A Note from Cecily Strong

I don’t know how to tell this story. 

I don’t quite know what the story is.

Because I don’t know when it starts. Or how it ends.

Maybe the story started with the awful day in January I got the call I had imagined getting for almost two years but believed and hoped I’d never get. “Owen has been given hours. His tumor didn’t shrink enough where they could start the new treatment Monday. They will make sure he’s in no pain, and he’s surrounded by Ed and Laurel and Leda, and his girlfriend Stacia and Sasha, his best friend since childhood. Soon he will go into a coma and then he will pass away”. I kept saying No no no no no no. Not my little Owen. My little cousin Owen. I don’t know how long I spent sat frozen on my bed, making these guttural wailing sounds. At some point I picked up my phone. I was in California still. I was supposed to fly to Philadelphia the next day for a wedding. Owen was supposed to beat brain cancer. 

That night I kept wondering where in time and space was Owen. What part of his journey was he on at this particular moment? And I suppose I have my own magical thinking that began this night, or in earnest this night, that Owen would somehow beat this too. I don’t know how. But if anyone could figure out how to beat time and space, it would be the smartest and most wonderful and bravest human I knew. My cousin Owen.

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Maybe the story starts March 2018. My dad has started a new thing I love where he sends me a text almost immediately after each show, his little summary which is of course always complimentary of his “girlie”. This Saturday he doesn’t text me. That’s odd, but maybe he’s just asleep. The next morning he texts and says to call him. His tone immediately scares me. “I have some bad news about Owen”. Of all people, this is not who I expect. Owen is 28 years old and in great shape and what could be wrong with Owen? “He was having migraines and he took himself in to the ER. He got an MRI and they found a tumor.” We cried together on the phone. Brain cancer is a death sentence right?

I went to see my cousins Owen and Leda at my Uncle Ed and Aunt Laurel’s apartment. I had no idea what to expect. What’s it like after you find out you have brain cancer? I’m nervous on the way there. Owen’s had surgery to remove the tumor. Will he be bald? Will he look sick? I am holding back tears in the elevator. I get to the door and Owen opens it, his normal towering skinny string bean frame greeting me, arms wide open for a hug. “Hey cuz”. I immediately feel ok. He’s smiling. I hug Ed next who is less confident than Owen. Then Laurel who is always Aunt Laurel- determined and on some task or another. She seems busy. This is the first time I see it as an armor. She’s going to make sure we have snacks on the table and everybody has water. She keeps the most beautiful home and always has– it’s a magical skill to someone like me. Owen flops on a chair. Laurel is deaf in one ear so she’s naturally loud. I’m not sure what to talk about but Owen leads the way. Soon I’m laughing. I love this kid so much. “You know how everybody goes online and goes on webMD and panics and convinces themselves they have brain cancer? Well I’m the one who actually had brain cancer”. His doctors are great, he says. They’ve got a plan. He’s got a plan. His only problem is boredom. I hug him goodbye. I think I needed it more than him. Owen has this quality of being the one who supports everyone around him, even while being the one who is undergoing vigorous treatments for glioblastoma. Uncle Ed walks me outside. He’s visibly upset and nervous. I say “I think he’s going to be ok. I really do”. And I really did. I saw that kid up there. He’s fearless. And he’s really special.

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At first I thought it was so difficult to meet someone right as I was losing someone I loved so much. I knew he’d have to be patient with me. He’d have to let me grieve. It would be easier not to even try during that process. But grieving Owen was like nothing I’d ever experienced, and I promised him and myself to continue to let all that love be there along with the sadness.

So when Jack leaves that night, after the talk, I say “I think you were a gift to me from Owen.” And I like thinking of it that way. 

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Owen tells me about a new great doctor he has, Dr. Henry Friedman. He’s the head of neuro-oncology at Duke. He’s leading the way in using polio therapy for GBM. That’s the acronym for his brain cancer. I’m learning the language of cancer now. Owen says Henry is the first doctor to bring up the word cure. I love this doctor. Owen starts polio treatments. I have no idea what that means and what it means for his body. In fact, I will never ever know what Owen experiences because he will never let on the extent of his struggles. I’m not the only one. Doctors looking at his final MRI say later that because of the size and position of his tumor, they didn’t know how he was standing and laughing and talking as long as he was.

Leda texts me and asks if I will do Owen’s Doctor Henry a favor. I say of course. I always wanted to thank Henry. He almost cured Owen. I believed it. Henry wants me to mentor a young actress. I say of course. He’s really kind. He uses a lot of exclamation points. He uses a lot of all caps. He offers me 24/7 “medical triage” which means he will offer me medical help whenever I need it. Jack gets sick the next day. Jack meets Henry the day after I meet Henry.

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I send Jack the video of Owen’s beautiful service. I spoke about the weird little red haired boy I first met as a kid who came back into my life as an adult and taught me about family, and what it is to feel that kind of love. I talked about his love for birds. The boy who loved birds flew away. Jack tells me he went to high school with one of Owen’s friends. Nate. Nate from Antarctica! 

“Nate’s coming from Antarctica. Can you believe it?” Laurel is going through letters and emails and flowers as we all sit in a much quieter apartment days after Owen has gone. We eat dinner and I try to make them laugh a little. I think Owen would want that. I know he would want that.

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Leda tells a story at Owen’s service. She asked Owen’s doctor if he was scared when she told him they couldn’t do anything more for him, and he would have hours. I had this thought too, but I knew he wouldn’t be scared. The doctor said although most patients panic and try to bargain in this moment, which makes me really sad to hear, Owen didn’t. Instead he thanked her for trying her best. And for all she’d done for him. 

So I don’t know what this story is. The world is upside down. I’m holding devastation and love in equal measures. What is bad timing when the timeline seems irrelevant?

And what’s the ending? Would you even know?

I’m at the Knicks game in November 2018. I’m with Owen and Leda and Michael Che. The photographer gets photos of us crazy cheering. Owen’s got his fists in front of his face and I’ve got one raised in the air and my mouth is wide open. Leda is doing the same. We are crazed. We are family. I don’t remember if they win or lose. We go out afterwards and get a drink at an Irish bar. We laugh at Michael Che ordering bangers and mash. Owen orders a beer. We are laughing. It’s a normal night. I like seeing him like this. It makes me think he’s gonna be ok. I know he’s gonna be ok. 

It’s the last night I will see Owen.

But I don’t want to end that way. Not even a story. 

Here’s a thing I know for sure: I had a cousin named Owen who had red hair as a little boy and he was a serious kid and he loved birds. He taught me about love during his life and he’s teaching me about love after. And I’m really lucky.