Last weekend we held a small funeral mass that was restricted due to COVID. We will hold a larger event in the future at Fasig-Tipton when we can safely gather everyone who wants to come.

At the funeral, Don Giffen read Dennis’ final thoughts as part of his eulogy. The text of that is below for anyone who would like to read it:

My number seemed to always be called.

The blessing and good fortune bestowed upon me were never earned and seldom deserved.

I believed I hit the lottery being born in this wonderful country and into the most loving family. I was given an idyllic childhood, provided by parents who put the family above any personal interests or desires they may have had. Both my mother and father were the finest examples of parenting and basic human values of kindness I was ever exposed to. My mother and father gave us a Catholic faith that had been given to them from their parents all the way back to being brought to this country from Ireland. We were never lectured or instructed by them about the importance of this, but by simple example we observed and absorb this lifelong commitment, one that served us all through any dark days we may have endured.

That alone would be a windfall for most, but I was born into a caring and fun-loving pack of siblings who remained my closest and dearest souls throughout my entire life.

Apart from childhood fights and squabbles, I can recall not even harsh words, much less feelings, among any of us. My happiest times were in their presence and that of their spouses and children. Often, with my brothers, people wonder what on earth they could be talking about or enjoying as our communication was of an implied, almost spiritual manner with very few sentences used that were discernible by others.

Anything of value that I ever became or achieved I owe solely to those seven people, The sense of love and family instilled by my parents has carried over four generations. All seamless, they’re not aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, children, nieces, nephews, and grandchildren or godparents; it is one large “us” and “we”. No explanation is necessary for those that understand and none possible for those who don’t.

Tolstoy said that “happy families are all alike, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” If this is true, I was never fortunate enough to meet a family that was happy like mine is.

If I had any unique gift, it may have been the knack of meeting an exceptional group of friends outside my family and maintaining those friendships throughout my life. I’ve often heard people say “If you ever have two people you could count as really good friends, you are lucky.” My number was pulled again here, as I feel I have dozens of good and close personal friends for whom I would do anything asked and feel confident they would do the same. From kindergarten through college and into my professional life, no one could have wished for a group of friends like I have experienced.

I’ve heard it said that “you have success in your field if you don’t know whether what you’re doing is work or play.” If that is the case, I have been very successful. From my first encounters with paper routes, life guarding in summer, or work in the steel mill to make money for college. Every day was an adventure and the friendships made and fun experienced were never to be forgotten.

Once I embarked into horses, it was like running away to the circus. Growing up, we were not around horses and our exposure was from my Lynch grandparents, especially my grandfather, making 50 cent wagers with a mysterious person he said he went to see on Front Street. Our vacations always included joyous tips at all racetracks that were anywhere close to our route or destination. These were such fun times. I thought if I could ever learn something about these creatures it would really be fun. Thus I started spending summers and any free time at farms and racetracks in Florida and New York. Even on the hardest days of manual labor it was so much fun meeting the characters, living at the tracks, and being around such wonderful animals, I never considered it work – again, it was fun every day. After college, I first thought you had to get a grown up job, but soon succumbed to the lure and glamour of the horses.

The horses have taken me to places I could only have dreamed and enabled me to live out all those dreams, never thinking I was punching a clock at any time. The first half of my professional life was spent mostly on my own. The second half was with Fasig-Tipton. Talk about pulling my number again; the best group of friends I could ever hope for. Basically, they soon became my extended family and we experienced the love, happiness, and sadness that comes with family. I have not seen another company like Fasig-Tipton.

Meeting and marrying the love of my life, Susan, made me complete with a wife and two sons, all of which I’m extremely proud of, making the home life that I needed so much.

When first given my cancer prognosis, Stage 4 and 50% chance of living 2-5 years, I thought it sounded a little harsh. But almost instantly I realized that I had Susan there beside me and how ungrateful would I be if the first little bit of bad news in my life made me feel sorry for myself or begin moping around. I never complained all the times my number had been pulled and good things happened, so I sure wasn’t going to question this. I was given the luxury of only Susan and I knowing for the first 18 months, giving us both the time needed to digest, process, and prepare to handle this news. What a blessing this was. 

The first chemo treatments were easy to mask and I was ready to share by the time I had to have catheters hanging out of my chest, ports put in, and hair blowing in the wind and not returning.

Flood gates of support opened with an outpouring of love from friends and family, which I hardly deserved.

