeling that when this is over I’ll wish I had been.’’

Bill Kane, a fit 60-year-old retired teacher and downhill skiing, cross country, and indoor track coach at Holyoke High, husband of Eileen and father of two sons, did not always have a perfect relationship with his daughter: A feud broke out when she was in her late teens after he thought she had made some bad personal choices. He kicked her out of the house. The details he prefers to keep to himself, except to say: “She was just as Irish as I am,’’ and, “It is the most regretful decision I ever made. It is close to two years that I lost.’’

When she died in May 2004, the grief specialists identified him as the family member most at risk. He commenced therapy with a doctor named Lisa Uyehara in South Hadley who he says saved his life, encouraging him to honor the vow he had made to Casey to ride cross-country on his bicycle - a trip he postponed twice during her five-year cancer struggle.

Yesterday was officially Father’s Day, but Bill Kane intends to honor the occasion tomorrow when he drives from Holyoke to Dana Farber Cancer Institute in memory of his daughter, which he does every two weeks or so.

“It is not whole blood I donate, but platelets, the blood cells responsible for clotting, one of the first friendly victims to be killed by chemotherapy. I am still a biology teacher at heart and can’t let a detail like that go by. I would often donate while Casey underwent her therapy, and on those days when I just didn’t feel up to it she had a remarkable way of getting me to walk past the children’s cancer ward. She knew how to push my buttons.’’

And so he will leave the house he purchased for $25,000 in 1972, with the American flag out front and a shamrock and Red Sox logo stenciled in the driveway, and shoot down the Pike. Afterward, he and Eileen are likely to go out for a bite to eat or, when the Sox are in town, to walk the half-mile to Fenway.

His life is simple now: He works out, he gardens, and he reads. He has only one goal left and he tries to live it every day.

“I want to be,’’ he says, “the man my daughter thought I was.’’

See you soon

By Arni Sribhen

It rained today after three really great days of weather at the Speedway, and on the way to dinner, I heard that Steve Wariner song "Holes in the Floor of Heaven today.

Ordinarily, that wouldn't mean much to me, but I think it was a sign of things to come.

You see, four years ago today (May 19), my friend Casey Kane lost her battle with non-Hodgkins lymphoma. That Casey died during the Month of May-- which is my favorite time of year -- has always made me sad. But Casey always had a way about making feel better about things like this.

Tonight she did it again.

I never said goodbye to Casey. I told her "See you soon." so I didn't have to say goodbye. Even though she's been gone for four years, every once in a while I see things that remind of her. I think that's her way of saying, "Here I am."

Tonight, I having dinner with a group of friends and when I saw on the ESPN ticker that Jon Lester of the Boston Red Sox had a no-hitter through six innings. I started to pay attention to the ticker. Seventh inning. Eighth inning. Finally, the ninth was broadcast by ESPN.

I sat there and cheered for Jon Lester -- not just becasue Casey was a charter member of Red Sox Nation. I remembered Jon Lester is a cancer survivor. And he beat lymphoma.

When he Lester struck out the final batter and got the ball, I had a tear in my eye.

It worked out all to perfectly. And I knew why.

See you soon, Casey.

Arni worked with Casey in South Carolina.

Perfect

When I posted this morning I never dreamed that this would happen. Jon Lester, a lymphoma survivor, throwing a no-hitter on the four-year anniversary of Casey's death was perfect. Hard for me to believe its a coincidence.

Four years

Hard to believe its been four years. Root for cancer survivor Jon Lester, who is pitching for the Red Sox tonight.

Got this email today

Hi, I was going through some Team in Training websites looking for fundraising ideas when I stumbled across Casey Kane's blog. I was drawn to it my the Duke references (I am a proud Duke alumni/obnoxious fan). I am running in a half marathon in June for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and will add Casey to the list of people that I am running to honor. She sounds like a great person. I am also running to honor two friends, one from my hometown and one from Duke, who have lymphoma.
Anne Walters

From Heather Leenders

In the Strangest Places…

After a wild week of testing, grading, full moons, and 12th graders with senioritis like I've never seen before, I arrived at Massage Envy, a franchise between DC and Baltimore. Approaching the front desk, I was welcomed with a warm smile, and a question: "Let me guess… Are you Casey?" It was weird but wonderful that the other person scheduled at that time was named Casey, and I had been mistaken for her. I grinned, and shook my head. "It's interesting that you asked me that," I said. "Casey is, was, my best friend growing up. She passed away a several years ago of complications from lymphoma." I still have a hard time referring to her in the past.

I'm the kind of person who needs proof, tangible proof, that there is a higher power. It's moments like these that bring me a little closer to believing. And it's moments like these that I wish so much that Casey were still with me getting a massage and a drink on a Friday night.

Tonight's winning pitcher survived Lymphoma

Somewhere Casey is smiling.

Since this probably made some of you think of Casey...

Happy birthday

On Friday, Casey would have turned 32. She'll be in a lot of people's thoughts I'm sure.

I found it filling that Jon Lester, a Red Sox pitcher and cancer survivor, returned this week and pitched well.

Walking for Casey

Jacob Michaels, a friend of Casey's from the Collegian is doing a walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in Casey's name.

You can check it out here:

http://www.active.com/donate/hfdepa/JacobHike

This is the email that Jacob sent me about it. Some of you probably received it.

I hope you're all doing well. I know it's been ages since I've talked with some of you. Life here is much the same as it ever is -- me hating my job and being single. Some things never change. : )

What I'm really writing to tell you about, though, is Hike for Discovery, a Leukemia and Lymphoma Society fund-raiser that I'm really, really excited to be taking part in. The program takes 200 volunteers from across the country through several months of training and preparation before bringing us together for a hike into the Grand Canyon.

I'll be hiking in memory of Casey.

It's funny, for everyone else I've sent this letter to, I've spent this graf talking about Casey and what she was like. Of course, you were all lucky enough to know her. It's been just over three years since she died, and I know I still tear up when I think about her. I wanted to share something about her, and I don't think I've told any of you this story.

Casey helped me make a friend when I first moved into this job four years ago. It turned out one of our business writers had come to Allentown via South Carolina, where she'd worked with Casey. I was recently trying to remember how we'd dscovered that we both knew her and drawing a blank -- I suspect I told her I was a UMass alum and she said she knew someone from there, but it's not really important. I just thought it was neat that Casey was able to help me meet someone even though she was, at that time, back in Massachusetts.

There are an estimated 747,465 Americans living with blood cancers, and I'm sure everyone reading this has known or knows someone fighting a battle with cancer. Leukemia causes more deaths than any other cancer among children and adults under 20 years old. There are 493,104 people living with lymphoma and this year there will be a new case of myeloma diagnosed every 30 minutes. There is, however, significant progress being made. The relative 5-year survival rate for leukemia has more than tripled in the last 45 years.Since its founding in 1949, the society has invested more than $411 million in research, which has led to key advances in understanding blood cancers and has produced new treatments.

The society's chapters also offer patient service programs, including support groups, peer counseling and patient financial aid.I have set a personal goal of raising $6,000 by Sept. 12, 2007. Of that money, 75 percent will go directly toward research and patient services. Your contribution can help me reach that goal, and every dollar is tax deductible. You can also check at your work place -- lots of companies do corporate matches, which would double the amount you're giving.

Please make your checks out to The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (or LLS if you want to save some time),c/o Jacob W. Michaels815 Brookfield CircleMacungie, PA 18062Or to make it even easier, you can just go to my Hike for Discovery Web page and donate there via credit card.

The URL is www.active.com/donate/hfdepa/JacobHike. The site also has a link to a site with memories of Casey, if you'd like to learn more about who she was.

Thanks in advance,

Jacob

Casey Kane tennis tournament

Holyoke High school tennis coach Bill Rigali is running the second annual Casey Kane Tennis Tournament this weekend (June 8-9) at the Holyoke Canoe Club.

He passed along the info for anyone who is interested:

"Tournament June 8 & 9 at Holyoke Canoe Club. June 8 round robin mens and womens singles starting at 5 :30PM Sat mens and womens round robin doubles at 10 am - Mixed at 12 noon. cost $5 per event. Bring one can of tennis balls. T- shirts can be purchased for $7 at event. $500.00 was awarded June 1 on class day to a graduating senior in Casey's name."

Hard to believe its been three years

Happy Birthday

Thursday would have been Casey's 31st birthday. She was on a lot of our minds I'm sure.

Two years

It's hard to believe that it's been two years already. Thanks to all the people that keep checking this site and have contributed so much to it. Casey's spirit is alive in so many of us.

The Jill Carroll Connection

By Will Martin

I don't know Jill Carroll. Though we're both journalists, I cannot remember our having ever met. So why was it as the story of her captivity and release at the hand of Iraqi insurgents unfolded, she seemed so vaguely familiar? As a news editor and a combat medic in the National Guard, I've formed a necessary capacity for emotional detachment, so I knew this wasn't mere sentiment or chivalrous concern. I didn't know Jill Carroll, but somehow, I felt as if I should.

Yesterday, as images of her release saturated television news hours, the murky grew clear: the face, the name; here position as a foreign correspondent in the Near East. Might this be Casey's Jill, or, if memory serves, her "Jillybean?"

Until cancer claimed her body in 2004, Casey had been my girlfriend and closest companion. For about two years, we shared in the highs and lows of life, an ebb and flow exacerbated by her repeated bouts with Hodgkin's Disease, a cancer most common to young adults and the elderly.
Casey, aside from an accomplished sportswriter, was an excellent friend.

She possessed an innate skill for relationship, a gift she eagerly shared with any whom would receive it. Strangers couldn't remain as such for long in Casey's presence; her hospitable spirit wouldn't allow it. And neither could friendships already existing die of neglect; her loyalty forbade it.

It is not surprising, then, that I should recall the details of Jill's life though we had never met. Raised a Michigander like myself (yes, that's what we're really called and your jealousy won't change the fact), Jill grew close to Casey during their work at The Collegian, the student newspaper of the University of Massachusetts. Casey detailed her time at UMass with such animation that when I shared a meal with her college friends around the time of her funeral, most of the stories familiar. I felt at times as if I was rewatching a beloved movie from my youth, one from which I could quote the cherished lines, another evidence of the devotion and pride which Casey held toward her family and friends.

The details surrounding Jill's life were no exception, and as I Googled her yesterday, my suspicions were confirmed: Employment at the Wall Street Journal; a stint in Jordan; Ann Arbor roots. Yes! This was indeed Casey's Jill. Strangely excited, I began to spread the news of my discovery among the soldiers with whom I'm now deployed to Washington, D.C.

"Hey, I know that girl!" I exclaimed, pointing to our workplace television bearing Jill's face as if I was claiming a connection to a Hollywood celeb. "Well, sort of know her. I used to date her close friend. I just realized who she was."

The responses ranged from apparent apathy to screaming ignorance: "Well, no offense to your friend, but I hope these Bible bangers have learned their lesson."

"Bible bangers?"

"Yeah, the Christian Science Monitor," came the retort, spoken with a painful slowness, so as to make such lofty knowledge accessible to even me.

Derailed into explaining that freelancing for the Christian Science Monitor does not a missionary make, I resigned to exploring my excitement with myself. On this day, I truly was an Army of One. Suddenly, I realized the only one with whom I really wanted to celebrate Jill's release was the one with whom I cannot. This is not the first time: "Casey, how 'bout them Red Sox?!!";
"Your Dad, he rode his bike coast to coast. Eat your heart out, Lance!"; "Did you read that Mitch Albom column the other day?"; "Ian and Emily - they're getting married".

Rather than reach out to mutual friends and Casey's family, I've dealt with such emotive blockage by turning further inward and moving onward. While I think of Casey often, and Matt's blog has served as a healing balm on many a night, I don't dwell on all things Casey, and I rarely pick up a phone or e-mail to connect with those who knew her best. As to whether this modus operandi is dysfunctional, I'll leave for therapists to decide. But witnessing Jill's release through the television reminded me of what defined Casey: relationship, and how knowing her forced my own life's direction to broaden. I have always valued love; indeed, my worldview is simple: God is love, and those who walk in love, walk in God; but knowing Casey allowed me to realize that relationships provide a context through which the ideal of love becomes reality. I am not simply better for having known Casey, I am different , and the world is the better for it.

Reading through the deluge of stories surrounding Jill's ordeal, I am confident that she and Casey are made from the same material. It is little wonder that they were close friends. Political pundits, possessing a knowledge of Iraq confined to Fox News updates, have wasted no time in questioning Jill's character, statements and motives. Rather than celebrate her release, they speculate about that which they cannot possibly know. I am privileged to bring to Jill's story what every journalist cherishes: a reliable, inside source. That source spoke highly of Jill on several occasions with an admiration that bordered on awe. Casey was both proud and fond of Jill, personally and professionally. My reporter's instincts tell me that my inside source was dead on. I only wish she was here so I could share her joy during this happy time.

Good news

Many or you are aware that Casey and Jill Carroll were close friends. During Jill's three months in captivity, quite a few people told me they were optimistic because they knew wherever Jill was, Casey was watching out for her. I ad the same thought many times.

The Collegian ran an entire edition today about Jill. This column had a nice Casey mention in it as well.

My Other Big Sister

By Jessica Walker

Every couple of weeks, or sometimes months, I wander onto this site and read all the amazing stories Casey created for us. Reading new adventures and rereading old happenings always leaves me misty. Consistently I think…
“Ok, I’m going to write something.” “Today’s the day.”Well today is that day.

Growing up Casey was my other big sister. Casey and Laura (my biological sister) are nine years older than me. As you can imagine the 6-7-8 year old me just loved to follow my High School aged sisters around everywhere I could manage to go. Things just always seemed more fun with two big sisters.

Some phenomenal amount of; band practices, football games, swim meets, and field hockey brawls later I watched my sisters graduate top of their class. There was a party with balloons to celebrate, and a photograph on my wall to remember the whole thing.

Many years later they both moved away, and I began my own High School days. In the entrance hall there is a plaque with the names of all the Valedictorians and Salutatorians. Everyday I would stop and think “1993, those are my big sisters.” It filled me with an astounding sense of pride. I held onto that thought hard, and let my admiration of them carry me through.

Even though I had not heard from Casey in years, news of her diagnosis traveled to me almost immediately. The sorrow I felt was intense. “My sister has cancer.” The thought echoed in my mind with the sinisterness and disbelief of a bad horror movie.

Later that month I was shopping with my mother. I purchased a few cute items and assembled a “thinking of you” package for Casey. I wasn’t sure if she would really remember me or not, but I sent it because she meant so much to me. A few months later I received an unexpected card. It was small and simple. In the place of a commercially generated thank you, there was a beautiful note from Casey. Her words were full of hope and love and gratefulness, but that’s just the sort of person she was.

In the years to follow I would always want to send her another package, or a letter, or even just a card. Sadly, with my life just getting in to gear, it just seemed like I could never get around to it.

It was a sunny day at my apartment in California when my sister (and then my mom, and even my brother) called to tell me about Casey’s passing. I was so upset. At that moment I couldn’t understand why, for the last four years, buying a 99cent card and mailing it out had been so hard. I pulled Casey’s card out of my memory box and quietly remembered.

After a while I decided to stop being so sad and do something. I educated myself. I donated. I made signs about awareness. I told Casey’s story to everyone who wanted to listen. People I’d known for years began coming up to me and telling their stories. They thank me and say I’ve helped them be less helpless about their losses. I tell them I didn’t do anything, it’s just me giving back all the love and inspiration Casey gave to me when I was growing up.

