Brad did everything on his own terms.

In October, Brad was diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer.  He, alongside with his loving wife Karen (Regina to family), began to brace for the fight.  In addition to the doctor visits, together, they spent tremendous energy into refinishing their home.  Brad was extraordinarily gifted when it came to wood-working, and, together, they have adorned their home with his artistry.

In November, Brad told the rest of the family.  By this time, it was aggressively spreading everywhere in him like an algae bloom.  He had been scheduled for his first chemo treatment on Tuesday.  Granted the chemo was a long shot to begin with, but it was his last hope.  His goal… to try.

Shortly after the diagnosis but before the chemo began, complications of pneumonia and pericardial effusion (which is fluid between your heart and the sac that holds it) set in.  The doctors were able to relieve the pressure around his heart by removing nearly a quart of cancerous fluid.  Because of the cancer, though, the doctors did not believe that the pneumonia could be eradicated.

That hope that was chemo was taken off of the table, because Brad couldn't get to "stable".

In the hospital, Brad, filled with grace and strength, stared down a team of doctors from his bed as if facing a firing squad.  He was told that they could not solve for the pneumonia, and therefore would not begin his chemo.  If I were a betting man, I'd say they expected the pneumonia to prevail in short order.  They wrote him off.

He was given the option of differing hospice venues.  We were able to persuade Brad to come to heal at his younger brother's home.  We were able to come together as an entire family (some in person and the rest through video calls) to cradle Brad with love and adoration.

Jeff (his older brother) and Kevin were able to arrange for one last golf outing at Little Bennett Golf Course.  Kevin happens to live between the fourth green and the fifth tees and was able to drive the golf cart straight to the back door.  We loaded Brad, his clubs and his medical equipment (which may or may not have included a bottle of Fireball swing oil).

Brad was always a quick learner.  He quickly solved for how to swing a golf club without hitting his oxygen tank.  We played for an hour until the oxygen tank ran out and then got him back to the safety of my home.  It was magnificent.  He was magnificent.

On each of the next two days, we were able to play some marathon games of eight-handed, four-deck contract rummy at the kitchen table.  It was fantastic.

Beyond that, over the next few days Brad had beaten the pneumonia, was taken off of oxygen and was so strong that we convinced another oncologist to start chemo again.  "F*** cancer" was his battle cry.

Brad had seen everyone in the family, been able to feel their love, and returned it back to them.

-- It was a two-week long "moment" of grace.  That was Brad.

Needing one more procedure to aid with the nourishment of his body to prepare for the ensuing fight, he was taken into the hospital.  As a part of coming out of the fog on anesthesia, he was able to spend precious time with his wife.  He was lucid.  Even philosophical.  It was "magical" as Regina described it.  He shared that she surrounded him with love and caring, and that was what had given him the strength to fight this hard and this long.  It was another moment of grace that he had saved just for her.

Shortly after, Brad had slipped back into the grip of the cancer that was consuming him.

On December 27 ^th Brad succumbed to the illness.

Not only was Brad loving and caring, but he was fierce in competition.  Intense and intent.  He took that fighting spirit to the end.

On Brad's terms, he had had two different moments of grace.  He was determined to beat it.  He brought himself out of hospice to continue to fight.  That was Brad.

The cancer may think it won, but it didn't.  Brad went out the way that he wanted to.  Having been able to say "I love you" and "thank you" to those that surrounded him.

The cancer didn't win.

"F*** cancer"

Those around Brad who will miss him dearly include his mother (Judy Holt), his wife (Karen "Regina" Holt) and his two brothers (Jeff and Kevin Holt).  He will also be missed by his Aunt Jean and Uncle Ken Conrady, his cousins, his nieces and nephews, his great-nephews, his golf buddies and all the others whose life he has touched.

Brad will be laid to rest at Edge Hill Cemetery in Charles Town next to his father (Gary Holt) who will be waiting to show him around the rest of the universe.  A memorial service will be planned for later this year where we will invite others to share in the joy of Brad's life.

In lieu of flowers, we ask that donations be made to Living with Cancer at https://www.cancersupportcommunity.org/donate?utm_source=websitehome .

We will miss you, Brad.