At the suggestion of my oncology nurse, I started a blog where I could tell my friends my status without verbalizing every time, which remained difficult for me at times. The responses I received humbled me and gave me such comfort.

My life has been a full and adventurous one. The regrets I have have been dealt with and tried to rectify.

My heart is full with the love of my family and my friends.

This is not a sad occasion, but a victory lap in anticipation of me spending eternity in God’s holy bliss with those who went before me and still watching my family and friends, enjoying their triumphs and consoling them in their trying times.

All my love,

Dennis

Hello,

We had planned to gather for a funeral on Sept 11. We are going to postpone that so people can travel, gather, and enjoy each other without worries. We will update this blog again once plans are in place.

In the meantime, we are putting together a slideshow. If you have pictures you would like included, please email them to lynch.barton@gmail.com

Dennis Henry Lynch down July 19, 1951, died May 1, 2020 at age of 68.

He grew up in Ashland, KY with his five siblings and loving parents. He leaves behind his loving wife Susan and his two sons Hank and Barton, of whom he is very proud, his brothers and sisters, and cherished nieces and nephews and their children, who he loved as his own.

His family taught him how to work hard, laugh frequently, and love fiercely. He graduated from the University of Kentucky and was employed at Fasig-Tipton company for over 20 years.

He was instilled with a lifelong passion for thoroughbred horses by attending races all over the country with his family growing up. He was fortunate to make horses his lifelong profession and never considered he had a real job, doing something he loved so much.

More than anything, he loved his Catholic faith, his family, and friends. He was happiest hosting and being surrounded by family and making sure they were well-fed and watered.

Funeral mass arrangements will be made at a later date.

A wake will be arranged at Fasig-Tipton at a later date. He has requested that any painting he has given to a friend be brought to ensure a bit of levity.

In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to the St. Paul Catholic Church Historical Committee (859-252-0738, 425 W Short St, Lexington, KY 40507) OR Northside Lexington Family YMCA (859-258-9622, 381 W Loudon Ave, Lexington, KY 40508)

The last two years have brought several challenges. They also have provided some outstanding opportunities to grow and learn. Cancer is one of the unforeseen consequences, for some of us, of being alive. This time in my life has been characterized by humor, sorrow, lightness and darkness, and it is something that will remain truly vivid in my mind. I have learned a lot about myself, my family and so many of my friends.  Without all of them and my faith, this journey would have been so much more difficult if not impossible. I will never forget the kindness, love, and prayers shown towards me.  

Now for 2020:  December 4th my oncologist decided to stop the three-day-a-week chemo sessions every three weeks, which included the chemical Carboplatin.  It’s the nasty stuff familiar to a lot of cancer patients. They know its calling cards: fatigue, nausea, and the ever present hair loss. I had been scheduled to do 18 treatments but my doctor pulled the plug after 16. I am not sure if he thought I had had enough, or it was losing its effectiveness but I could have kissed him when he told me. He decided to take new scans and from those results form a new plan. The decision was made to start me on an infusion schedule of immunotherapy given every three weeks. This is much easier and not nearly as toxic as Carboplatin. I was given this infusion on January seventh. That meant that my last three days of Carboplatin were given in mid-November. Once the poison got out of my system, my stamina started coming back and my hair began to grow.  

Losing my hair wasn’t a big deal to me but having it come back makes me feel more alive. I started seeing sunlight clearer and hearing birds sing (if I had my hearing aids in). When I was in the winter doldrums I would look out the window and know I needed to fill the bird feeders but it might take two weeks before I could muster the energy to go out and do it. Now I relish doing some chores like cooking, etc. I still have to take it easy and avoid overdoing, but my days are much better now. Once feeling close to normal, I realized even the days I thought were ok during the last two years were really not that good. It makes me appreciate how wonderful life is and cherish each day. The doctor didn’t say I was cured, or even any better, but simply feeling better is like coming out of a dark tunnel or shedding a black cloud.

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Knowing how lucky I am encourages me to look towards 2020 with eagerness while knowing I will still have to follow the protocol and do what I’m told, but The Beast hasn’t beaten me yet. When I first got the diagnosis, my interest in a lot of my hobbies waned. I had taken about two years of Italian language classes and had mastered just enough to be obnoxious to Italian speakers. I painted a lot, went hunting and fishing, and was picking up the saxophone. After the diagnosis, I forgot every word of Italian, wasn’t up to outdoor activities, painted less, and forgot how to hold the sax. My world had gotten very small. Now I welcome the kindness of others when they host outings, ball game parties, etc. I have started a Live Strong program at the Y where I am going to the gym daily. Coming out has been fun but a slow process. I will play the ball where it lies, and strive to maintain a good attitude with the help of all my loved ones.  Love to all.