It’s become my own little thinking of you card to my other big sister.

Purple Heart

Marcus Amaker wrote a Casey Inspired poem.

the last time i saw you
you were a shadow of yourself -
hiding the battle scars
after declaring war
on the ghosts
that were moving through your body.

we all would have
gone on the frontlines for you
but you had to do it alone.
so you held on to your heartbeat
like a weapon -
smiling through the pain
even after your enemy claimed its name:

cancer.

a year and a half later,
your ex-boyfriend tells me
it's a shame that someone
with so much life
couldn't win the fight.
so we drink and think of you
and continue to train for the battle
like it's the only thing to fight for.

and now i sharpen my sword
for your memory
and cut through the silence you left here
after all of the smoke cleared.

You can hear him narrate it at www.marcusamaker.com

Friends after all

By Stacy Shackford

I'll start with a confession. While many others have written about the wayCasey made them feel so warm and wonderful and welcome, my firstimpressions were masked by fear. She scared the hell out of me. What can I say, she was intimidating!

She seemed to know EVERYONE, and everyone adored her. She was so witty and fun, poised and confident. The only woman on thesports desk, she nevertheless ruled that roost. And the entire office, more or less. As Julie said, she was like a rock star.

I had ventured into the dank basement a few times before becoming sucked in and part of the furniture during my senior year, so I immediately knew of Casey. It took a lot longer to actually know her, and I'm not convinced Iever really did, as I continue to learn new things all the time, primarilythrough this site.

There was a time when I thought Casey didn't like me at all. I wasconvinced I'd never truly infiltrate the close-knit group that had gathered around her. But those final few months were magic. The picnic, the Collegian formal, the nights out in the Packard's 'library', the ice hockeygame she dragged us to - I NEVER thought I'd enjoy ice hockey, but it was fantastic.

She was also smart. Wicked smart. I don't think I realised the full extent of this until much later, but there were hints of it all the time - in her insane sports trivia, for example. She obviously had a head for numbers andstatistics. She was also an amazing writer.

I tended to avoid the back of the paper, as I'm not what you would call a sports fan, but then I started doing some copy editing to rationalise all my time at the Collegian and fund our nights out. It was the first time I actually read her stories, andthey were GOOD. Enough to get even me interested in sports, and that isquite an accomplishment. There were also her occasional ed/op columns -always a delight. This is no revelation to any of you, I'm sure, but thegirl sure had a way with words!

Then there was the time she really proved herself to me as editor. I hadspent hours struggling with a difficult story about students on welfare, trying to relate the plight of an individual single mother to highlight the problem that many faced, only to have my source turn on me after publication, going so far as to threaten a lawsuit. Jill and Casey did not hesitate to stand by me, and backed me in an emotional, intense confrontation in the claustrophobic confines of the Collegian conferenceroom.

Casey was unflinching in her stance - and most importantly to me, hersupport - and eventually got the girl to back down. It was amazing. I gradually got a glimpse at the softer side of Casey. I suppose with all the sports stuff and general office tomfoolery, it was easy to forgetsometimes that she was also just a girl. Seeing her in all her green taffeta Colleen glory was amazing. Hearing about her special collections of mementos and personalised photo albums made me realise she was a bit of asentimental sap.

I was starting to see a connection between us after all. I distinctly remember the last time I hung out with Casey. She turned up with Matt at the Daily Hampshire Gazette office barbeque in Northampton. I was legal correspondent for the Gazette at the time, about to leave for the glamour and glitz (hard work and strife) of life as a freelancer in Greece. Casey had been undergoing treatment, and I wasn't sure what to expect whenI saw her. But I need not have worried, for she was as vivacious as ever.And so happy to see me!

I didn't expect such a reception. It was a weeknight, and I had to be back at work at 7am the next day, yet somehow Casey convinced me to drive two hours with her and Matt to Boston for an impromptu reunion with some fellow Collegian pals. She was so excited about the prospect of the gang get-together that she was positively bouncing inthe car. I couldn't believe I was going, and I don't think she couldeither. She kept phoning people, saying 'You're not going to believe who Ihave in the car with me right now, on our way to see you... SHACKFORD!'

Needless to say, it was a great night. And I began to realise maybe Casey did like me after all, and I was so glad of it. When I started getting cards from her in Greece, that cemented it for me. By some weird twist of fate, I now find myself working on a sports desk asa copy editor at a Scottish newspaper. I'm sure Casey would find this fantastic, and hilarious. I think of her often, and regret that our time together was so short, and the time it took me to realise we were friends after all.

I've been so glad to check in here and see that others arethinking of her too, and doing wonderful things in her name. May it long continue.

A fun day and a good cause

Tailgating, Tickets and Tackling CancerDana-Farber auctions off Patriots ticket packages

Football fans can tailgate in style and watch the three-time Super Bowl Champion New England Patriots all, while supporting the fight against cancer.
Dana-Farber is having an exclusive auction for New England Patriots Game Tickets and Tailgate Party Packages. Each package includes a pre-game party inside the newly-named Dana-Farber Field House with complimentary food and beverage, a designated seating area, appearances by Patriots Cheerleaders, a free copy of Patriots Gameday magazine and tickets to the game.
These ticket packages are available thanks to a generous donor. All funds raised will go to support cancer research and care for adults and children at Dana-Farber.

Casey's cousin, Gregg Narvell of Hockessin , Delaware bid, in memory of Casey, and won the September 28th auction for the Chargers vs Patriots game on October 2nd .

He and his twin brother Gary made the trip to Foxborough for the pregame party and the game. New England lost to San Diego, 41-17, but seeing the Patriots play and supporting the fight against cancer was well worth the trip.

The photo above was taken with Jack Blais and Bill Poutsiaka, Dana-Farber Trustees, Gregg and Gary each had the chance to wear the Super Bowl ring given to Mr. Blais by the Patriots.

Touching lives and the Pacific

Casey's father, Bill Kane, just completed a cross-country bike ride raising cancer awareness.

From the Newport (OR) News Times
By Jake Schubert Of the News-Times

Bill Kane, of Holyoke, Mass., completed a 52-day, coast-to-coast bike ride on Friday, Aug. 12, in Newport by dipping his front tire into the Pacific Ocean.

The ride started with his back tire in the Atlantic Ocean in Newport, R.I. just after the end of the school year.Kane, 56, a high school teacher by trade, was not making this trip for any sort of personal glory. He was making this trip to spread the word about cancer research. On May 18, 2004 his daughter, Kathleen, 28, lost her battle with cancer.

A few years back, Kane got the idea for this bike ride from his son. In the summer of 2000, Kane was going to complete the ride, but Kathleen was diagnosed, and he knew he had to stay home with his family.

Now, a little more than a year after his daughter's death, Kane has been spreading the word about the Jimmy Fund (jimmyfund.org), which, according to the organization's website, "supports the fight against cancer in children and adults at Boston's Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, helping to raise the chances of survival for cancer patients around the world."

On his trip, Kane has also spread the word about donating platelets. Platelets are irregularly-shaped, colorless bodies that are present in blood. Their sticky surface lets them, along with other substances, form clots to stop bleeding.

Kane says he has long encouraged people to donate platelets, and his brother, Marty, of Grants Pass, who met Bill in Newport, is among the donors.

Kane's trip took him through 12 states: Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho and, of course, Oregon. The trip spanned 3,300 miles, with a high of 81 miles in a day and a low of 44 miles in a day.

Kane said the ride through Iowa was very tough, noting it was much like a washboard, with a number of hills rolling up and down. He also said the ride was psychologically tough because, although his wife made the trip with him as support by car, when he was on the bike he was "all alone."

"I had a lot of time to think," Kane said, joking that he has lesson plans done for the next 40 years.

He did note that his wife served as a great support system for him and really helped him through the trip, as well as the memory of his daughter. He said many times people he talked to during his journey would say what an amazing thing he was doing, but he quickly refuted their sentiments, stating that what his daughter was able to do - live four years with such a horrible disease - was so much more amazing and inspiring."

If by doing this I can get just one person to donate their time or money or platelets to cancer patients, I feel as if this was a success," Kane said.

Anyone wanting to learn about cancer research is encouraged to visit jimmyfund.org.

More birthday musings

By Marcus Amaker
I was thinking about her all day today.

Even posted something about it on my web site. she would have been 30!
wow.

She is so loved ... random people here know her, since i still talk about her so much. =).

Birthday and bikes

Casey would have turned 30 today...

Somebody suggested I post directions to her burial spot. She's buried in the Forestdale Cemetery on Cabot St. in Holyoke. It's the same site as her grandmother, who she adored. The stone is marked Rollins, (her gram's maiden name). Eventually there will be a marker added on the ground for Casey.

Casey's Aunt Chris (Keaney) passes along regards as she trains for the Pan Mass Challenge.

"I am thinking about her a lot these days as I am I doing the Pan Mass Challenge on Aug. 6&7. It's the bike ride from Boston to Provincetown. I am doing it as a part of Team 9, the Red Sox group. Stacy Lucchino, some of the wives and other front office family and friends will be on it. I've heard there are about 30 of us. Guess who I will be riding for? Every time I get frustrated with the practicing I think of Casey. I will be the Golden age rider for Team 9. Wish me luck."

Couple of things to update

The Holyoke High School library has a new reading area, complete with a comfortable chair, a reading lamp and a picture of Casey. Bill Kane, Casey's dad, thought it would be an appropriate way to remember her and her love of reading. The picture is part of a plaque. In it Casey is wearing her "Sam Malone Red Sox jacket" (her words not mine) and smiling inside Fenway Park's Green Monster.

I was at a workshop Monday for Business writing in sports, where Red Sox president Larry Lucchino was a guest speaker. As many of you are aware Lucchino, who is a cancer survivor himself, took a liking to Casey. They met through Sarah McKenna, Casey cousin, who works in Community relations for the Red Sox.

Last April, Lucchino put Casey in his private box to watch a Saturday game between the Red Sox and the Yankees. She wasn't healthy enough to be out in the crowd, so she was let into the park early to go into his box.

Chris Keaney, Casey's aunt wrote about that day below under the heading "A Dream Fulfilled."

I got a chance afterward to talk to him. Anyway, I relayed to him how appreciative we all were to him, Sarah and the Red Sox for how special they made her feel at a tough time.

He smiled and looked sad at the same time. "She was special. She had so much enthusiasm, the whole family does," he said.

Something to get behind

Julie
Julie Fialkow sent me(and presumably some of you) this email. If you've got some extra money and feel like supporting a good cause...

I'm planning on running a half-marathon in September for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

Am I a runner? Am I fit? No, but I'm jumping in with my eyes closed and hoping I don't trip over my shoelaces!

I'm really excited to be a part of this cool organization and event. I've even started to like running which is a triumph in itself. The purpose of this race is to eradicate these cancers so they stop taking the lives of our friends and loved ones.

I am running in memory of my friend Casey and for those who are currently battling these diseases. I am asking for your support, in any amount, to help find a cure. Please check out my website and email me if you have any questions. Feel free to forward this to anyone you can!

Thanks and much love,

Julie

http://www.active.com/donate/tntsonj/tntsonjJFialko

Across the room admiration

By Mike MacLean

Funny thing about news; it can still travel slowly, even among those trained in its dissemination.

It was only a few months ago that I learned of Casey’s passing, and just today that I stumbled upon this page. An old colleague from The Collegian had mentioned the recent reunion, which prompted a Googling, and up came this page.

Casey joined The Collegian during my senior year at UMass. By that time my role had been reduced from the previous year, so I only worked with her for a brief time, and we worked different beats, so I did not get much of a chance to get to know her. Yet as a closeted sports fan hiding over behind the Arts desk, I always admired her confidence - that sense of knowing what you want and going for it.

Being able, as a Freshman, to walk in the front door of your student paper knowing that not only are you going to write, but that you’re going to join the sports desk and put your opinions toe-to-toe with the guys in the trenches. If she was ever scared or nervous about it, she never let it show, which is also crucial to those daily sports debates we got to overhear from across the room, during which she was never shy about standing up for her opinions.

That takes a special level of determination and self-confidence. Life itself is not only short, it’s also unpredictable and unbiased. It has an end, that much we’re sure of, but the rub is that the ending is unscripted.

So as those of us who knew her in college approach our 30s, and some may believe, our first full “adult” decade, we should all take time to reflect and learn something from Casey and the others in our lives who have demonstrated their own brand of grit. If we could all take a moment to think about that, and maybe make a decision, just a few times a year, to emulate and act on that – produce a physical manifestation of an admiration for someone – it will be enough I think, to keep someone’s memory alive.

Mike MacLean worked with Casey at the Collegian.

Two favorite days

Casey told me the first year I knew her that she loved March because it brought two of her favorite days, St. Patrick's Day and the first day of the NCAA Tournament.

The only tolerable Duke fan

By Ted Kottler

Casey was two years younger than me but because I attended UMass for five years, we worked together for a couple of them at the Collegian.

Casey is the only Duke fan I ever knew who I liked; in fact, because Casey could express her opinions so vibrantly and clearly, I was always willing to entertain her thoughts on the Blue Devils, not merely tell her they sucked.

I knew Matt Vautour before I knew Casey, and because I sporadically have kept in touch with him since I left UMass, I do remember hearing from him some time ago that Casey had fallen ill. But I did not realize the gravity of her illness, and it is only now, in discovering Matt's blog, that I learn she has died.

They say life is short, but it is not supposed to be so tragically so. Death can be completely unscrupulous; so often it seems to attack those whom we think should be imprevious to it. But any life, no matter how long, can be celebrated, and Casey's, as all these posts indicate, richly deserves to be.

I commend Matt for his most thoughtful gesture of this blog, and am glad to have the chance to contribute to it.

Rest in peace, Casey. A newsroom was always a little brighter with you in it.

Ted Kottler worked with Casey at the Collegian.

Wherever Casey is, this made her happy

Duke 71, North Carolina 70

In memory

By Seema

Today, I found out someone whom I had worked with in college passed away last spring. Casey Kane was 28 and even though I haven't spoken to her since a couple years after graduation, I'm shocked and very sad to hear the news. She was one of my fellow editors at the Collegian and in some ways, we 'grew up' together. She came on staff a semester after I did, but we became section editors around the same time, and we ended up on night staff around the same time. I was always impressed by Casey's gumption. She went for Sports -- the only female on the staff for quite a while and she handled those guys like a pro when she became editor of the section. Casey knew how to fill that newsroom with her presence and she was just an amazing person.

Thanks

Cele Pedro Trophy, originally uploaded by mattyv424.

Way to go Casey.
We could not have done it with out you.

Love you,
Aunt Chris

Another new Sox fan

My name is Mandy Solomon. I met Casey because she worked with my husband Jon at theAnderson-Independent. We met for the first time at the SCPA awards in February 2002. I am not a writer by nature and tend to ramble but I will try and convey myfeelings as best as I can.

Shortly after we met thefrenziness of March Madness began and Casey and Willwere frequently at Jon's place where we watched basketball until I thought I would go nuts. I actually fell asleep during a game and when I woke up Casey just looked at me and shook her head.

Regardless, me, Emily and Casey had many margaritas and beers together and had a blast. The last time I saw Casey was at mine and Jon's wedding in November 2003. I have a picture of the two of us that I cherish to this day.

I wasn't expecting her to comebut she said she wouldn't miss it for the world. I was so glad to have her there that day. I know it was a lot for her to come. I still think about Casey and although I grew up in the south and am an avid AtlantaBraves fan i have found myself cheering for the RedSox, those adorable idiots that Casey loved. I am finding myself, especially lately, believing thatCasey is up in heaven and has charmed God and BabeRuth into lifting the curse.

