THE COLUMBUS DISPATCH
Doug Barlay decided his remaining days were best spent back in Columbus, in the fixer-upper he and his family loved but had to leave when he took work in Kentucky.
What happened next is a story about love and compassion and how one church put its faith into action.
Doug Barlay's remaining time would likely be marked in months, said the notice in the St. Catharine Church bulletin.
Incurable cancer was bringing Doug, a lifelong parishioner, and his family back to Columbus from Kentucky, where he'd moved for a good job, to make a better life for Sheri and their four children.
The bulletin told parishioners that the Barlays planned to move back into the house they had left behind and hadn't been able to sell.
The problem was that the house was in no shape for the family. It lacked insulation and had terrible windows.
"We are trying to arrange to get as much stuff done as possible to give them some peace of mind in this stressful time," it said. "This is something that we don't want a dying man to have to worry about."
In Kentucky this past year, the Barlays held tightly to one another.
Sheri had stayed behind for a while to try to sell the house and to let the older girls -- Victoria, now 13; and Rebecca, 10 -- finish the school year at St. Catharine School.
She missed her husband and was ready for her family to share a home again when she and their four children -- Koen, 4, and Katharine, 2, are the others -- traveled in July last year to join Doug in Bowling Green, Ky.
Doug had developed a terrible cough that wouldn't relent.
In late October, a doctor told him it was lung cancer that already had spread. It was both inoperable and terminal.
He continued working full time through six rounds of chemotherapy. His job fitting amputees with artificial limbs and helping them regain mobility offered a respite from thoughts of his own illness.
The Barlays took a trip to Lake Cumberland in Kentucky with their extended families. They renewed their vows and traveled to Myrtle Beach, S.C., where Doug spent time alone with each of his children.
One day this summer, Doug called his wife to his office.
The pain was gaining intensity; his ability to work was waning, he told her.
"I think I'm ready," Sheri remembers her husband telling her as they both wept.
"It's time to go home now."
Doug's remaining days, he'd decided, would be best spent with those he loves. He'd thought ahead, to the life Sheri would have without him, and wanted her to be close to family and friends.
They would return to the fixer-upper they'd loved and left behind. They made a list of projects to tackle as money, time and energy allowed.
And so began the work of the people of St. Catharine and others who love the Barlays, and some people who'd never met them but felt drawn to the house at 161 S. Harding Rd. on the East Side.
What started with plans to paint a couple of rooms, clean the house and stock the kitchen blossomed.
First, some church people got to talking, then they connected with some friends, then the Knights of Columbus got involved and the whole thing just took off, said Steve Zehala, who oversaw the project.
They raised money -- $25,000, more than they ever imagined -- and they found companies willing to donate goods and labor.
Volunteers worked 16-hour days for 10 days straight, bumping into one another when the ranks climbed into the dozens. Some took vacation days to help. Those who couldn't manage physical labor cooked for the workers.
The house buzzed. Workers put a new roof on an older addition that would house a first-floor bedroom for the couple. The cancer in Doug's right lung has spread to his sacrum, the large triangular bone at the base of the spine, and to his upper back, making stair-climbing painful.
The workers ripped out and replaced decades-old carpet. They installed ceiling fans and painted the 55-year-old house the Barlays had bought in 2003.
They rehabbed an upstairs bathroom, transforming it into something sure to wow the older girls. They put in a double sink atop a cherry vanity. A new tile floor replaced deteriorating linoleum over a failing subfloor.
They insulated the whole house. They landscaped.
They stocked the refrigerator, the freezer and the cupboards. They bought diapers for the baby.
They made plans for new windows.
Doug is a generous man, with his time, kindness and concern, said longtime friend Pete Hamer.
This project was a chance to give back.
"There was a lot of energy, a lot of fun. It just kept on going and going and going," said Hamer, who became friends with the Barlays through his wife, Mimi.
"There was a lot of thought about, 'When the worst happens, how is Sheri going to afford to live?' "
They found something to do with their helplessness, something tangible to accompany their prayers.
"The response was absolutely overwhelming," said Zehala's wife, Amy. "It was like living in Mayberry."
They found grace amid darkness.
"If there is a legacy to be left by Doug, other than his family, I think there could be no better legacy than to have his community come together in such a tremendous way," said his lifelong friend, Rick Ochs.
"There is love in the world. There is concern for our fellow people."
Before moving day, Doug and Sheri knew they had to share the prognosis with the older girls. Victoria and Rebecca had known for months that their father had lung cancer, but they didn't know it was incurable.
"I knew that would be the last day of their innocence," Sheri said.
They nestled into their father's arms as he told them.
Victoria, Sheri remembers, asked who would walk her down the aisle.
Until now, the Barlays could pick and choose whom to tell and when to talk about the cancer, Sheri said. In Kentucky, she could go to her job at Macy's without everyone knowing that her husband was dying.
"We could be in denial. Coming home, everyone would know."
Aug. 18 dawned in Bowling Green to meet a family ready for the journey home.
This was the day they'd be welcomed into the comfort of friends and family but also the day they'd be surrounded by those who knew what the future held.
As the Barlays approached their home, Sheri fielded calls designed to gauge their whereabouts without tipping her off.
Meanwhile, S. Harding Road was home to a party. People swarmed the lawn and the driveway.
Dusk fell, and the Barlays arrived to hugs and tears.
The Rev. Michael Lumpe stood on the lawn and led a prayer.
Then he raised his hand heavenward to bless the house.
"May the blessing remain all the time on this place, and may the angels watch over and protect all who dwell here."
Doug sometimes finds himself fearful of the world in which his children will live without him.
When he came home that day, exhausted from the trip and in pain, he was overwhelmed.
And he was reassured that his beloved wife and children will not be left adrift.
After she returned to the embrace of a community and to a home that was barely recognizable, Sheri tried to describe how she felt.
"My chest had that really crazy 'full' feeling," she wrote on the blog she started before the move to Kentucky.
" Full like on your wedding day when you are just filled with promise, hope, joy, peace those same feelings you feel a couple weeks after you bring a baby home."
She's still struggling to find a way to say thank you. She hopes one way of showing her gratitude is with a promise to raise children who are just as kindhearted as the people who came in her time of need.
At home recently, fearing for what the future will bring, Sheri rested a hand on her husband's now-slender thigh. He dabbed sweat, a remnant of a brutal series of radiation treatments to slow the cancer, from his forehead.
It was their 15th wedding anniversary.
Sheri and Doug remembered leading premarital retreats for engaged couples, when they'd tell them the stories of their courtship, of how hot she thought he was (and still is), of how beautiful she looked when he returned from the Navy.
Then they'd tell them that a marriage is not about the wedding day, that it's about a lifetime of peaks and valleys and what lies in between.
And it's not about the house in which you live, but about the home you keep.
mcrane@dispatch.com
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