The Gift of More

By Pamela Yates

In 1993, Brock and Pamela Yates were living a charmed life. Happily married, they had successfully blended their families and watched proudly as their children left the nest and found their own way. But everything changed when Pams then twenty-five-year-old son, Sean, delivered horrifying news: he had a rare and incurable form of cancer.

While chronicling both Seans and her journey through terminal cancer, Pam leads others through a poignant personal story that every mother hopes she will never have to tell. While burdened with a mountain of medical red tape, Pam details how she, her family, and Sean clung to hope, tried alternate therapies, adapted to in-home care, and finally relented to hospice. As fear and stress began to overshadow everything else, Pam reveals how she fervently prayed and received an insightful answer that provided her with an incredible blessing. Through it all, Pams story illustrates how illness and loss not only demand tremendous advocacy and faith, but also have the power to teach us about ourselves and those we love.

The Gift of More shares a mothers touching story about courage, faith, and transformation after her adult son is diagnosed with cancer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Oct 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781462411955

Pamela Yates

When Pamela was nine years of age, her elder brother, Malcolm, drew a beautiful angel just before he died. He was aged eleven. When she saw the drawing, she felt the Spirit of the Lord come upon her. During her following life, her spirituality further strengthened and developed. It was after one night when she had a visit by Jesus Christ, who spoke to her, that she found she had a propensity to accurately prophesise. She later had a visit from one of Gods messenger angels. The chain of events that followed inspired Pamela to write all her historical events of prophecy, encouragement, divine help, and healing.

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Copyright © 2016 Pamela Yates.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Inspiring Voices

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4624-1194-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-1195-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016946557

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 10/7/2016

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Foreword

Acknowledgments

One Beginnings

Two Mom, They Say I Have Cancer.

Three Leaving Los Angeles

Four Fall And Faith

Five Marks

Six Christmas

Seven Winter of our Discontent

Eight Still Trying

Nine Faith Healers and Friends

Ten Going Home Again

Eleven Letting Go

Twelve Saying Goodbye

Epilogue

Addendum

Some of the Things You Need to Know …

About the Author

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Farmstead our home 1994

To my mother, Rose.

For her strength, wisdom, and great humanity.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

T ime and distance often put a different perspective on things. In the years since the first printing of ‘The Gift of More’, I have learned many things and gained insight into the process of loss and grief. Given that time often softens memories and adds additional insight, I have consciously chosen to stay true to the feelings and perspective that I was immersed in during the original writing process in order to stay true to the reality of the situation at the time.

Staying true to my emotions during the original writing process does not mean that I cannot change an erroneous impression that many readers came away with. Over the years, it has come to my attention that many felt my relationship with my daughter, Stacy, was strained or severely damaged while caring for Sean.

I was often approached to see if my daughter and I had healed the rift or made peace with each other. At first, I was unable to respond because I didn’t understand why would they ask that. What had I written that had given that impression? I truly felt I conveyed that Stacy’s support, bravery and love, coupled with my husband Brock’s was what kept me going. Much to my horror, many readers saw something different.

Stacy helped to edit my book before it ever went to print and was fully aware that my narrative often reflected negatively on her but she never said anything, believing that my need to tell Sean’s story and the story of our family, circumvented her need to assuage her ego. Since my perspective at the time, was my reality, she said nothing; allowing the writing process to be a cathartic release after the pain of losing my son.

As a writer herself, Stacy stands by the belief that the writing process needs to be worked through; emotions and memories recorded as truthfully and starkly as the writer feels as the time, so she did not wish to silence or edit my feelings for the sake of her own. Her initial hurt upon reading my words were quickly put aside because she knew how close we were as a family and understood the situation was multilayered and complicated by grief and exhaustion.

During the initial writing process, I put my feelings about my relationship with Stacy into statements that I clearly did not define well enough. Often misinterpreting Stacy’s emotional distance as rejection instead of her own need to protect herself during this devastating time. I was so afraid I was losing not only my son, but also my daughter and that emotional turmoil came out in my writing.

Mixed signals and misunderstood reactions are par for the course during times of stress, and caring for a child with a terminal illness is about as stressful as it gets. So, for those who question my relationship with my daughter; Stacy and I are wonderful, closer than we’ve ever been, with a bond forged not only by biology but also through the raw and painful experiences we endured.

The complexity of family dynamics while dealing with chronic or terminal illnesses cannot be undersold. Pain, grief and fear create layers within a family which either forge a connection so strong nothing can break it, or create cracks which never heal. I am happy to say that Stacy and I are strong and proud survivors, scarred by experiences but deeply aware of the blessings we have in each other.