As I sit here, after the Sox have won their second series game, with tears streaming down my face it has really hit me how much fun Casey would be having right now and how much I miss her.

Sox

Dan Shaughnessy wrote an excellent column in the Globe today. The passage below will resonate with some people here.

How many of you watched the thrilling comeback against the Yankees and thought of a parent or a spouse who has died? How many watched the first two games of the World Series and thought about how much more special this would be if Uncle Joe or Aunt Elizabeth had lived to see it?

How many of us think maybe Uncle Joe or Aunt Elizabeth have something to do with it happening?

Not a coincidence

I knew I was going to cry a little. That much was inevitable.

With the Red Sox holding a big lead in the middle innings, I had an unusual calm about me that I don’t usually get during playoff baseball games. I knew they were going to win. I knew I was going to cry.

It was an almost perfect night. The only thing missing was Casey. She would have liked this. Maybe I’m being foolish, but something in me believes she had something to do with it. Maybe I just want to think so.

But as so many of you told me by phone or e-mail this morning and late last night, she was in all our thoughts as we watched the game. I’ve been carrying a wooden Irish necklace, that I bought her in Belfast, with me during each of the game. I rub it when the Sox need some luck. It has been pretty successful in recent days.

I’ll have it with me Sunday for Game 7 of the World Series. I have a feeling Casey will be there too.

Casey in the Monster Seats

Me-Casey Monster, originally uploaded by mattyv424.

I finally figured out how to post photos here. Please send me some

Feel good cancer story

By Len Pasquarelli
ESPN.com

SPARTANBURG, S.C. -- Like the little kid on Christmas Eve whose combination of pent-up excitement and untreatable anxiety eventually turns into insomnia, Mark Fields tossed and turned restlessly much of Friday night, finally gave up on trying to get some sleep, and headed for the Carolina Panthers locker room.

None of his early-bird teammates were surprised to see the nine-year linebacker. But they were surprised to see Fields, normally among the last of the Carolina veterans to check in for work, that early.

Then again, Saturday, the first time on the field in training camp for the defending NFC champions, wasn't just any other day. For the universally respected Fields, who missed the Panthers' run to the Super Bowl last year while he battled Hodgkin's Disease, the day marked the resumption of his football career. And, of course, his first encounter with full-contact drills since the final days of the 2002 season.

Despite some rust and obvious fatigue, Fields made it through the opening test with a passing grade.

"It's to the point now where it's a battle with myself," said Fields, who worked with the No. 1 defense, as he took the initial step toward reclaiming his starting spot at strongside linebacker. "The coaches are very aware of it and they have been great. But now, after all the chemo(therapy) and all the treatments, it's up to me. No one else can go out there for me and do the things I have to do to re-prove myself."

The fact Fields is back on a football field at all, let alone trying to climb back to the top of the depth chart on one of the NFL's best defenses, is already a feel-good story. Fields won't feel really good about things, however, until he is all the way back.
Toward that end, it seemed, Saturday produced some mixed results. There were plays on which Fields, 31, flashed his typical quickness to get to the ball. But on a few occasions, it appeared he struggled to merely get back to the huddle. There is a long way to go. Then again, given where Fields has come from, his progress is nothing shy of remarkable.

"I doubt most people understand what he has been through," said weakside linebacker Will Witherspoon. "Yeah, you hear the word 'cancer' and everyone reacts to it pretty much the same way. But for an athlete, a person who earns a living with his body ... well, I mean, you never expect to hear that word. You think you're invincible, right? So, mentally, as well as physically, he's had to fight back."

Witherspoon once accompanied Fields to observe a chemotherapy treatment for Panthers linebacker coach Sam Mills, whose battle with cancer continues. The unusual experience provided Witherspoon a raw insight into what Fields and Mills have faced, increased his respect for both men and steeled his conviction to help both come all the way back.

The optimism of Saturday's two workouts aside, even with the positive vibes, Fields still has questions that will need to be answered before he is deemed whole again. He will be closely monitored and, in a game where there are no gimmes, will have to produce.

"At some point," acknowledged coach John Fox, "you have to use the same measuring stick for Mark that you use for everyone else. He knows that."
Greg Favors, who moved into the starting job after Fields was diagnosed last year, has departed in free agency. But the Panthers signed veterans Jessie Armstead and Brandon Short, the latter a young, three-year starter for the Giants, in free agency. The strongside spot, it seems, is one of the most competitive on the team.
Then again, for Fields it feels pretty good just to be able to compete again. Part of the depression he battled last year was the feeling of being separated from the team, not a part of the success -- an interloper of sorts. It's a common theme suffered by any player who is injured for an extended period but, of course, Fields' circumstances were more severe than most.
"There were times last year when, on a bad day, you would think to yourself, 'Man, this isn't going to happen,' " recalled Fields. "It humbles you and changes your perspective. And it makes the (comeback) all the sweeter, too, and that really drives you."
Len Pasquarelli is a senior writer for ESPN.com

A Special Bond

By Jo Ann Checkovich

I first met Casey while she was covering a University of South Carolina basketball game at the Carolina Coliseum. I'm sure she had been there before but I had never spoken with her.

This paticular night however was the first game I had worked since the death of my daughter Suzanne. Casey caught my eye with her attire that evening. You see she had a scarf on her head and I could tell by the soft fold around her face that she had lost her hair.

As I walked closer to her, I heard her joking with the other reporters about the loss of her hair. As a mother who had been through the battle of cancer with a super hero of a daughter, I knew all the signs and language.

I fought back tears because I knew my daughter would not be very proud of me if I spoke to Casey and had an emotional moment. I finally found the courage to speak to her and let her know that I knew she was fighting a battle. I told her my daughter had been through a similar experience and I knew a little about the strength it took to wage such a battle.

Casey asked me how she was doing and my answer to her was she was well and happy. I did not lie and as Casey's brother so eloquently put it "she had her had in the hand of Jesus when she breathed her last breath". Actually I believe it was Casey who told her brother that.

Over the next several years we e-mailed back and forth and I would see her at occasional South Carolina ballgames. She did not know for the first year that my daughter had died. She asked me point blank one day at a game how she was and I had to tell her. I reminded her that as she well knew each journey was different and that is why I had not told her before.

I kept her e-mails because she was such a gifted writer but in main part because she spoke of her battle and had such inspiring words to light up many days. Like many other people who have written about her, I felt her incredible life force everytime I was around her.

I did not know of her death until football season started at South Carolina this year. I have spent the last several weeks thinking about her and feeling much the same as I do about my incredible daughter. While the world sometimes feels empty without my wonderful Suzanne and vivacious Casey, so many lives were touched and blessed with the pleasure of having been able to share their lives even if the time was much too short.

To Casey's parents and family - I met her, I admired her, I grew to care very much for her and she will always remain in my heart. Thank you for sharing Casey with all of us.

Collegian coverage: UMass alumna Casey Kane: Collegian legend not forgotten

In connection with the Light the Night Walk, Collegian news editor Erika Lovley wrote a column about Casey and quoted from this site. This ran in the Sept. 20, 2004 UMass Daily Collegian.

by Erika Lovley
September 20, 2004
The name may mean nothing to you, but to the staff at the Massachusetts Daily Collegian, Casey Kane is a legend.

Casey Kane was an Editor-in-Chief and Sports Editor of the Massachusetts Daily Collegian. She was also a Red Sox fan, a UMass student and a friend.

The last time she darkened the doors of the Collegian was when she graduated from the journalism program in May of 1999 - but the mark she left on the newspaper and the people who make it flourishes still today.

Here at the Collegian, our family grows by the day. We are constantly gaining new writers, meeting new people and branching out in the UMass community. However on May 19, our newspaper lost a member who may arguably have been its finest. Casey Kane died of pneumonia due to complications with lymphoma treatment. She was 28.

I do not remember Casey. She graduated several years before I had even heard of the Collegian. But sitting here at the news desk on an unremarkable weeknight in the newsroom, I have a very good sense of who she was. There is a common thread that bonds every person who ever holds a position in the newsroom - the love of journalism.

Casey was, first and foremost, a Collegian writer. Awarded 12 varsity letters for tennis, field hockey, swimming and soccer, she was not unique simply because of her athletic prowess. The Holyoke native aspired to be a professional sports writer - an admirable challenge for any woman in a genre of journalism that is still dominated by men.

She began immediately as a freshman, walking the trail of a sports reporter across Garber Field, Warren P. McGuirk Alumni Stadium and the Mullins Center, impressing everyone she came into contact with, from her fellow reporters to the athletes she covered.

When she became Editor-in-Chief, the most highly regarded position on the paper; Casey didn't just make sure the papers hit the press on time and that every headline was balanced, well reported and clear. She did much more.

Casey made the Collegian a fun place to work - a daunting and often impossible task for any leader in an environment where a night can stretch from 5 p.m. until 3 a.m., where the pressure of up-to-the-minute deadlines, chronic exhaustion and endless criticism from the outside community can sometimes cause the desk editors themselves to question why they don't throw down the pen and notebook, climb the stairs of the Campus Center and rejoin the world of regularly-sleeping, socially active UMass students.

It's a story like Casey's that lifts our spirits, and keeps us vying for the most captivating interview or that perfect photograph.

According to her friends and coworkers, when Casey worked at the Collegian, she made the newsroom feel much like it does today - like a family. Matt Vautour, a close friend and former Collegian Editor-in-Chief himself, said, "She liked people liking to be in her company."

"She was the closest thing the Collegian ever had to a rock star - and held that role modestly and effortlessly," wrote Julie Fialkow, a former Collegian staff writer. "I have never met a woman like Casey before and I know I never will."

Casey's gleaming personality continued even in January of 2000, when she was first diagnosed with Hodgkins disease, a form of lymphoma.

"In typical Casey fashion, she was often scared to talk about her illness. Mostly, she was scared about how other people would react, so she sheltered many of us," wrote Jon Solomon, a co-worker at the Anderson Independent Mail, where Casey covered University of South Carolina sports after college when she was first diagnosed.

As her blonde hair fell out and regrew brown and curly due to chemotherapy treatments, Casey refused to let those around her be worried with her illness, humorously dyeing her hair funky shades of red, and referring to her treatment as "Keno Therapy."

"She said all you had to do was pick the right numbers," said Vautour, who shaved his head to match Casey's the first time she lost her hair.

Her struggle with lymphoma was long and tiring. Not one or two, but three bouts of recurring cancer and treatment dotted her life for over two years. To this day, Vautour still carries with him an everyday reminder of Casey's struggle - the top of his head has remained bald from her second chemotherapy session.

"I'm not ready to change it yet," he said.

Although many of us never knew her, Casey is still very much a part of the Collegian. Sometimes late at night, when every computer is humming, the coffee is being passed around and we all joke and laugh while rushing to finish the next day's issue before deadline, the names of old Collegian legends begin to haunt our conversations.

We tell stories of old writers and editors who grew from writing previews of on-campus lectures to gracing the front pages of the Boston Globe, the newscasts of ESPN and hosting radio shows all over the nation. We tell stories of people who typed on these very computers in the basement of the Campus Center and dreamed as big as we do - dreams of following the passion that first led us all to the Collegian.

As time goes on, some of the names begin to sink into the shadows. But unlike a good news story - current today, old tomorrow - the name of one Collegian legend will always be timely: Casey Kane.

Erika Lovley is a Collegian columnist.

There is also Light the Night coverage here.

Light the Night

Light the Night

Light the Night, originally uploaded by mattyv424.

Photo from Light the Night

Thank you immensely to everyone that contributed and participated in the Light the Night walks.

There were five of us in Northampton. Julie Fialkow is participating in Philadelphia, Lorraine Kennedy is walking in Wakefield and Casey's Aunt Jane has a group involved in Delaware.

Thanks a lot.

Light the Night

Hi Guys,

A bunch of you asked me to let you know when I was doing this. Myself and several of Casey's friends and family are doing the Light the Night Walk (Sept. 19, Northampton), a fundraiser for Leukemia and Lymphoma Research (Casey had Hodgkins Disease which is a form of lymphoma).

If you're interested in walking let me know and I'll give you the information. If you're interested in donating, you can do it here. There is no pressure to do it, but if you'd like to, it would be appreciated.

http://www.active.com/donate/fundraise/Caseymemories

Matt Vautour
mattyv424@yahoo.com

Wear Yellow -- Livestrong

This story moved on the Associated Press wire.

By Jim Vertuno
Associated Press Writer

AUSTIN — John Kerry wears one. President Bush has one, too. So do several movie stars.

One of the hottest fashion trends in America is the "Live Strong" yellow wristband produced by the Lance Armstrong Foundation, the cycling superstar’s cancer-fighting organization.
Since the fund-raising effort started in May, the charity has sold 7 million of the rubber bands for $1 each — and it plans to sell 1.8 million more. Nike donated the first $1 million, and proceeds go toward programs for young people with cancer.

Sales easily surpassed the $6 million the foundation initially hoped to raise. The wristbands can be purchased at www.wearyellow.com.

"It’s been an overwhelming experience," foundation President Mitch Stoller said. "I think everybody, from average Americans to celebrities, are getting the message of courage and hope."

Armstrong overcame advanced testicular cancer that had spread to his lungs and brain before putting together one of the most astonishing athletic feats of the past decade by winning a record six Tour de France titles, all in a row.

Armstrong was given only a 50 percent chance to live in 1996 but has won every Tour de France since 1999. He has inspired cancer survivors around the world and linked himself to the traditional yellow jersey worn by the Tour leader and champion.

The foundation timed the fund-raising campaign to coincide with this year’s race, which Armstrong won July 25.

Kerry, the Democratic nominee for president, wore his wristband while campaigning this week and at the Democratic National Convention. Kerry had a cancerous prostate removed in February 2003; his father died of complications from cancer in 2000.
White House spokesman Taylor Gross said Bush also has a wristband and supports the Armstrong foundation.

Foundation spokeswoman Michelle Milford said the group appreciates the candidates’ support but will avoid any political debate.

"The way we fight cancer is a bipartisan issue," she said. "We want support from everybody."
Milford said foundation officials have been keeping track of celebrities wearing the wristbands. Bono of the band U2 and actors Alec Baldwin, Bruce Willis, Robin Williams, Matt Damon and Ben Stiller have been sighted wearing them, Milford said.

The wristband had a noticeable presence at the Tour de France as well.

"A lot of his competitors were wearing them," Milford said. "Cancer doesn’t pick teams."
The biggest spike in sales came during the race. The foundation sold 25,000 in Paris on the race’s final Sunday alone. Another 400,000 were sold over the foundation’s Web site over the next three days.

But the popularity has brought out profit seekers as well.

The online auction site eBay has several listings for wristbands for sale at inflated prices. One listing said the online sale could help the foundation raise cash, but there is no guarantee the money will be sent there, Stoller said.

The foundation is trying to steer buyers away from secondhand purchases.

"We don’t want people buying these and trying to profit," Stoller said. "That’s not the intention of this campaign."

Lance Armstrong Foundation: http://www.laf.org

Pen Pals

Casey and Emily

Casey and Emily, originally uploaded by mattyv424.

By Emily Walthouse

Not many people that read this web site know who I am. I’m a 10-year old girl from Woodstock, GA. But, like a lot of people, I knew Casey.

The first time that I met Casey, was when my Nanny (my grandma) took me to a Denny’s Diner to have lunch and meet her. It was three years ago when I was in the second grade. I was told by my Nanny that she did not have hair but it was different when I saw her in person.

