Cancer Doesn’t Just Take a Life
I felt compelled to write something shortly after I saw the headline about James Van Der Beek’s death. It stopped me in my tracks. I don’t usually react to celebrity news. Growing up in New York City, celebrities were just people. I’d see them on the street, at restaurants, on the subway. Nothing mystical about it.
But this headline felt different.
It was another reminder of being blindsided. Cancer, taking another human. Another father. Another husband. Another friend. Too soon.
James didn’t really enter my orbit until Christin started following him on Instagram. She would tell me about his family, how many kids he had. I remember being surprised by that number. I never watched Dawson’s Creek, but I was a big fan of Varsity Blues. I still quote that movie. My best friend John and I used to quote films constantly. “Varsity Blues” was always near the top of our list.
Christin passed from non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma at 39.
John died by suicide at 29.
Life hasn’t been the same since losing them in 2024 and 2016. It just hasn’t.
But this isn’t a post about my grief.
It’s about the unspoken burden that remains after someone dies. The stories that can’t be shared anymore. The one-sided memories. And the part no one likes to talk about: the financial weight left behind.
The day after his death, the Van Der Beek family raised $1.5 million through GoFundMe. It became clear they had spent most of their money trying to save him.
Christin’s 11-month cancer journey resulted in $4.2 million in medical charges. Even with full coverage, we were left with more than $100,000 in outstanding bills. During her final months, as we both knew what was coming, money was the last thing on my mind. But the bills kept arriving. The calls didn’t stop. Collectors didn’t care that my wife of ten years was dying.
That reality compounds grief in ways people don’t see.
I’ve read comments asking how a famous actor could possibly not have enough money to leave behind. As someone who has lived through cancer caregiving, I can tell you: the costs don’t end. They multiply. Treatments. Travel. Experimental care. Time off work. After-death expenses. The system is relentless.
My only ask is this: have grace.
You don’t know what someone is carrying. You don’t know the medical debt behind the smile. You don’t know the quiet panic that happens at 2 a.m. when the house is still and the bills are stacked on the counter.
Hold your people close.
Have grace for everyone walking a road you can’t see.
— Let Me Be Grief