P.S. Susan says my hair is long and luxurious and I should get some goose grease and train it while I can. (It’s about 1/8” long)

Susan and I reported for my scheduled chemo appointment on December 11. After the first day’s infusion, the oncologist cancelled the remaining two. This was ok with me as, unlike martinis, one is plenty and three is too much. The decision was made that he would get new scans taken end of year and evaluate them. I start a new chemo treatment January 7. I’m not sure if reasoning or science is behind this decision, but we trust our guy and we charge on.

So I’m out of stir for Christmas, and will rest up and be ready for the new protocol in January.  

Thanksgiving was a very reflective time, remembering how grateful we all should be for all the blessings we have, and all the blessings yet to come. Since then I have seen on a daily basis evidence of many more things to be grateful for.  

There is a subculture within cancer patients I have noticed. When in waiting rooms or during infusions, it seems like we are all evaluating each other; How sick are they? Do I look that sick?  

There is a shared lingo, mostly in abbreviations. PSA, mets, Dx, SCLC, etc. All deal with “The Beast.” I’m getting involved with an organization called Live Strong. It was founded by Lance Armstrong when he dealt with The Beast. It is now a part of the YMCA programs in which I have been active for years. I made inquiries at my local Y, where I am a board member. I was told it’s for cancer survivors. My first question is , “who qualifies as a cancer survivor?” The director said, “anyone who is diagnosed with cancer and is still breathing.” I figured I qualified! A lot of things are shared, but as the director said, “it’s not a sit around the tissue box meeting, it’s mostly physical.” They talk about where you are in your treatment, what kind do you have, etc. It’s a special bond these people feel towards each other. The two most common experiences people share are the universal fatigue factor for chemo warriors and the outpouring of love and kindness from family, friends, and strangers when they hear of your sickness. I have mentioned many times how humbled I am by the outpouring shown me. People from kindergarten, grade school, high school, college, fraternity, horsey and non-horsey friends in California, Ireland, Florida, and everywhere around. All have shown me much kindness. I try to respond to any card or email or note I get and hope I keep up.  

When I was hearing all these accounts, it showed me what can happen when we share others burdens, when we build one another up, and encourage them to succeed, when we cherish and shelter others from life’s unfairnesses and cruelties, when we become companions who make one another feel stronger and more capable. Maybe we don’t always understand, but we can be always accepting. I was reflecting on these things learned from other cancer people and I thought what a place we would live in if we all took example from these people.  

These are the things shown to me to an unbelievable extent by friends and family since I told others about my cancer (Susan and I waited 18 months to let anyone else know, because I didn’t think I was ready to tell people). But what I’ve seen in the the last six or eight months, what a world we would have if we could work at showing this to all. I’m starting to think The Beast is one of those moments in life when it’s both the best and the worst thing to happen. Like when your son beats you at ping pong for the first time. I’m starting to see all this clearer now.  

Love and Christmas blessings to all.

Love, D

P.S.  I didn’t have any photos that seemed appropriate this time, so I took pics of random coasters around the house.  When I see one that’s blank, or needs changing, I just paint over it, and Susan has taken to hiding the ones she wants to keep.

Always an extremely happy occasion in my family.  This year is even more poignant, it seems. Since my mother died, my sister Mary Jo has hosted our Thanksgiving with many of the sights, sounds, smells, and even dinnerware that bring to mind our Thanksgivings at home growing up.

We have always tried to remember what Thanksgiving stands for, not just a happy gathering and the roast beast. This year has struck me like a lightening bolt.  

In advance of the fourth round of chemo a set of scans was scheduled: CT, MRI, PET scans, etc. all take a look inside the body and give a reading on where your cancer is and what it’s been up to in comparison to the last set of scans, which were May this year in Houston.

There is a condition talked about in chemo circles called “scanxiety.” It is when you have anxiety worrying about the results of an upcoming scan.  I have experienced this usually while in the oncologists office waiting for him to come in with the results. Like horse sales, it’s sheer boredom surrounded by a few moments of terror.  