We had to meet her half way between South Carolina and Georgia for lunch, so we were in the car for a long time. I’m not a big fan of sitting in the car with my two little brothers for a long time, but after I met Casey, I knew that the car ride was worth it.

When we met her and I first saw her I felt a little bit funny. A little bit funny because she had no hair. But after five minutes talking with her, she was an inspiration to me. She inspired me because I love to write.

While I was talking with her, the last thing that you would think about was that she had no hair. My brothers liked her, too. Billy, one of my brothers, talked baseball with her. Matthew was too young to talk about much. They both liked her and so did I .

By the end of lunch, Casey and I decided to be pen-pals. I found out that she was a sportswriter. I had been writing stories since kindergarten. Since we both liked to write, we thought that we should write to each other.

I kept in touch with Casey over the year by letters. She wrote back to me, too. We became friends by our letters. I was always happy when I got a letter from her.

A couple months later, I had my first communion. Casey came down to see it. She drove me home after. She gave me a beautiful bracelet with my name on it. I wear it all the time. I loved it when she was at my house.

Last Christmas, all fifteen of the cousins, all twelve aunts and uncles, and two grandparents were at the Springfield Country Club for brunch. Casey came, too. She gave me a wonderful necklace. That was a great Christmas.

I loved to see everyone in that room together. Most of all, I loved seeing Casey in that room with everyone. It was one of the best days of my life.

That was the last time that I saw her in person. It was so sad to hear that she was sick. I talked to her a couple days before her death on the telephone. It was a little hard to understand her with her mask on but it still meant a lot to me that I was talking to her. The last thing that I said to her was that she was a great cousin and that I loved her.

I wore both pieces of jewelry to her funeral. I cried so much. I met many of her friends at the funeral. They were sad, too.

Casey gave me courage. She inspired me and taught me many things without trying. She taught me to be a good friend. She taught me to be strong.

She taught me how much you should dislike the Yankees. Every game that the Red Sox win, I am certain she is watching. She’s probably got a Red Sox cap on over her halo.

I love Casey. I knew she is watching over me and many of us. I think that people like Casey live on in our hearts forever. I know she does in mine. I will never forget her courage or anything else about her. I love Casey.

A dream fulfilled

By Chris Keaney

I have been reading with great interest these many wonderful stories about Casey and the impact she had on so many of your lives. There is a constant thread, however, that runs through each of these recollections, a concern that Casey had so much to offer and that she never really had a chance to fulfill one of her dreams.

I want to dispel that notion by recalling for you a very special day in Casey’s life.Casey is my niece. She is also my godchild.  Last summer, my daughter  Sarah,  who is Director of Fan Services  for the Red Sox, had arranged for Casey to meet and have her picture taken with Lou Merloni. Two years ago Casey had written an article about Sarah which had been published in the Providence College Alumni Magazine.

Casey and Sarah are about the same age and shared both a friendship and a passion for sports.In late April the Yankees were coming to Boston and  I asked Casey if she would like to attend one of these games. Without hesitating, she said," I’d love to go."I called Sarah and asked her to make the arrangements for us   to attend, and on Saturday, April 17, I  picked her up at her home in Holyoke and we made our way to Fenway Park.

Casey could not move very easily and so Sarah had made arrangements for us to park in the players lot. Sarah then took us to the new right field seats where Casey camped herself under the new Budweiser sign and watched her  Red Sox take their batting practice. I think that she would have been perfectly happy to remain in these seats, but in her condition she could not remain in a crowd and so, as game time approached, Sarah escorted us to our seats for the game.

I had no idea where we were going to sit but we soon found ourselves approaching a door which read "Red Sox - Executive Press Box."  I looked at Casey as she walked through that door and I know that she stood up taller. She looked out of the box in one direction and identified the faces of reporters from the Globe, the Herald, and a number of journalists that she knew by name.

Immediately to her right she could see Jerry Remy and Don Orsillo getting ready to broadcast the game. After seating herself in the front row of the box an attendant came in and opened the window in the front of her and immediately, the box was flooded with the sights and sounds of Fenway Park.

The Green Monster loomed to her left and in the right field grandstand she could identify the seat where Ted Williams had hit his legendary home run. There it was – Casey’s own field of dreams.

Within minutes, however, Casey was on her cell phone. She wasn’t about to let this moment pass without advising whoever she could contact that she was sitting in the Executive Press Box.

"Turn on the game", she shouted. "Look up at the Press Box. I’ll wave to you."Shortly after the end of the first inning the door to the Press Box opened and in walked Larry Lucchino, the President and CEO of the Red Sox.

"Hi Casey, I heard you were coming to the game. It’s great to see you" He immediately followed up his greeting with a question. "Where’s your Press Kit?"Casey smiled at Lucchino and said, "That’s OK, I’m not doing much writing these days". 

Lucchino responded, "Hey Casey — you’re a reporter." He picked up the phone and within minutes Casey had a complete Press kit delivered to her seat, and for the next three innings he remained by her side and debated with her about how the game should be scored.

For that hour the President of the Sox took no phone calls and diverted any attempts to take him from his seat. Here she was sitting in a Press Box, talking with the guy who had built Camden Yards and who now ran one of the most storied franchises in the history of Major League sports.

You would think that this would have been enough, but there’s more. She went on to consume not one, but two Fenway hot dogs. She followed up with two sodas, and an ice cream. In fact, she probably consumed more food that day than she had eaten in the past month.When the game had ended, (The Red Sox won of course), we waited for the crowd to clear and then made our way to the players parking lot.

When we arrived, several of the team members  were getting ready to leave. The attendants were bringing up a Hummer, A Lexus and a Caddy convertible. Out strode Manny Ramirez, Pedro Martinez and David Ortiz. The fans behind the fence were screaming at each of them and the trio was responding to these fans who were waiting to greet them as they left the park.

At this moment the attendant drove up with my little Honda and the crowd fell silent as they watched Casey performed the arduous task of climbing into the front seat. They recognized that with her mask and physical appearance she had to be battling Cancer. They gave each of the ballplayers a hearty round of cheers as they drove by, but their loudest ovation was saved for the girl who had just covered her first game as a major league reporter.

I’m grateful for having been a part of Casey’s day. I’m grateful to my daughter who made it happen. I will never forget the kindness shown to Casey by Larry Lucchino and every member of the Red Sox organization who were so kind to her on that Saturday.  But I also want each of you, who knew and loved Casey for your own special reasons, to know that for that one brilliant afternoon, she was truly happy.

Happy Birthday

As I'm sure many of you are aware, Casey would have turned 29 today.

On the tree her Dad planted in her memory in the Kane's backyard, a single pink flower is blooming high on top. It felt like her smiling at us.

Lou Merloni homered last night. Lance Armstrong won his sixth Tour de France and the Red Sox took two out of three from the Yankees this weekend so wherever she is I think she's happy this birthday. So raise a Bass Ale to her this week if you get a chance. I think she'd like that.

 

Lance Armstrong

I've had a few people tell me that they're following the Tour de France more closely this year because of the inspiration Casey drew from Lance Armstrong (see lower on this site).  So this seemed an appropriate addition here. Armstrong's top competition for winning the tour this year is his close friend Ivan Basso, whose mother is battling cancer.
 
This is from cycling news.
 
On Tuesday's rest day in Limoges, Armstrong and Basso met to discuss Ivan's mother, who is currently battling cancer in Italy. Armstrong paid homage to Basso today. "Ivan deserved to win the stage today...he's a hell of a good guy and he was super-strong today. We have been friends for a long time...we're working on helping to treat his mom's cancer."
 
From Eurosport.com:
 
"He and I have been friends for a long time. Now off the bike we're working on his mom's situation to see if she can win the fight against cancer."
"It was special for me to be out there with him. In the last week we haven't talked about the race but talked about his mom."
"It was a pleasure for me that I didn't win."

Merloni News

Stacy Schorr Chandler passed this along:

This isn't so much a memory as a news flash, on a topic that will forever interest me and likely many of you because of Casey's love for her sweet baby Lou:

------------
Cleveland beats Oakland in final at-bat again

By The Associated Press

Even with a new closer, the Oakland Athletics couldn’t put away those pesky Cleveland Indians.
Pinch-hitter Lou Merloni’s two-run single off Octavio Dotel in the ninth inning gave Cleveland another thrilling victory over the Athletics, 5-4 on Friday night.

---------------

So if the sun is shining extra brightly today, you know why...

Lots to bond over

By Jim Pignatiello

It seems silly now, but I’ve been putting this off for most of the same reasons that Seth Koenig wrote about earlier on this site. It just didn’t feel right to put myself on this board alongside Casey’s closest friends.

I didn’t know Casey before she was sick. I never spent time along with her. I probably saw her in person only a dozen times or so. But then I remembered that Casey would have kicked me in the rear for thinking that way.

As a Collegian writer who came along a few years after Casey graduated, I only knew about her through word of mouth. They still talk about some of the legends down there as the older folks pass along the stories and Casey was someone we heard a lot about in the Sports section.

It wasn’t until my senior year that I met her through Matt at a Steve Lappas Show and I was instantly taken with how the two of them played off each other. As you could all imagine, she was quick to make me feel both comfortable and like a fool at the same time.

We became friends through Matt, each passing along our hellos and catching up to watch an basketball or Red Sox game together at Rafters or Smokeybones.

We bonded over our love for Duke basketball (her favorite player was Bobby Hurley, mine was Grant Hill), the Red Sox and sports writing. She always had a different, and generally more intelligent, way of looking at things.

A few months back, she learned that I was a finalist for a reporting job I really wanted. Over lunch a few days prior to the interview, Casey met up with us at Rafters with prepared questions to quiz me with. She wasn’t letting me go in unprepared.

Not surprisingly, a few of the questions she asked — and stumped me on a bit — were brought up during the interview. Total Casey. I learned later (after I was hired for the job) that Casey was trying to plan a congratulations dinner for me at my favorite restaurant. Apparently, the plan was to tell me she and Matt were taking me out and then to have two more of my best friends from the area surprise me. Unfortunately, she became sick before we could get together, but I’ll never walk into that restaurant without thinking of her and how generous she was to me.

That mock interview was the last time I saw her, and I’ll never forget that she was giving her time to me that day.

As we were leaving, she said her good-byes and gave me hug and told me she loved me for the first time. Our "I love yous" were the last words we spoke to each other.

Strong memories for few moments

By Greg Halstead

I've noticed a couple of important things from reading this website over the last couple of weeks: 1) Professional writers can bring such
emotion into their words that it can be enough to make you cry. 2)People have the power to leave indelible marks on the lives of others
just by being themselves. 3) Most importantly, Casey's wonderful life
is a testament to how she is remembered.

I must confess that I'm not a writer, so I don't have the eloquence that so many of you are blessed with. I must also say that I only had the privilege to see Casey three times but despite the many years, I can remember each meeting like it was yesterday. I am proud to be a good friend of Matt's and I can tell you that he thought the world of Casey.

Matt is a great judge of character and any friend of Matt is a friend of mine.

My introduction to Casey was at a bar in Boston so Matt could have me meet his new girlfriend. I was able to learn in the first 5 minutes that Casey was an energetic, friendly, intelligent, opinionated and pretty woman that just had a zest for life. I knew in the first 10 minutes that she loved Umass, the Red Sox, Lou Merloni and Duke. I also learned how much she hated the Yankees (don't we all).

I knew in the first 15 minutes that this woman was going to do something in her life that few ever get the chance to do. Casey would leave a positive impression on every person she would encounter. I'll bet there are at least 1,000 other people out there that have only met Casey a couple of times and could say how their lives were affected positively by this Angel. How many people do you know that have this ability? My guess is that you won't be able to think of many.

Unfortunately, God felt that Casey's talents were better served in Heaven than on Earth. I'm sure that her spirit is leaving indelible
marks throughout heaven as it has left that type of mark throughout all
of you and probably thousands of others that we will never meet. A
person's life can be summed up by how they are remembered, and it is
very clear to see Casey Kane's legacy will live on forever.

God bless you Casey.

A life's landscape

By Elizabeth Walters
The first thing I ever knew about Casey, months before I made her acquaintance, was that she was sick. Once I met her, it was the last thing I could ever remember about her.

I started work in Anderson in September 2001. Casey was out getting treatment that fall, and the first I heard about her was one night when Stacy and Geoffrey were making her a get-well card. I met her for the first time at their Grammys party the following February. All I knew about her, really, was that she was a sports reporter and had been out of work getting cancer treatment.

Turns out that she knew a lot more about me. “I heard you went to Smith! That’s so cool! I went to UMass! I’m so glad there’s someone else from the Pioneer Valley here!” I was bowled over. Here was this person who had been seriously ill, who had every right to be preoccupied with her own problems, who could have just talked to all of her old friends at the party, and she was interested in talking to me—someone she’d never met before.

But, as I’d soon learn, that was Casey. She understood, in a way I didn’t and possibly still don’t, that everyone needs attention. It’s a rule of journalism, but she knew it should also be a rule of life.
My year in Anderson was the most difficult I’ve ever had. The Sept. 11 terror attacks fell during my first week of work. I was used to a college dorm and found living alone isolating and, at times, frighten-ing. The friends I’d seen every day for four years were scattered around the country, the closest a 12-hour drive away. Although I made new friends in Anderson, I longed for the familiar, for school and for Northampton.

When Casey came back to work, in May, I was still homesick. But talking to her made things better. If there was someone else who knew about Herrell’s and Packard’s and Atkins Farms (funny how so many of our conversations revolved around food and drinking), then it meant that those places existed, that I could go back to them someday if I needed to. She told me about her Pioneer Valley, too—about Collegian parties, about the Colleens in Holyoke, about the importance of late-night slices at Antonio’s. When we talked, I’d see in my mind the trees in fall, the view of the Quad through my window, the profile of Mount Tom rising up as I’d walk past the pond down to orchestra rehearsal.

We talked about many other things that spring and summer — our plans for the future, our families, boys, books we’d read, books I thought she should read, books she thought I should read (some of which she later lent to me), Catholicism, journalism, sledding hills, music, Ireland, the Red Sox.

Casey was so many things, and as I learned more about her, her cancer faded so far into the background as to become an afterthought. She was beautiful. She was glamorous. She was smart. She was funny. She was one of the best storytellers I’ve ever heard, or read. Everybody wanted to sit next to her.

Casey was the cool older sister I’d never had and always wanted. I wanted to be just like her; I still do. Being in her company was always a treat, and an honor.

But those first nostalgic dialogues she shared with me were an outright gift. When she barely knew me, Casey gave me a way to move on from my past while keeping it alive, and moving on is what I needed if I was to ever be happy again.

As it turned out, we both went back to New England in fall 2002, her for a stem cell transplant and me for a job in New Hampshire. I got to visit her, and we took several excursions. We went to Fitzwilly’s for dinner and beers. We went to the Hangar with Matt. We went to hear Mount Holyoke’s Christmas vespers with Chris and Maryka. (Casey said her vocal range wasn’t wide enough for her to sing along, so, in her typical make-lemonade style, she whistled “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “Joy to the World.”).

In the time we spent together, I never asked her why she was so nice to me that night. Maybe she sensed that I needed someone to talk to – that I was lonely, that I was, to be honest, unhappy most of the time. More likely, she just saw me sitting there and decided to introduce herself. After all, that was Casey. She never wanted anyone to feel left out.