FOREWORD

I t is said that nothing can be more traumatic for an adult than the loss of a child. Moreover, it borders on the impossible to believe that such a tragedy can be the source of inspiration and a strange, mysterious contact with higher powers.

I was involved with such a phenomenon in the autumn of 1994 when my beloved stepson, Sean Reynolds, died in our arms after a long and courageous battle against a rare form of cancer. While I played a supporting role in the tragedy, I witnessed the strength and courage of my wife Pamela, who not only stood steadfastly in support of Sean, hour by hour, day by day, during his agonizing and painful decline, but, following his death, garnered the inner strength to write this chronicle—a passionate yet powerful journal of the events that led us, in the wake of our loss, to find inspiration and hope.

Where most people might be expected to crumble in the face of such heartache and loss, Pamela found a mysterious kind of divine inspiration in the midst of her trial. Having experienced the incident that magnifies and enhances this otherwise painful experience, Pamela found the raw bravery to chronicle the following in her own words. A woman of great talent as a former professional singer and successful business- woman, she had never written anything more involved than a college term paper. Yet she composed the story that follows with admirable skill. As a professional writer, I was prepared to edit and modify her material, but instead discovered that with her innate skills with the English language the words fell easily on the page and needed little or no tuning.

The result is a story of personal power and inspiration that transcends the shattering loss of our son and—through a flash of mystery and an expression of humanity and strength— brings hope and faith to all who read it.

Brock Yates Wyoming, New York

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

H aving spent so many years in the writing of this book, I am compelled to remember and thank all the people who have traveled on this journey with me. The obvious ones appear on the pages that follow. As I recalled each person, I began to see my life as one large, unfinished mosaic. Each encounter with a person, be it good or bad, placed a piece in the picture. Each piece was vital to the whole. Every encounter lent strength and structure to an unknowable finished work. I came to believe that each person I met along the way contributed to the tools and skills I needed to master the trials that life has put before me.

Therefore, to all the people who have touched my life, positively or negatively, my undying gratitude. Nothing has been easy about this book. Not in the living, not in the writing, and not in the publishing. The publishing has been a strange story in and of itself. So, thanks to Debra Hampton and John Sprague, formerly of Thomas More Publishing, for their sup- port and encouragement. To Todd, our Son-in-law, for his endless hours spent in schooling me, and cajoling me, into conquering my fear of computers; and all things technical putting this manuscript together. Much love and gratitude. To my editor Carla Dochterman, for her wisdom, talent and sense of perspective in keeping me focused. Her sensitivity made the painful process less demanding. To our agent Jim Fitzgerald, who took a giant leap from representing guy books to finding a home for this distinctly different story. Sean and I will be forever in his debt.

For reasons of personal privacy and legal complications, many names of people, and those of some institutions, have been changed. With approval, certain names have remained unchanged because I wanted them to be honored for their significant roles in this story.

To our friends who loved and supported us through our ordeal and who grace our lives still: Scott and Susan Hill, Ross and Paula Sherwood, Adriana Betts, Bill and Lynn Neal, and Wayne and Linda Purdy.

To Barbara Bramer, our secretary at the time of Sean’s illness who handled all the details of our careers so that I could concentrate on Sean. She was truly an angel sent from heaven, a special person at a special time. She helped in ways she can never fully know.

To my mother and father for always being with me in good times and bad.

To the true champions of our story: Dr. Avrum Bluming and Dr. Robert Nadeau; Cary Milda, R.N., and Betty James, R.N. of Hospice, Batavia, New York; attorney Michael Law, and Chris Reynolds, paralegal, of Phillips, Lytle, Hitchcock, Blaine & Huber, for their commitment to making the world a better place.

For his courage in covering our story, I acknowledge Bob Davis, investigative reporter for USA Today. He understood the big picture.To Sandy Beach of WBEN talk radio, Buffalo; Linda Pellegrino of AM Buffalo;WKBW TV; Mark Hare, col- umnist for the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle; and Roger DuPuis II, Batavia Daily News, Batavia, New York.

Our grandchildren Sarah and Scott, whose love and sweetness fill my life. Our children: Claire, Dan, and Brock, son-in-law Bobby, and daughter-in-law Cyndy, for their love and sense of family. They were there for Sean when he needed them most.

To our precious daughter, Stacy, one of the most courageous and wise people I have ever known. Without her help we could never have cared for Sean at home.

Last but not least, a loving thanks to my greatest blessing, my husband, Brock. Without his belief in me, I could never have put my private thoughts and emotions on paper. It is also because of him that I know the true meaning of unconditional love.

Although the mosaic of my life remains unfinished, I take great comfort in knowing that we shall all meet again.