These most recent scans were taken at the halfway point in my chemo. Three sessions, nine infusions, with three more sessions (nine infusions) to go. I had been secretly prepping myself for a 40-50% reduction in tumor size, given the volume and  uncomfortable nature of this regimen. Since I would be half finished, I thought this was reasonable. NOT! My scans came back a little bit larger here and a little bit smaller there, for a net score of basically the same. I heard only the part that said “no improvement.” Wise Susan heard the part that said “no worse.” I didn’t hear much after that and walked out with Susan with a pouty lip and disappointed attitude. I had to walk down the hall and start my chemo session right after that. One of my hardest parts of having cancer is the fact that I get “down” but hate people thinking I’m down. I’m not talking sobbing or anything, but maybe is just acting normal for most people. Maybe a little quiet and reflective. When I do that, I find people calling 911 on me thinking I’m deathly ill. I was acting that way and the nurses all wanted to know what was wrong. Their inquiries snapped me back to reality–Susan was right (again).

• 

• 

No change in aggressive cancer is a “win!” I had fallen into the “woe is me” thinking. I had forgotten all the wonderful things I should be grateful for. I had started thinking of all the things cancer can take from you: your hair, your stamina, your taste buds, your sleep, your balance, your ability to stay warm, etc. All very minor things. When I got home that day, a card was in the mail which always cheers me up. It listed the things cancer couldn’t take away. It read:  It can’t cripple love, it can’t shatter hope, it can’t corrode faith, it can’t destroy peace, it can’t kill friendship, it can’t suppress memories, it can’t silence courage, it can’t invade the soul, it can’t steal eternal life, it can’t conquer the spirit. Plus, in the words of Irving Berlin, I have the sun in the morning and the moon at night. I had all these things, what was I feeling down about??

I keep all my correspondence, and I have kept this one on top to make sure I remember what I have to be thankful for. I intend this Thanksgiving to be the best ever and I have had some really good ones. And to all my family and friends, I wish the most thankful of all Thanksgivings. Know what we have.

Love,

Dennis

My last chemo treatment three weeks ago has seamlessly morphed from three days of infusion to two and a half weeks of what they tell me is chemo flu. Everyone’s experience with chemo is different, so I can only speak of mine. For me, the three infusion days give me various degrees of nausea and fatigue, which I think is pretty standard. Mine had a little twist to it in that I had a previously existing autoimmune condition.  

One of my chemos gins up my immune system, while my other meds were suppressing it. As Kramer demonstrates in a Seinfeld episode,  bad things happen when two worlds collide.

Joints lock  up, head is in a fish bowl and legs feel like they’re walking in quicksand. Doc gave me some top of the line narcotics which started reversing this condition and, two days before I started the next treatment, I was sleeping and feeling pretty good. This rough patch over! During the three week time between treatments, Fasig-Tipton offered 1500 thoroughbreds for sale. This is a code red with all hands on deck. Everyone works extremely hard on logistics to get those horses housed, muck removed, hip numbered, catalogued, registration papers filed, and sold. I didn’t feel I had been pulling my share and was eager to try and help out, even minimally. This opened my eyes and I started finding many ponies in all the horse manure. I had whined about not finding the bright side of cancer. Well, I got my blinkers off and looked around and thought, what could I have been thinking?

First, the smell of horse manure in the morning will liven the step of any old racetraker. I was issued my own golf cart to tool around the 24 barns, and I was able to visit or at least yell at all the people out there. The golf cart depot was down by the muck pit and 1500 sacks of muck a day can add up.  

I started driving around seeing all the people who I’ve known for over 40 years. The good wishes and shouts of encouragement started making me see the brighter side of cancer I had been missing. I buzzed the barns with an old friend GB who is a Vietnam war hero and also dealing with health issues. In the bright sunlight of a beautiful fall day my spirits started to soar. Susan always asks me who I see at the sales, and I always say all the same people I’ve seen at every sale all around the country for 40 years, but now I had really started seeing them.  

It was humbling to receive so many back slaps, handshakes, and sincere wishes for my recovery. I often became emotional listening to the people open up to me about our friendship. They range from my horsey artist friend from California to the boys on the muck crew. Raw emotions are good for the soul, so I was wrong about not finding positive things about having cancer. Realizing and appreciating life long friendships can’t be outdone for lifting one’s spirits.  

I’m glad I got my vision back and I’ll try not to waste any opportunities to appreciate my loving family and friends.  

I got through the last three day rough patch and am now waiting to do scans to see how I am doing on the 19th, and a new session of chemo on the 20th. My spirit is bolstered by sharing love with all these people at this time.  

I love you all!

D