On the day before her funeral, when I was driving south on 91, I realized that my geography of the area had shifted. Here was not just Northampton on my right, here was Casey’s Amherst on my left. Towering to my right was Mount Tom, where Casey and her brothers learned to ski, back when Mount Tom still had skiing. Still miles ahead was the house with the basketball hoop, just down the block from the elementary school, on a street named for her family. In helping me reclaim my old stomping grounds, I now realized, Casey had given me something far more precious: the landscape of most of her life.

The valley had never looked more beautiful.
Liz worked with Casey at the Anderson Independent Mail.

A Spirit Finaly Free

There are few people in the world that truly inspire you to try. Now, when I say "try" I don't mean that you don't give an honest effort every day.

Try in the sense that I mean is the effort that comes from the heart, not stretching to reach for the remote.

I was a hack photo technician for the Collegian my sophomore year. Scared as I was to walk into the office, the people were welcoming, especially one. I had the luck of the draw to be the photog for the Ben Folds Five show one night in Northampton. The reporter for the show was this woman named Casey.

I'd talked to her in the office, but that was the extent of my knowledge of her. After that night, I can say that my life was changed for the better.

We went to Wendy's to order some food before the show. When I received my change, I tried to do a smooth no-look drop of the change into the charity collection they had, I missed. Casey laughed and laughed and, instead of feeling silly, I laughed as well. I still smile when I think of that laugh.

Casey encouraged me to become an editor, and I in fact, changed my entire semester's schedule around specifically to work with her the next semester.

We spent hours dancing on desks to Fat Boy Slim, listening to music way to loud for others to work, and again, laughing.

Casey encouraged me to become Managing Editor, and I thank her to this day.

Casey yelled at me when I told her how much an Internet editor's salary was.

As I sat in my chair at the office, I got the e-mail. "I have cancer." The world stopped, for a second. Then it started turning, as Casey joked and described so plainly what she would be going through, as if she was having a cavity filled.

At that moment, I made a decision, one that I don't think I ever told her: When I am lucky enough to become a parent, to be blessed with that awesome responsibility, I want my first child's name to be Casey. (Thank God it is a Unisex name, I'd have a hard time explaining to my son why his name was Jennifer or Suzanne.)

If there is one person in this world blessed enough to have half of the passion, the drive and the gift to make people smile that Casey did, and still does, well, I'd want them playing on my team.

It's amazing that you can hear things through your heart, I still hear
the clink of the change on the floor, the laugh, the more laughing, and the smile. You think that you can't hear a smile? I can hear her smile right now.

Casey is a spirit to me, and now she is free to fly. She can now follow Lou Merloni to all his various starts in the Majors, minors, Independent Mexican League, his career as a coach in the Cape Cod League, and eventual presidency.

Hopefully that is making you smile Casey, it's the least I can give
back.

Ken McDonald worked with Casey at the Massachusetts Daily Collegian.

Will's eulogy

By Will Martin

Why Casey? If you knew Casey, if you knew here at all, if her life even touched you once, you've asked why.

Why not the drug dealer? The murderer? Why not the bad people of this world? Or as Casey might ask, why not one of the New York Yankees?

I don't know why, but for some clues, I turned to Casey. Casey loved to read and among her many books I found "The Problem of Pain" by C.S. Lewis, who himself lost a wife to cancer.

From that book, one line stands out. Lewis states "God whispers to us in our pleasure, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains."

If Lewis is right, God whispered often through Casey. Casey knew pleasure.

Casey personified pleasure. Whether it be a simple beer among friends or climbing South Carolina's highest peak only months after her first bout with cancer, Casey refused to allow life's cirumstances to deny her life's pleasures.

If Lewis is right, God also spoke through Casey, because through her battle with cancer, she awakened many a conscience.

Young coworkers were reminded that life isn't about the next paycheck or next year's vacation, but it's about what you'll do with today.

A locker room of high school football players learned from Casey that their troubled homes and questionable lots in life were not insurmountable injustices, but challenges from which they could grow.

Casey's daily courage pricked our conscience with the truth that warriors aren't found just on battlefields, but heroism is all around us, if we'll only slow down long enough to look.

In the end, Casey knew pain, which brings us back to why. Why, if Lewis is right, would God send an angel like Casey through a hell like three rounds of cancer? What was he shouting to her? To us? I don't exactly know.

But I know Casey found God through the pain. In one of our last moments alone, she told me that I could hold her hand on this side of eternity, but that Jesus gets to hold it on the other - in her words, "the perfect package deal."

I've cursed God plenty throughout my 32 years of life, including the past several days. But now, seeking His grace, for my own existence, I will choose to view Casey's life and illness and death, not as injustices, but as a loving shout from a father trying to speak and whisper to his hurting child. For those of you who love Casey, and you are many, I hope you will find the grace to do the same.

We'll miss you Casey.
Will delivered this eulogy at Casey's funeral.

A Patient and a Friend

By Stacy Parkhurst

I’m sure most of us have been asked where we were on 9/11/01. Well, I was in Casey’s room in our transplant clinic in Greenville, SC.

I was Casey’s nurse during her first stem cell transplant. She came into our clinic for her daily assessment and IV fluids after her high-dose chemotherapy the week prior. Casey had the TV on and we saw it all on live TV when the attack occurred. Like everyone else, we were shocked and couldn’t believe what we were seeing.

During the day, Casey kept all of us nurses up to date on the news and did her job as a reporter even though it wasn’t sports. And, I think we all shed a tear that day because we knew our world had changed.

Casey’s world changed first when she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in 2000. However, she didn’t let it slow her down and she wasn’t angry at her diagnosis. I asked her once if she ever felt angry and she said “at first but then you realize you just have to cope and move on”.

A lot of people would be angry at such a fate, but not Casey. I am always inspired and amazed at the strength and courage patients like Casey display. I never heard her complain about her disease or curse at God for allowing such to happen. With a smile beaming on her face, she came to the clinic daily for weeks until she recovered and always entertained the nurses and doctors with jokes, sports talk, and just being Casey. She inspired the other patients in the clinic who were just starting with transplant and was always willing to share her experience with them.

I will never forget one hat she liked to wear. We called it her “Pippy Longstocking” hat. It looked silly but it was Casey and she told me once it made her feel happy. When she wanted something from her parents, she use to joke and say she would play the “C” card and she would get it. Casey found humor in the midst of her storm. She was easy to love and we all did.

Casey and I became friends and kept in touch after she recovered from her first transplant. I knew it was a risk to allow a patient to become such a friend but it was a risk worth taking. We had a lot in common: both of us loved pink, wearing tiara’s (she had a real one, I don’t), silver jewelry, and loved laughing. She always knew how to cheer me up and make me laugh.

One day, she tried to teach the nurses how to dance in the clinic. (I don’t have any rhythm so she got a big laugh). And of course, she educated all of us on who Lou Merloni was. When she moved back to Boston for further treatment, she continued to update me in letters and I would call her to check on her status. She came by to visit last fall when she was in SC for a wedding. She was the same ole Casey and kept us entertained during her brief visit.

When her Mother called me on May 17, I knew it was the end and this was what I had dreaded for so long. Casey asked her Mother to call me and she wanted to speak to me. I can honestly say that was the hardest few moments of my life. I knew it was our last conversation. She could only say a few words due to the oxygen mask but it was good just to hear her weak voice. My prayer became a prayer of mercy and that death would not linger and she would be comfortable during her final moments.

I feel so privileged to have been a very small part of her life and I appreciate her Mother, Eileen, calling me at the end. My heart still aches and the tears are still there. But, I am reminded of what a friend said to me, “don’t be sad it’s over, be glad it happened”.

I am very glad that a friendship developed out of such a circumstance. A lot of people think working with cancer patients is sad and depressing. Patients like Casey remind us of the joy in life and to not take life so seriously. Everyday is a gift from above and life is precious. Now, Casey has a brilliant tiara! She is and will forever be my hero!

Stacy is a nurse at the Cancer Center of the Carolinas.

Motown memory

By George Miller

Just before her big road trip to South Carolina in the summer of 1999, Casey Kane embarked on a smaller but no less memorable roadie with
three other Intrepid Travelers -- Matt Vautour, Andy Ayres and me -- a quick hitter to Tiger Stadium in Detroit, in its last season of operation, for a Saturday afternoon Red Sox-Tigers game.

It must have been only two or three days before the event that we threw the whole thing together. With a rented candy-apple-red Jeep Cherokee as our chariot, we three guys left the Gazette shortly after midnight, after Matt and Andy had busted out Saturday's edition. Off to Holyoke we went to pick up Casey (I remember feeling vaguely uneasy that we'd wake up everyone else in the house), and we were westward bound.

During that overnight run, we encountered a good portion of the Woodstock '99 crowd on the road and in the rest areas along the New York State Thruway. Maybe Andy and I, as the two 30-somethings in our group, didn't quite fit that demographic, but we found the Rage, Limp Bizkit and Chili Peppers fans most amusing. I confess to a certain disappointment that I wouldn't get to see the lovely Jewel perform. (I will also spare Matt another gratuitous comment about Adam Duritz.)

The next stop that stands out was in Brantford, Ontario -- hometown of
The Great One himself, Wayne Gretzky -- where we gassed up and fumbled
through one of those "I-was-told-there-would-be-no-math" moments, attempting to figure out exchange rates and liters-gallons conversions.

It was late morning when we crossed the Ambassador Bridge from Windsor to Detroit, and with a 5 p.m. start to the baseball game, we had some time to pick up our tickets at Tiger Stadium and to figure out our itinerary. It didn't take long to decide: A side trip to Ann Arbor was
clearly in order.

Once there, we took in the empty but improbably vast expanse of Michigan Stadium, walking around the entire bowl, peering in through the press box windows and thinking wistfully of maybe covering a UM-OSU football game there someday.

After a late lunch, it was back into Motown to pick out a distant parking spot and make our way into the stadium, although a severe thunderstorm delayed the start of the proceedings. Mark Portugal was pitching for the Sox -- that couldn't possibly be good news -- but Jeff Weaver went for Detroit, and lived up to his home run-prone reputation by coughing up five long balls. Boston hit seven in all that day, three by Trot Nixon and two by Nomah, in an 11-4 victory.

For myself, I was pleased with the W because the Red Sox' all-time record with me in attendance was, and remains today, well below .500. If Casey felt any disappointment that Lou Merloni didn't play that day, she showed no sign. There was little doubt, though, that of the four of us, she was easily the most thrilled by her team's decisive victory.

There wasn't time to gloat or celebrate, though. Back we went the same way we'd come for another overnighter, chased by thunderstorms through Ontario, and we rolled into the Gazette parking lot at about 7:30 or so
Sunday morning, some 31 hours after we'd left. We were sore and tired but exhilarated, and I made sure to give Casey a big hug and wish her
well, because she was headed to So-Car and the Independent-Mail barely a week later.

Fast-forward to March of 2003 and Day 1 of the NCAA men's basketball
tournament, when the usual cast of reprobates gathered at Smokey Bones
BBQ in Springfield to watch wall-to-wall hoops all afternoon. Thinking
back, in the handful of times I had seen Casey following her diagnosis, that day she was the most healthy and upbeat that I had seen her -- a fact driven home after she cleaned my clock in several matches at the pool table.

I last saw Casey at the Jack Leaman tribute on April 18 of this year,
when we sat together at the Curry Hicks Cage. It was clear that she was
ailing and it broke my heart to see it. Yet, for an event to honor one
of the seminal figures in UMass history, there was no doubt that Casey
would be there.

Hearing how she spent her final days with the Red Sox ever-present on
the TV in her hospital room brought me back to that wild weekend in July of '99. Although I cannot say that I knew Casey nearly as well as many others who have shared their remembrances here, I have only to think of her unabashed glee at Boston's home-run barrage that evening, and the successful outcome to our lightning-fast trip to Motown(complete with real lightning), to instantly remind me of her vibrant spirit -- a memory that will always abide with me.

George works at the Greenfield Recorder.

Light the Night

This is a little down the road, but it's something to think about:
The Light The Night Walk is a two- to three-mile evening walk that features illuminated balloons to celebrate and commemorate lives touched by cancer.


For Massachusetts Residents:
Sept. 19 Northampton Look Park, 4:30 p.m. -- I'll be doing this one as will, I think, some of Casey's family. If you're interested in walking or sponsoring me, let me know.

Sept. 26 Worcester

Sept. 30 Boston

Oct. 2 Falmouth
Oct. 3 Wakefield


For South Carolina residents
Sept. 16 Columbia
Sept. 30 Aiken
Oct. 7 Rock Hill, Spartanburg, Hilton Head
Oct. 14 Charleston
Oct. 21 Myrtle Beach
Oct. 28 Greenville



For more information contact:
(800) 688-6572
hoagl@ma.leukemia-lymphoma.org
More information on each individual event is available at the link above.

Everyone will miss 'Casey' Kane

This ran in the Wednesday, June 02, 2004 edition of the Springfield Rebulican's Holyoke section.

By Mike Burke.

Kathleen C. "Casey" Kane, a jewel in the fabric of Holyoke, was taken from us on May 19 after a lingering illness that she battled with all the courage and fortitude anyone could imagine.

Casey was only 28 years of age and she crammed a whole lot of living in that all too brief span of time.

Casey was a 1993 graduate of Holyoke High School, where she was class salutatorian, and was a 1999 graduate of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.

While in high school, she received 12 varsity letters for participation on the swimming, tennis, soccer and field hockey teams, and if that wasn't enough, she was also a member of the marching band.

At UMass, Casey was sports editor and editor in chief of the Daily Collegian.

After college, Casey lived in Anderson, S.C., where she was a sports journalist at the Independent Mail Newspaper from 1999 to 2002, covering a variety of sports, including the University of South Carolina Gamecocks. She was vice president of the Association of Women in Sports Media.

That is factual stuff but it doesn't really say what Casey was really like.

She was talented as a writer, so much so that I wanted her to be on staff of this magazine. She not only knew sports from playing the games but she knew what made participants tick. She knew what they were thinking, she knew the process, what it took to succeed, and she wrote about it very well.

Because of illness, try as we might, it just didn't work out that she would grace these pages with her prose. And I feel badly about that.

But I feel honored that I knew her, that I was able to interview her and get to know her and what a fine person she was.

Casey was very proud of her family. She also loved this city and it showed in her writing and in her attitude. She was friendly and, despite her illness, a very happy person.

My deepest sympathies to her parents, Bill and Eileen, her brothers Christopher and Timothy, and to all of her other relatives and friends.

At her wake, there was a picture of Casey with former Red Sox player Lou Merloni. They were laughing and having a pretty good time. I remember thinking when I saw the picture, "That's how we all should remember her, smiling and having a fun time."

The family requested donations to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, Division of Development & the Jimmy Fund, 10 Brookline Place West, Floor 6, Brookline, MA 02445-9924.

We will all miss her for her talent and her personality and her many other gifts.

But I will always remember her for her courage and bravery in the face of illness.


Rest in peace, Casey Kane.

Mike Burke is the Springfield Republican's longtime time Holyoke reporter.

Coach

By Lorraine Kennedy
A familiar feeling comes over me as I struggle to find the words to describe how much Casey meant to me. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been regularly checking this web site, eager to read the latest additions to this collage of memories dedicated to our dear friend. The stories have spurred me to dig out my old photos and read through the numerous letters that I received from my Collegian buddies after we all moved our separate ways after graduation. With that, the memories have come flooding back.