Pamela Yates Wyoming, New York

2005

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Sean at five years old

ONE

Beginnings

L ife’s journey tak es us down many roads; some smooth and others, as we say in the country, seasonal and bumpy, and only passable at certain times of the year. Yet, all roads lead us somewhere.

One summer morning in late July 1993 was especially sweet, glorious, and lush. The beautiful valley that flowed softly from our front door resembled a giant jewel-toned quilt. The perfectly formed squares of early corn dressed in verdant green were stitched up against golden expanses of wheat, filling the soul with the promise of plenty. The air was still dewy fresh, not yet burning with the midday heat to come. Western New York summer days are the very reason we who live here tolerate all the badmouthing our winters receive from the rest of the country. We are immune to the national news headlines proclaiming that Buffalo and Rochester are being buried in snow. It’s all worthwhile to us because, when spring, summer, and fall are here, there is no place on earth more beautiful.

My husband Brock was born and raised in a small city out- side of Buffalo. After our marriage, we moved to a new three-story condominium in a trendy, year-round recreation community outside Torrington, Connecticut. Lakeridge, with its environmentally proper architecture, was tucked discreetly in the Berkshire Mountains of western Connecticut.

For many families it was a second-home community, and those who purchased there were mostly from New York City. Lakeridge’s advertisements in the New York Times and Wall Street Journal promised the good life. It was a wakeup call that wasn’t wasted on us, especially since we had two young children to keep occupied in a safe environment. It would also ease our guilt at having to leave them so often for business travel. (In those early years we traveled extensively because of Brock’s auto racing commentary for CBS sports.) Aside from the beauty of the place, it boasted its own ski slope, a lake, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, equestrian trails, and a couple of fitness centers—perfect solutions for the needs of our newly formed family. We thought my two children Sean and Stacy, would be so occupied they wouldn’t even know we were away. It turned out to be a parental fantasy. After about six months in paradise, they were bored to death with condo life, and it gave Brock the perfect opportunity to convince us to move to his beloved western New York State.

Brock and I met in the mid1970s. He was writing for Car and Driver, Sports Illustrated and Playboy magazines. I was freelancing in marketing and publishing. We met at an annual event thrown by Car and Driver at Lime Rock, Connecticut. At first it seemed we had nothing in common. Never in a million years would a dating service put us together. Brock is a laid-back Type C personality and I’m a driven Type A. Yet we share some very deep and profound beliefs, and we soon discovered that our approach to life was the same.

So, after our false start in Connecticut, we moved to Wyoming, New York, population 350 is located halfway between Buffalo and Rochester in one of the largest agricultural counties in the state. The landscape resembles the countryside of England, with its rolling hills and fertile valleys. We bought a house called Farmstead.

Farmstead was the culmination of the dream of C.B. Matthews, a rival of John D. Rockefeller in the natural gas and petroleum business. Designed in the earlier Federal style, the house reflected the opulence of its era and Matthew’s station in the community. Six beautiful fireplaces and breathtaking woodwork adorn its twenty elegant rooms. Once the center of a thousand-acre farm, Farmstead’s orchards produced a wide selection of apples that were shipped by the barrel to France. It also boasted the first Black Angus cattle in the area.

In 1909 Matthews hired architect Bryant Fleming, who later founded the School of Landscape Design at Cornell University, to enlarge and remodel the original farmhouse, built in 1822. Fleming and Matthews traveled to Italy in search of light fixtures and other décor for the house. After its renovation in 1910, Farmstead provided shelter and comfort to seven generations of the Matthews family.

With the passing of time, the Matthews family left Farm- stead. Yet Farmstead stood straight and proud awaiting its next love affair with a new generation of devoted owners—the Yates family.

As we began our process of restoration some seventy years after the Matthews family had put its mark on the house, I realized that my usual impatience and desire to have things done immediately would have to take a backseat to the massive scope of the project. A house that size had its own timetable. I began to think in terms of normal time versus Farmstead time. Farmstead time was slower, more thoughtful—and demanded our full attention. The exquisitely detailed carved moldings, the positioning of the rooms, the badly damaged silver plating on the lighting fixtures and the elegant glass sconces all needed special craftsmen to refurbish them. The attention to detail employed in creating this special house had to be respected.

The calming, old-world atmosphere that Farmstead exuded was a stark contrast to my childhood years. As the only child of a successful but alcoholic father, I lived with a daily diet of tension and high drama. My mother tried to create a sense of normalcy for my sake, but with little success.

I quickly learned the coping skills of a child of alcoholics of seesawing between parents. Without other siblings to buffer the pain and