Now -- as I watch the clock tick past 1 a.m. and finally conquer that first paragraph – I happily remember the many late nights and long days I spent in the Campus Center basement. Here are few misty-eyed memories…

As a fledgling reporter terrified of making my first cold call to a source for a news story, Casey catches me in the act of writing down each question and attempting to rehearse exactly what I want to say. She nudges me to quit procrastinating, get on the phone and get it done. (I never lived that one down.) “Coach,” as we fondly called her as Editor in Chief, was always an inspiration to me as a journalist because of her confidence and her unyielding passion for a field that wasn’t always kind.

It’s early October 1998. Laura Forster hosts a Superhero party at her apartment in honor of all the Collegian people with birthdays in October. This is the first time all of us who have been working together since the beginning of the school year decide to party together. Casey (dressed as Jem, as I recall) somehow finds her way into the bathtub but soon discovers that she’s unable to exit though the bathroom wall and has to call for help. It’s a pivotal night for the group. Despite our diverse backgrounds, we are bonded by our love for journalism and booze. Thereafter, we are inseparable.

It’s February 2002 and a 7-page letter from Casey arrives at my then-address in Ireland. She tells me about a weekend she spent with Laura and Julie Fialkow in Atlanta and assures me that I was missed. She lovingly describes her boyfriend, Will. She tells me how happy she and her brothers were to give her parents a trip to the Tour de France, especially considering all they had done for her. She glosses over references to her illness and talks excitedly about her plans for a trip to Ireland once she recovers from her stem-cell transplant. The tone is sunny, hopeful.

I’ll cherish that letter and all the other happy notes she wrote to me over the years. And I know I’ll always think of her when I see a package of Twizzlers or hear mention of Lou Merloni. Casey will always hold a special place in my heart.

Lorraine worked with Casey at the Collegian.

All shamrocks and Red Sox

By Matt Vautour

I spent part of yesterday sitting in Casey's Holyoke bedroom. Her parents generously told me to take anything I felt a special connection to.

The temptation was to return with a van and leave with half the room. Almost every-thing in the room holds some significance. From the sweater in her drawer that she wore on our first date to the happy pink hat that she had on when we went to lunch earlier this month.

The bedroom was Casey, all shamrocks and Red Sox. A photo of cancer survivor Lance Armstrong was displayed not far from a bag of unfinished medication, the image of her hero just inches from the tools of her fight.

Moonlight Graham could walk past a hat shop without buying his wife a blue one. Casey always laughed at that scene in Field of Dreams. Casey’s “blue hats” were address books and photo albums. She had scores of both lying around her room. Every trip to the mall seemed to include a purchase of one or the other.

Most of the address books were filled out to at least C, maybe D, until she'd found a new one, with a shiny cover to capture her attention.

The scrapbooks weren’t just photos stuck to a page. These were artwork, with fancy back-ground paper and her inscriptions written in fancy marker.

She's always loved to pick a theme and create the perfect photo album. Her room was filled with albums for every-thing from the Collegian to baseball trips to Kane family history. The books are stacked on her dresser and piled on her bedside table.

There are boxes and piles of more photos and empty albums that she never got to. I smiled through tears for a most of the late afternoon as I went through them, trying not to get fingerprints on them.

You're all in the photos. Chances are if you knew her well enough to read this site, there’s a picture of you and Casey, smiling together, in one of the scrapbooks.

I wonder if she knew that putting those albums together that she was creating a illustrated history of her life and people that she cared about. I think she was always more aware of her own mortality that she let on. Put those books in the right order and you have her autobiography in smiles.

I’ve gotten a lot of advice and words of comfort in the past 12 days. The best of all of it came in an e-mail from a co-worker.

“The reason we feel such deep sorrow is because we felt such deep joy. Without joy there is no sorrow; they are, in a way, the result of the same thing. In a way, you are privi-leged to feel such sorrow.”

He’s right. I feel privileged to be in a lot of those photos. I feel privileged to have sat next to her at countless ball games and have the Kodak paper to prove it.

I feel privileged that she sought me out to celebrate of some of her greatest days and for comfort in some of her darkest hours. I feel lucky to have spent her final days with her.

I’m just sad there won’t be more.

The Definition of Passion

By Matt Perrault
As I now approach my sixth year in the south, I can now call myself a full-fledged southerner. It is something that I never thought I would do but to be honest, it has taught me so much about life, family and the importance of caring for those who care for you. Being a thousand miles from the nearest family member or college friend forces you to think about those kind of things. Yet keeping in touch, as many of you know, is not something that I do. Call it tunnel vision or single mindedness, it's just something that I am guilty of. However, since learning of Casey's passing - so many wonderful memories of "the basement" have come flooding back. I guess I am writing to remember Casey but also to allow myself to remember all of you who are reading this and reach out.

Casey Kane is someone I will always be inspired by. I apologize for using present tense but her spirit will never be gone to me. Maybe its just easier for me to think of her as the bright-eyed, Red Sox fan who used to razz me about WMUA vs. Collegian battles rather than the girl battling cancer who I last spoke to two years ago at the Alabama vs. South Carolina game in Columbia, SC.

Casey had "it"....the passion, the drive, the thing that has led so many of us far away from home in pursuit of a dream that may never become reality. Yet, she knew the journey for us is so much more special than any destination we might see. She embraced her craft as home and brought such a high level of professionalism to everything she wrote.

I have a special memory of Casey that I will forever hold close. It was the last time that I got to spend time with her. It was towards the beginning of her treatment back in 2001-2002 football season I believe and she had just recently lost her hair (which had her down a bit) but she was so pleasant to be around. As we sat inside the Williams-Brice Stadium press box before Bama took on South Carolina, we couldn't get through 5 minutes without an interruption from a fellow media member who wanted to wish her well.

She had been working in South Carolina for a brief period of time, but already Casey had impacted the community. It was a wonderful outpouring of emotion and respect from her fellow colleagues.

Passion is what keeps me in the south today. It was what lead so many of us to the "basement" and its the first thing I think about when Casey comes to mind. I have met several people over the past few years from Amherst College, Smith, Mount Holyoke etc...and many often ask how I got into the field of radio. I tell them the long story short about WMUA, the Collegian, and UMass Athletics but that really isn't the whole tale. The media is what attracted me to the "basement" - but the people who I met there is what kept me coming back night after night, morning after morning.

Casey Kane was one of the first people that I ever met when I walked into the Collegian and she will forever be one of the first people that I think about when I remember the times working in the UMass Media.

In closing, I guess I want to thank Matty for putting this site up for all of us out-of-towners to read. The names have been like a memory stick for my brain - bringing back so many wonderful and hysterical moments. I only wish I wrote this sooner but I have just returned from a 10-day trip to California. From the parties at the Amherst Motel to the long drives for road games to the feeling of being the last person out of the Campus Center Garage - it has been a real treat to see the names on this site. I hope one day we can all get back together and remember those crazy times in the late 90's. Thanks for letting us do this Matty - my heart goes out to you buddy.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
-Theodore Roethke

Matt and Casey were student media at UMass together.

Rockstar

By Julie Fialkow

When I think about Casey, I can't help but smile. I think of her at 2:30 in the morning in the ol' basement, sleep a distant memory, still smiling, still running in circles around the rest of the staff (if I recall, literally).

She was better than a huge cup of coffee. She was so sunny, so effravescent. Casey was one of those people who strangers are drawn to and her friends always feel it when she's not there. I remember a few moments in college whether it be in the office or at a bar that were a little quiet, a little blah, and uniformly we would go, "Hey, where's Casey? Someone get her here!"

I remember walking down to the basement and just hearing her say "Jules!" would make my day. Casey made everyone feel like a rockstar.

Actually, she was the closest thing the Collegian ever had to a rockstar - and held that role modestly and effortlessly. I have never met a woman like Casey before and I know I never will. She could put the boys to shame with her Pop-a-shot moves, and slay them looking fierce in a shiny green ball gown.

She was warm, lovely, hysterically funny, and wicked smart as they say in Massachusetts. Last time I saw Casey we were playing Trivial Pursuit. Do I need to tell you there was no contest? I
think I saw my roomates heads spin. Really. She knew about Russian politics and pop culture. A double, triple, heck, a quadruple threat in every way.

I just got a postcard from Casey a few months ago. She drops in the middle that she's back in chemo but quickly follows it up by seeing the bright side which is that at least she can watch the Red Sox. Always staying positive despite the crappiest circumstances. I feel blessed for having known Casey.

She embodied so many amazing qualities that all of us strive to be. Her strength and beauty will continually inspire me throughout my life.

Julie worked with Casey at the UMass Daily Collegian.

The Haphazard Colleen

From Hampshire Life Magazine, March 13, 1998
By Casey Kane

I think my scream was the loudest. Last Jan. 10, when the call came telling me and the 20 other women to line up, it was only 6:10 p.m. I was still wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. My hair was in a ponytail and my "dress" shoes were emblazoned with the word Adidas.

The minutes before the Holyoke Colleen Contest were winding down, and I was nowhere near ready. All week I had been jokingly calling myself the Haphazard Colleen. I made no bones about the fact that my usual hairdo is a ponytail and I can count on my hands the number of times I've worn makeup. When I told people what I was doing their response was "You?!? In a dress?!?"

But, truth be told, I have always wanted to ride on the colleens' float in my hometown parade. I have memories of holding my father's hand as a little girl and walking to the spot in front of Holyoke High School where my family always settled in to watch the St. Patrick's Day Parade. We'd brave the typically blustery mid-March day with a thermos or two of hot chocolate and afghans made by my grandmother.

As the members of the Holyoke High School band marched by I knew the float carrying the Grand Colleen was approaching. I always thought the colleen's float was the most beautiful, its sparkling colors ablaze in the early spring sun. The women on the float were even more regal than their vessel, decked out in green gowns, glittering jewelry and elegant fur coats.

I dreamed of one day sitting atop the parade centerpiece, waving to my adoring public, a smile that would make Pepsodent jealous. I yearned for the chance to don a tiara, longed for the trip to Ireland that the Grand Colleen wins.

EVERY YEAR THE Holyoke St. Patrick's Day Parade Committee holds a pageant to select the year's reigning colleen. The contest is open to females of Irish descent from Holyoke and South Hadley. They must be between the ages of 17 and 22; they must also be single and have never had a child.

During my high school years, several friends of mine were chosen as colleens, yet I always put off entering the contest. "I'm waiting until next year," I'd say, or "I missed this year's deadline."
But I turned 22 last July, and the fact that the contest's age limit is 22 was not lost on me.

In the fall, when I saw the announcement of the annual contest in the paper, I knew what I had to do. With my days of eligibility dwindling, I vowed to enter this year's contest.

Of course, I was up against more than I was prepared for.
First of all, I am a college student, and the collegiate budget is not designed for a wear-it-once-and-you're-done formal gown. I mean, I run with a crowd that thinks getting dressed up simply means coming anywhere near an iron. So with my bargain-shopping younger brother Tim's words ringing in my ears, I headed for the Amherst Salvation Army store. There I found a beautiful, hardly worn, off-the-shoulder light green dress for $12.99. There were girls in the contest whose earrings cost more than my dress.

Since my friends are also more prone to apply athlete's eye black than eye shadow, I had no idea what to do with my hair and makeup. But after a lot of frustration on my part, along with incredible patience and generosity from my fellow colleens, I managed to come up with a simple, elegant look.

The look, however, is only part of what makes up the Holyoke Colleen Contest.

The day of the pageant began with each colleen being interviewed by a panel of three judges. I'm sure everything went all right. I can't quite remember for sure, however, because it was 8:40 a.m.; I had drawn the early-bird #2 spot out of a hat. I am not a morning person, and I only hope it didn't show too badly. I do remember I was asked such things as my career goals (sportswriting), what kind of books I like to read (John Grisham and various sports books), and why I wanted to be colleen (see above).

That took care of the very early morning. For the rest of the day I had to sit and wait for the other contestants to complete their interviews. I didn't have an appointment to get my hair done, nor did I schedule anything at the nail salon. I was the Haphazard Colleen.

This fact became painfully obvious when one of the pageant directors announced a final walk-through of the evening's event, prompting my scream. Fifty minutes later, however, after several tries with curling irons, hair sprays, blushes, mascaras and powders, I was escorted by a Marine named Raymond out onto the stage of the Leslie Philips Forum at Holyoke Community College.

The lights were intense, and that, combined with the fact that I was not wearing my glasses, made it impossible to see anything more than 3 feet in front of me. But when I strolled through the trellised archway on the arm of my impeccable Marine, all my pre-pageant fears and jitters washed away.

I felt like a princess. And for the three minutes or so it took emcee Kathy Tobin of Channel 40 to read my resume, for the brief time I was alone on the stage in front of everyone assembled, I felt beautiful and important and admired – just as I'd imagined the Grand Colleen would.

While we waited backstage for each contestant to be introduced, we voted for Miss Congeniality and had pictures taken. Despite the activity, the nervousness was palpable. Then, after what seemed like an eternity and a half, we all filed back on stage for the announcing of the winners.

Jennifer Wall took home Miss Congeniality, and was picked as one of the five colleens who would go on to compete for the title of Grand Colleen. Annie Glanville, Sarah Hohol, Megan Murphy and Kimberly Willis were named finalists as well. Willis would go on to be named Grand Colleen at the Coronation Ball on Feb. 28 at the Log Cabin. All five will ride on the colleen float in the St. Patrick's Day Parade on March 22.

Though I wasn't one of the finalists, I wasn't disappointed as I walked from the stage, the audience still applauding the five. Sure I would have liked the chance to ride on the float in the parade. But I had fulfilled enough of my dream by simply entering the contest.
And I still have the dress, the bow that came with my flowers, and many pictures. I tell my friends that yes, I entered the contest and I had a great time.

"You?!?!" they say.

"Yeah, me."

University of Massachusetts student Casey Kane of Holyoke was an intern with the Gazette's sports department this winter.

Tears worthy

By Seth Bradford Koenig


I used to believe that before a person shed tears over
the passing of another, that that person must first
earn the right to shed those tears.

I would see acquaintances crying at funerals that I
thought they had no business even attending, much less
crying at. I would think to myself, in my typical
vent, "What is SHE crying about? She didn't even know
grampa that well. She's just trying to draw attention
to herself - this is Grampa's moment, not hers. She
hasn't done anything for Grampa to deserve to cry for
him."

Casey, I thought, was a person that I always
respected... and respected, I thought, way too much to
cry for when I didn't deserve to do so. It was my
friend Matt that stood beside her through all of her
hardest times, and it was Matt that would take her out
to eat from the hospital on her day pass, and it was
Matt that I'd occasionally ask, "How's Casey these
days?"

An occasional "How's Casey these days?", I thought,
was not even close to enough effort as a friend to
warrant me drawing attention from those who deserve
it. I didn't believe I deserved to cry. Passing
inquiries into her well-being had not all-of-a-sudden
thrown me into Casey's inner-circle, and Casey's
inner-circle is who needs our support right now,
because Casey's inner-circle was there for her when
she needed them to be.

Matt put in the love and effort for Casey and
therefore he now deserves to shed tears. It's my job
to be there to talk if he needs someone, I thought,
not to shed tears myself.

Yet as I remember how much fun Casey made the
Massachusetts Daily Collegian when she took over the
Editor-in-Chief position her senior year there - my
sophomore - all I have are sunny thoughts. Smiles.

Anybody that's been to the UMass campus center
basement, where the Collegian offices are found, can
tell you that it can be a very depressing place to
spend time if the right people aren't around. Before
Casey took over the top position at that paper, it was
a little more like work and less like a calling.

When Casey was the editor I was working for, writing
was a calling. It was inspiring. I looked forward to
being in the windowless basement offices, oftentimes
called the "dungeon" in as lovingly a manner as people
can use the term. At the risk of sounding corny, Casey
was our sunlight down there. She made sure the work
got done, but made sure we were all having fun doing
it and she fueled our passion.

All I remember are smiles.

I remember smiles on HER face, and I remember smiles
on the faces of every other person that worked down
there. I remember smiles on the faces of all the
people that have written stories for this website.

As much as I never thought I deserved to cry at this
moment, I find some tears rolling down toward the
corners of my mouth right now.

Whether or not I've earned the right to shed tears for
Casey, there's no doubt in my mind that Casey earned
the right to draw tears from my eyes. Maybe it's not
about who deserves to shed them. Maybe it's about who
deserves to draw them.

Casey deserves every last tear that's shed, and it
does her justice that despite my attempts at
restraint, I can't seem to keep them in. Casey Kane,
these tears are for you, and I mean no disrespect.

Seth worked with Casey at the UMass Daily Collegian.

Burying the lead, making her pitch

By Jon Solomon

I received a bizarre e-mail from Casey on March 19 updating her situation.

Her first five paragraphs were spent asking about my new job; wishing she could watch college baseball in the South and out of the snow; wondering how my NCAA bracket was going; complaining that her brother successfully picked Manhattan over Florida; whining that my school, Maryland, defeated her Dookies in the
ACC final; and ranting that South Carolina lost in the NCAAs, calling it a sad day in Gamecock Nation (the lame nickname she stole from her beloved Red Sox).

The sixth graf: Casey’s cancer had returned, the reason she was writing with this “depressing news,” as she called it.

Typical Casey. She buried the lead.

Except for Casey, the lead was never conventional. If it were, would we miss her the way we do now?

I am crushed about Casey leaving us far, far too soon. She and I had a unique relationship – wasn’t every relationship of hers unique? – as colleagues in Anderson, S.C., and later after she left.

I got to witness her antics up close each day in the newsroom. Let’s just say she was far from a perfect employee early on, and leave it at that. I endured the challenge first-hand when I briefly became her boss and kept her from covering a South Carolina baseball series in the NCAA Tournament.

Later, when Casey got sick, we were able to speak candidly about her illness. My sister survived cancer on two occasions a while ago, and I held that out as a carrot for Casey.

Just fight a little more, I urged her. Compile a plan to beat it. Ask lots of questions. Keep fighting, Casey. Keep fighting. Jessica’s been cancer-free for so long now, you can do it, too. She ran the L.A. Marathon, Casey. You can run Boston some day.

She finally met Jessica at my wedding in November, the last time I saw her. Casey called it one of the highlights of her weekend.

In typical Casey fashion, she was often scared to talk about her illness. Mostly, she was scared about how other people would react, so she sheltered many of us.

I imagine she felt it was easier for us to handle. Casey loved putting others first. A relative of hers told me that in Casey’s final days, she was apologetic about not helping a cousin with his school project as she had promised.

In subsequent e-mails after her cancer returned, Casey discussed writing something to help young adults through cancer diagnosis.

“It’s too lofty to call it a book,” she wrote modestly, and perhaps correctly. “It’s not only giving me something to do to get my mind working, which is a really nice feeling, but it could end up helping somebody else. But even if I’m the only one who ever sees it, I think it will be a useful project.”

It’s hard to say how far along she had gone with the project. There are countless notebooks her family must go through – some of them empty and some with only a handful of random thoughts – and maybe more writings on her computer.

If anyone has e-mail messages or letters Casey sent about her illness that you feel comfortable sharing, please send it to Matt or myself. My e-mail address is jonsol@yahoo.com. Perhaps one day enough thoughts will be compiled to let Casey help cancer patients deal with their suffering the way she helped us live.

Since Casey first became ill, I have thought about her in relation to a story she wrote in May 2000. The topic was a high school softball pitcher coping with her father’s sudden death. It is still one of my proudest moments, because I helped edit it and pushed Casey to keep digging for more information.

When Casey put her mind to it, she could achieve anything. She knew it; we all knew it. That’s why she beat cancer so many times.

In this particular story, Casey’s ability to speak so freely with people was exquisite. She unearthed delicate details about the softball pitcher’s relationship with her father. Casey’s lead:

PENDLETON, S.C. – There was never a moment’s doubt in her mind.
Pendleton High School softball pitcher Brooke Norris may have worried about how she would throw, or whether she’d be able to make it through the game, but she knew she had to be on the mound.
With more than 300 spectators to support her and an empty chair behind the backstop where her father Tommy always sat, Brooke offered the best tribute she could to the man, who died of a heart attack Saturday morning.
She pitched.

I don’t know when or how I will fill the hole vacated by Casey’s death. I like to think now that her March 19 e-mail was not her burying the lead, but rather Casey writing exactly the way she lived.

She made her pitch. We must somehow keep carrying it, for Casey and for ourselves.

Jon worked with Casey at the Anderson Independent Mail. He currently covers Clemson for The State.

Another Duke fan

By Amy Apicerno
People make fun of me constantly and continuously for my blind love for all that is UMass. For people who do not understand my happy place, I can only say that UMass is where I learned to live and love. Looking back, I would not change a thing because it was there that I experienced a lot, had a lot of fun (but seriously, only about 30% of the stories are true...ok, maybe half) and learned to think outside the box. More importantly, I met some of the most incredible people whose influence will always stay with me.

Casey Kane is one of those people. My first Casey encounter was in a tiny press box on Garber field. She was excitedly writing about field hockey while I was butchering names over the PA in my (at the time) flagrant RI accent. In minutes I recognized how unprecedented she was. It was very refreshing for me to see a woman not only surviving, but thriving, in a field dominated by men without half the intelligence or talent that she had. She was so natural in that role and exuded it so effortlessly. It only took days before I had borrowed her huge Duke bag from the campus store in Cameron filled with tons of memorabilia from the late 80s and early 90s men's basketball teams. And to think, there was someone else who shared my fascination with Bobby Hurley.

The impact that Casey would have continued to make for women's equality in the work place, with a little more time, was boundless. I feel very fortunate to have been graced by her presence and very sad, not only for her family and friends, but for all of the women that would have benefitted from her work.

UMass is a place where some people still live nearby, other visit frequently and some are trying to return. Regardless of our relationship with it or who the men's basketball coach is currently, it is a place that since Casey stepped foot on campus, will never be the same.

Amy worked in media relations at UMass.

Misty-eyed memory

By Leigh Torbin

In true Collegian fashion, my misty eyed memories of three
wonderful years in the campus center basement with Casey:

The unbridled love of the Boston Red Sox...How she'd stay on me
with that tough love to keep going when it took five hours to write a
routine column because I'd get so wrapped up in totally random
things and the quest for just the right cheesy 80's song and deciding
which of D.P. Dough's 17,281 different calzones to have sent over
to the Batcave...

The wonderful, motivating "Torbin Write!" sign she made for me with some photo from a lingerie ad for when I wouldn't get going at moments like that. Man, I wish I still had that thing...I also clearly hear her voice yelling "Torbin write." Lord knows I heard that phrase enough...

Her actually allowing my often insane yet colorful ramblings to run in the paper...Her unequivocal agreement that the Yankees do in fact suck. I can't comprehend the joy she must have felt knowing that the day she passed, Derek Jeter was hitting .187. Talk about going in peace!!!...

The look on her face if you ever pronounced (Holyoke) it holy-oak and not whole-yoke. Holy cow, she'd let you have it...Her love of all UMass sports and perspective to know that tennis had an important match that day when the whole world was thinking basketball...Of course hockey wasn't really tooting its horn yet...

Good times with her and Matty in that house apartment his senior year with Juice and some other guys whose names I forget...

Lou Merloni, Casey's boy, now and forever, whether he's with Cleveland, Anaheim or Milwaukee, I can't just see him up at bat without thinking of her...

The evervescent smile on Casey's face and her refreshing good charm...I was lucky enough to know the southern Casey too and the incredible job she did - not knowing a soul - of instantly assimilating with NASCAR Nation while never losing touch with who she was or where she came from...I'll never forget the 2000 South Carolina-Florida football game because it was an amazing game. Winner take all for the SEC East on national TV, UF goes down 21-3 at the Swamp when the Bachelor himself, Jesse Palmer, comes off of the bench in relief of Rex Grossman to lead the Gators back for the win, throwing the game
winning TD to a lineman.

One of the country's wildest venues has seldom been wilder. And while I already couldn't forget that game, so far as I can recall, that was also the last time I actually saw Casey which now makes it that much more meaningful to me.

It was great to see her doing so well professionally. I stood with her at the end of the third quarter in the press box (my favorite part of a game at the Swamp) and I'll never forget the bewildering look of utter amazement in her eyes when the whole stadium sang the traditional "We Are the Boys From Old Florida." It was a long, long, long way from Warren P. McGuirk Alumni Stadium, yet to this day her
mesmerized reaction to it is still very near in my mind...

She didn't make the return game in 2001 in Columbia but it sounded like she'd be OK and we all hoped we'd see her again at the Swamp in
2002...

Matty shaved his head. That's touching and all, but I wish I
could forget the image...Although I heard little of late and saw less,
I know how she persevered through her illness over several years
hanging in for the long haul like any dedicated Sox fan would, since
we all know full well that the best things come to those who wait
and also that it wasn't over when the Germans bombed Pearl
Harbour...

Matty's Buck Martinez story from the blog. That's way too perfect. I'll remember that for a long time...But, she's left us for a better place. One where the Sox are 85 time defending World Series Champs (since somehow losing to the Cubs in 1918), the Yankees have been relegated so far they're half way to the California Penal League, there's REALLY good satellite TV service, great internet connections to read this stuff, and Jerry Remy's voice echoes on the wind.

What more could she want?
Leigh worked with Casey at the Collegian at UMass and then worked in Media Relations at Florida, while Casey covered South Carolina.

Matt's eulogy

By Matt Vautour

I’ve gotten quite a few emails in these past several days and there have been a couple of themes running through them.

The first, naturally, was people offering condolences and anything they could do to help. On behalf of the Kane family, I’d like to say thank you for that.

The second thing that a lot of people have mentioned is Casey’s sports loves, specifically Duke basketball and the Red Sox. Several of those people who hate Duke have said they fell like they should root for the Blue Devils this year in Casey’s honor. Casey’s friend Justin, a die-hard Yankees fan, said he might even have to pull for the Red Sox.
Well I’ll leave your rooting up to you, but I think Casey would rather you root for your teams so she could have bragging rights when her teams win. And I wouldn’t want to be a North Carolina or a Yankee fan now that Casey has direct access to the big guy.

Anyway, Casey told me once that the best compliment that I ever gave her was that she was good at everything. I told her that in Chicago, after she insisted on facing the fastest pitches at a batting cage across the street from Wrigley Field. She hadn’t held a bat in years, but delivered line drive after line drive. She blushed at the compliment, but then proceeded to sing Sheryl Crow’s “If it makes you happy” out of tune at the top of her lungs to prove that she wasn’t good at everything.

Singing aside, there wasn’t much she wasn’t good at. From swimming to saxophone, pool-to-pop-a-shot basketball at Rafters to sports writing to being a friend. I told her once that she was going to be famous. Her combination of intelligence, enthusiasm and sense of humor had her on track.

I don’t know anyone that was better than she was at being a cancer patient.

Through three battles, with Hodgkin’s Disease, changes in procedures and medications, hairstyle and lifestyle, Casey carried herself with such grace and dignity. She didn’t think she was courageous because, as she’d admit, she was afraid. But courage isn’t the lack of fear, but who you carry yourself in the face of it.

Casey made you forget that her body was weak, because her mind and her spirit were so strong.

You’d visit her worried about her, but within moments she’d have you laughing making you forget that there was anything wrong with her at all. That’s a gift.

Even strangers were drawn to her. That’s why her nurses from South Carolina, who had hundreds of patients would call to see how she was, even after he care switched to Boston. Her father called her the MVP in that respect. He said you can’t spend any length of time with her and not love her. The people that are here with us today are the ones that were lucky enough to be loved back.
We are surrounded by cancer. We see it everyday and we’re scared. But I know if we someday face what she has faced, we’d all be proud to handle ourselves the way that she did.

I’d like to close today with the words of Jill Carroll. Jill worked with Casey at the UMass Daily Collegian and the two of them became friends instantly. I don’t think I ever saw one of them mention the other without smiling. For the past few years Jill has served as a foreign correspondent in the Middle East covering the events of the Iraq war. She sent Casey this e-mail from Egypt in hopes of cheering her up when she heard Casey had pneumonia.

“I've thought of you everyday these past few months. I've been trying to send you my happy thoughts, positive energy and strength. But I know you don't need any of these things. You already have the strength to handle more than any of us can be asked to bear and the inner joy to do it with grace and a laugh. You always fight harder, laugh louder and love deeper than any friend I have. You and I have always been drawn to the most colorful, shiny, sparkly things we can find. I know that's why we ended up friends in those crazy college days. You were the most brilliant treasure I had ever come across. Like a red dress covered in sequins (that you KNOW we'd both buy in a second!) you dazzle everyone when you walk in a room. From Jordan to Iraq I have carried the picture of us that you gave me, the one in the green flower frame. We're holding drinks in the clubhouse, grining into the camera. It always makes me smile and in the worst times it always gives me strength because I know no matter what silly troubles I have, you have already pioneered a path through thicker jungles. Your loyalty as a friend has made me feel comforted in the many lonely times out here. I've been too far away these past few years but you have always remained close, indelibly imprinted on my heart and in my thoughts. You are the best EIC the Collegian ever knew, the best damn sports reporter Lou Merloni ever had the priviledge to meet but most of all you are the truest friend I've ever been lucky enough to have by my side. I love you Casey”

We all do.

Amy and Grover

By Jake Grove

The night was like any other at the local watering hole for the Anderson Independent-Mail staff. We were drinking too much and playing pool worse than ever. That was the first time I really remember meeting Casey.

Sure, we had met in passing during her interview, but when she actually came to work and someone dragged (a term I use loosely because like all of us young journalists, no one ever had to drag us to a bar) her to the bar for some decompression. I was a few 7 and 7s into the evening and decided to play some pool. Casey decided she wanted to play me.

"Hey Amy," I said with a slightly slurred voice. "You ready to get beat."

"I'm Casey, and yes," she said with a sly grin.

"Really? Your name is Casey? I could have sworn it was Amy," I responded with a miscue on the break.

"Nope, It's Casey," she said, sinking her first shot.

"I think I'm just going to call you Amy from now on. Would that be okay?"

"Sure."

I don't remember much more from that night aside from having my butt kicked in pool regularly. The Amy/Casey thing became a running joke between us.

People would ask Casey why Jake was calling her Amy and Casey would just tell them that that is what I think her name is. In fact, the last time I saw her was a night I was bartending at that same pub and right before she left, I yelled out, "See you later, Amy."

We both had a few tears in our eyes and she said, "Bye Grover."

Cool lady that one.

Good times. Good times.

* * *

When the newspaper staff in Anderson first found out about Casey's cancer, a kind of "Help Casey" board was set up. This was a way we could take Casey to her treatments and appointments, get her the food she needed and otherwise be her parents while she stayed in Anderson.

Well, of course, everyone helped out, but I remember taking her up to
the doctor's appointment for some followup to a treatment. Anyone who knows me knows that I get easily distracted and I wanted to be focused for this trip.

Of course, anyone that knows Casey knows that she isn't about to let
someone focus on cancer when there is fun to be had.

By the time we reached the exit for the hospital we weren't thinking
about anything cancer related. Instead, we were devising a plan to somehow get our hands on a couple of wheelchairs for some racing. We went in, calm as could be, and I figured I would be outside for most of the checkup. Aside from a few moments, Casey wanted me to hang out with her through the whole thing and I learned more about that hospital and her ailment than I ever thought I would.

I also learned where they keep the wheelchairs.

Of course, karma wouldn't let us take the chairs, but I do remember wheeling her out to the car just for fun. And I remember looking at Casey and knowing that no matter what, she would do this thing on her own terms. I really believe she did.

And I know I was a better person for knowing her.

Then again, who among could possibly say otherwise.
Jake worked with Casey at the Anderson Independent Mail

The heart of the Collegian

By Jill Carroll

One night during our senior year in college the whole class of '99 Collegian crew along with Matt, Casey's brother Chris and my roomates ended up at a restaurant in Northampton for late-night food and drinks.

The Collegian staff is a pretty tight group, especially that year, and we sat around the table laughing and trading gossip and inside jokes. My three roomates, all with swimming backgrounds and two on the UMass team at the time, didn't know the newspaper folks too well but wanted to come along because they were Collegian fans.

Casey, recongnizing the awkwardness, turned to them with her swimming background and encyclopedic sports knowledge and started chatting them up about the swim team, the coaches and who was going to swim what in Atlantic-10's. She named actual names of team members and what they swam---a shocking depth of knowledge for a student at a school where I guarantee 90% of people didn't know a swim team existed.

No one else would have had the compassion to want to make them feel included and follow an obscure sport like women's swimming enough to be able to make them a part of the table that night.

Casey kept a field hockey stick behind her desk at the Collegian and would frequently whip it out and kick a makeshift ball around while talking through ideas.

She would sometimes sail through the air of the newsroom playing catch with a lacrosse stick.

She knew headline counts and column counts by heart.

She believed in journalism as the public service that it is and infused that theme in all of us.

She got the nickname "coach" by some of the staff.

She shook the sports world everytime someone met the face behind the byline and discovered a woman.

She came as Jem to the Collegian costume party.

I spent the "greatest day ever" with her playing softball and eating hotdogs in my backyard at the one-time-only Collegian picnic. Years later she sent me a picture of all of us from that day, festooned in the rhinestones and glitter she knows I love.
She came in the beautiful green dress she wore in Holyoke's Irish festival pagent in (whose name escapes me) to the Collegian formal at my house---an event she conceived. We danced so hard the floorboards flexed and pictures were knocked off my neighbors' walls.

We laid on pillows on the floor of the Collegian "clubhouse" the night of graduation, determined to stay there until dawn.
As graduation loomed, she surveyd us all on questionnares she drew up. When I saw her last winter she pulled out the book of collected questionnaries, and there was an invaluable glimpse of that brief, rich period that she had had the foresight to capture.

She got me reading Rick Bragg.

She lead us to the NENA conference in '99 where we won Daily newspaper of the year.

She battled the Student Government Association, the Graduate Student Union and the administration to keep the paper independent.

She was the wise one we turned to to weather these storms, who, truely, always knew what to do.

I turned to wine-in-a-box and Casey to save me during the hellish weeks in August 1998 when I, as a totally unqualified news editor, tried to put the news pages together for the first editon of the paper.

About to embark on her stem cell treatment, she was the one who drove all the way to New York to visit me.

She brought an album of picturs of friends from the Collegian. On the back of each pictures were quotes and memories from those people which she had collected for me. She made it because I was moving overseas and she didn't want me to feel lonely.

While she was sick and recovering from her treatments she made care packages for me, decorated in detail and covered in inspirational quotes.

She sent me a postpcard of a dog dancing on its hind legs on the beach to tell me she had cancer.

We made plans for her to come see me in the Middle East one day. I know now she's finally here.

Jill worked with Casey at the UMass Daily Collegian. She's currently covering events in the Middle East.

Hire her now

By Kendall Matthews

I guess you could say she had me at hello. When Casey
interviewed at the Anderson Independent-Mail in '99, I
talked to her for all of five minutes before I said to
sports editor Randy Beard, "Hire her now."

Hard to believe that was almost five years ago. Harder
to believe she's gone now.

It's funny the things you remember. A long afternoon
sitting in McDonald's talking about baseball and life.
Walking through Circuit City looking at CDs and
talking about Bull Durham (greatet movie ever).

Stories from the road, countless funny stories about
her and CB and Smitty and the things they did. Casey
wearing a tiara to lunch and checking the mirror every
two minutes to watch it sparkle in the light.

Yeah, she touched my life in a lot of ways. I check on
Lou Merloni's stats in boxscores now, something I
never would've thought of doing on my own. I now know
that you can't learn from your mistakes if you don't
make mistakes; she taught me that.

I didn't get to work with Casey very long, but I tried
to read her stuff as often as I could. She had skills,
professionally speaking, but as a friend, she was 100
times more important. She brought me up when I was
down, and calmed me down when my life spun out of
control. I showed up at her door unannounced more
times than I probably should have, but she never
freaked out, and something good always came out of
those visits.

Casey stopped by The State in Columbia, S.C., where I
work now, for a visit. I was so proud to show her off
to everyone in the office, and she lit up the place,
like she always did. That was the last time I saw her.

I'm glad I got one last hug before she left.

Kendall worked with Casey at the Anderson Independent Mail.

Making the most of her dash

By Arni Sribhen

A few weeks ago, I was watching the memorial service for Pat Tillman, the NFL player who was killed while serving as an Army Ranger. A comrade of his from the military said something like this:

"That one little dash in there represents a lifetime. How do we spend our dash?"

Casey Kane spent her dash being a really good friend to a lot of people.

I first met Casey in 1999. I started at the Anderson Independent-Mail in June and several weeks later, we had more job openings.

One of the new reporters we hired that summer was Casey -- though I questioned whether she really existed or not, since I never met her during her interview, and she took her time starting at the paper.

But she did show up, she became one of the most-liked members of the staff. She was quick to join a conversation, even if her selective hearing only heard a few things, like something that sounded like her name.

I was one of the first people she told she had cancer. In her own way, the conversation went something like this.

Me: "Sports, this is Arni."
Casey: "Arni, I won't have my story today. I have cancer."
Me: "You're joking right?"
Casey: "No."

I immediately went into a panic, but I was calmed down when Casey told me the same thing she told the doctor who first diagnosed her "Don't be sorry, I'm going to beat this."

A lot of the people I worked with in Anderson will probably fill the pages of this website with stories of Casey's short-time with us in Anderson.

I'll sum it up with this quote: "A friend is one who walks in when others walk out" -Walter Winchell

If any words could describe Casey Kane, it would be those.

As recently as a few weeks ago, I got a postcard from her wishing me luck with my new job with the IRL. She told me she was happy for me and mentioned she had become a big fan of driver Kasey Kahne.

When she left Anderson for the last time, she shed a couple of tears, but we didn't say goodbye.

"This is not goodbye. It's see you soon," I told her. She promised she would.

I guess I'll have to wait a little longer.

Arni worked with Casey at the Anderson Independent Mail.

Baseball trivia

By Matt Vautour
I'm going to probably write several of these.

Because she wearing an oxygen mask, Casey was a little difficult to understand in the hospital for the past 14 days.

Last Friday night (May 14), the nurse on duty came into the room to check Casey's blood pressure while she watched the Red Sox game.

As the nurse began de-velcroing the blood pressure arm band, Casey said something, but because of the mask, the nurse didn't catch it asked her to repeat it. But it was still unintelligible.

"What do you need honey?" the nurse, an older Asian woman, asked.

Finally Casey lifted the mask off and said "Buck Martinez."

The nurse looked at Casey and then the rest of us, like maybe the pain medication was messing with Casey's thoughts.

The rest of us in the room started giggling. On the TV, NESN's trivia question read: "Who managed the Toronto Blue Jays before current manager Carlos Tosca?"

The answer, of course, was Buck Martinez.

Casey wanted to make sure we knew, that despite her physical problems, nobody was beating her on baseball trivia.

Lighting our way

By Stacy Schorr Chandler


The world lost a brilliant soul when Casey Kane passed away last week. Brilliant in terms of wisdom, sure, but Casey's brilliance was most apparent in terms of light.

She lit up the lives of everyone around her with her big smile, her hearty laugh and her passion for living. It was impossible -- impossible -- to be sad around Casey. Even when her friends found out in 2000 that she'd been diagnosed with cancer at the age of 24. We cried, sure, and we raged against the injustice of something like that happening to someone so young, so vibrant, so kind. But her courage -- and unfailing ability to crack a joke and to be the comforter even when she was the one in danger -- buoyed us all. Even when I accompanied her to chemotherapy once, that grin never stopped. I'd brought magazines with me in the expectation that she'd want to sleep, or at least not be yammered at, at some point during the 3-4 hour procedure. I didn't get to look at a single page. We talked and laughed and behaved badly until it was time to go home. Last November, she made the trip from Massachusetts (not easy for her, I know) to come to my wedding reception and was the belle of the ball. Maybe a month or two before she died, she sent us an Elvis postcard for no reason -- just to brighten our day, I guess, which it certainly accomplished. I heard that even in the days just before she left us, she was making jokes and keeping a smile on her face.

And now one might assume with her passing that her light has gone out. But in the few days since her death, I can already tell it is still with us -- that she is still with us. It shines in the way her friends have been calling each other, to plan logistics of getting to her funeral, sure, but also just to say hello and "I love you" and to talk about old times. I've been on the phone constantly the past couple days, reconnecting with folks who call just to check on us, just to say hello. That's very much in Casey's spirit, and it is a very positive side-effect of what otherwise is a very painful event. It's just the beginning of her legacy, I think. She taught all of us a lot, even as she cracked us up and showed us a good time, and she'll continue guiding us with her light for the rest of our lives.

Thanks Casey.

Stacy worked with Casey at the Anderson Independent Mail

14 Years of Friendship

By Heather Leenders

First Thoughts

How do you share with the world those things that we shared without telling the whole story?

With you a ride up the chairlift is a timeline of the first day we spent together as real friends. Run after run until the lights came on. In my mind I’m looking down at the upside-down, heart-shaped rock where you had a first kiss. (Hope you don’t mind that I’m telling.)

Do you remember “Bay Windows?”

With you I just utter the word “mattress” and we burst into laughter. Without explanation this might make others wonder. Come to think of it, I’m still not sure why carrying an air mattress up two flights of stairs (including a small landing) was fall down hysterical, tears streaming down your face funny. In 14 years you’ve never gotten through the whole explanation without laughter swallowing your words.

“Watch out for the pole… you… just… hit….” Who else can claim a more memorable first outing on the new driver’s license?

With you pouring a cup of soda on the purple rug in my room brings four words to mind: “Don’t let it spill.” More laughter, and the fizz tops the rim of the glass. The stains still there are reminders of Friday night pizzas and giggles ‘til dawn.

“Life is a highway…”

.With you staying late in the English Office we put the finishing touches on the newspaper. Fourth and Goal. Snow. Faculty-Student basketball game. Wasn’t there pizza involved, too?

“Uncle Remmie’s Cards for Alternate Occasions”

With you we went through the blood harvest with Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders. Remember when we were laughing so loud? The nurses kept saying they’d never seen anyone like us. Imagine: two 25-year olds playing hard-core games of colors and numbers. And of course… the laughter

The blue Umbro shorts with the white trim…ohh… shrubbery!

With you I got a chance to say goodbye. (Thank you for thinking of me, Chris.) I love you, Casey. And I heard you whisper, I love you, too.

Heather and Casey grew up together in Holyoke.

Cheering Their Victories

From July 28, 2000 Hampshire Life Magazine

Recently diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Disease, longtime sports fan Casey Kane takes a new look at superstars – and cancer survivors – Lance Armstrong and Andres Galarraga.

By Casey Kane

I grew up a sports fan. Like my friends, I watched baseball and football, basketball and the occasional hockey game. But in my household, we also followed track and field, triathlons and bicycling races, like the Tour de France.

Last year, I watched with awe highlights of the Tour, one of the toughest sporting events a man can endure. And with patriotic pride and dumbfounded amazement, I cheered Lance Armstrong's victory, not only over the field of elite athletes and the grueling course, but over the cancer that had nearly cost him his life.
Armstrong, only the second American to ever win the Tour, was 25 when he was diagnosed with testicular cancer which had spread to his brain. He battled back to race again at the elite level. Race and win. Win the biggest challenge his sport offers, with the cheers of millions, myself included, behind him.

This year, I am cheering even harder.

In January, I was diagnosed with cancer. I am 24 years old. I am nowhere close to being an elite athlete - although I swam for eight years with the Holyoke YMCA, and participated in swimming, field hockey and tennis while in high school - but I had a life that was forever changed in one moment.

I have Hodgkin's disease, a lymphoma that commonly attacks younger victims without rhyme or reason. The survival rate is high, but the fear that accompanies every other type of the disease comes along with Hodgkin's as well.

I feel a special connection to Armstrong, because of my cancer. He is an inspiration. So too, is Andres Galarraga, the Atlanta Braves All-Star first baseman who returned to baseball this season after taking last year off to battle the non-Hodgkin's lymphoma he was diagnosed with in the spring.

I now live in the South, and have attended several Braves games this season. Every time Galarraga steps into the batter's box, I am on my feet.

It's not hard to explain why I feel so strongly now about two men whose lives I paid minimal attention to until recently. It's because I have been where they have been. They have had to tell loved ones about their diseases, as I have. They have struggled to say the C-word out loud, as I did when I choked out the words to my parents while I lay in a hospital bed 1,000 miles from them.

They have been through surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation. They have lost weight, muscle, hair and - perhaps for fleeting moments - hope. I did.

I sat in the quiet still of my hospital room, in between interruptions by nurses who needed to check my temperature and blood pressure and draw blood, and I cried. I questioned what I had done to deserve this fate. I asked why. And for at least a few moments, I lost hope.

But I found it again in these two men and other athletes, like Mario Lemieux, the Pittsburgh Penguins hockey great, and Olympic wrestler Jeff Blatnik, who both had the same disease I am now fighting. I had read the news stories about Lemieux as he was battling cancer simply because tales of tragedy and triumph are so interesting. Blatnik wrote me a letter of encouragement soon after I started my chemotherapy.

I have found hope in other places, too, in people like Dave McGrath, a friend who survived cancer himself and sent me a note to boost my spirits. I have also saved every get-well card I received, and taped them up throughout my apartment. Whenever I feel depressed or in despair, I read the messages people have written me to help me through the tough times. The stories of the athletes who have triumphed over Hodgkin's disease and the irrepressible concern that so many people have shown for me have been great inspirations.

I am in the homestretch of my chemotherapy. I have survived the nausea, the vomiting, the fatigue and the horrible weight loss that comes with cancer. I have survived the nausea and the vomiting and the hopeless feeling of weakness that comes with each round of chemo.

My body feels almost normal again, since I have gained my weight back. My hair, once past my shoulders, is now long enough to merit use of a brush again. And I have survived the shudders of self-consciousness I felt back when I lost my hair (my father, two brothers and boyfriend helped with that by shaving their heads in solidarity when my hair started to fall out).

I will survive whatever my impending radiation treatment throws at me. And I will continue to cheer, for Lance Armstrong, for Andres Galarraga.

For me.

Casey Kane, a former Gazette intern and a native of Holyoke, is a sportswriter at the Anderson Independent-Mail in Anderson, S.C.