CHARLOTTE, N.C. — Column by Race Chaser Online Managing Editor Jacob Seelman —

As much good as I try to bring to those around me during the holiday season, I’m finding it just a little harder to keep my smile bright this year.

Twice in the past week, I’ve been reminded all too well just how fleeting this life really is … and just how short a time we really have with those we love and care about the most.

A friend of mine in the industry was admitted to the hospital earlier this week for an unexpected medical issue, while just yesterday, one of my best friends from high school passed away after a 16-month fight with stage IV osteosarcoma bone cancer.

Both of their families continue to be in my prayers — because especially during this time of year — it’s hard to celebrate when those closest to you are hurting, or have gone on to a better place than we and left their suffering and pain behind them.

I’m just going to say this once and get it over with. Cancer sucks.

Unfortunately, our racing community has seen it try and rear its ugly head far too much in recent years. Our media colleague at NASCAR.com, Holly Cain, is fighting. So too is Shawna Robinson, a former driver at the NASCAR XFINITY Series level. And so is Sherry Pollex, girlfriend of recent NASCAR Sprint Cup Series championship contender Martin Truex Jr., who has done so much to try and aid in the fight where kids are concerned.

One of those kids fighting a cancer battle was Simon Oaida.

He was 18-years-old, and he was a dear friend. And while he wasn’t among the long list of young people who was aided by the Martin Truex Jr. Foundation, he was still an example that I personally, along with countless others, was able to learn a lot about life from.

He wasn’t a race fan — I’ll say that straight off. In fact, he laughed every time I would bring up the subject of racing and ask me how I could sit for three hours and watch crazy people keep going in circles. But he always did it with a huge smile, and he always made me laugh and feel like there was some joy to be found in the conversation by the end of it, even if he was giving me grief along the way.

That was just the kind of person Simon was. He was a ball of light amidst every vestige of darkness that the world could throw at you.

He used music to speak to his friends in a way that verbal words couldn’t. As I described it to someone earlier this week, the love and passion I have for this sport of auto racing is the same love and passion I always saw him carry for music (he was a trumpet player) and for life. That was just his language; it was what he understood better than anything else from my viewpoint.

Well, almost anything else.

There was one other thing that Simon just got, and it was what he felt was his mission despite the battle he was thrust into without warning.

But before I explain that, let me back up and tell his story for a few short moments.

A Journey Through — And About — Life.

July 30, 2014. That was the day he was officially diagnosed, and unless you knew him, you’d think it was the day that everything changed.

Not for Simon, though. He looked cancer straight in the face, with a determination and faith like none I’ve ever seen before, and told it — as well as everyone that knew him — that he was not going to be beaten by it. He said from the moment that doctors told him the odds were slim that he didn’t care what the odds were.

“If it’s God’s will for me to beat this, then I’m going to beat this.”

He reminded me of that every time we spoke, whether it was over the phone, by Facebook message or by text. I was shaken to the core when he first revealed to all of us the news, but never once did he shed a tear, or show an ounce of doubt or frustration with the cards he was dealt.

He just took every moment in stride, no matter how rough the bumps in the road were. His journey wasn’t just about pushing through life, it was about life and all that it had to offer … no matter how dark the days might seem.

There were several times when it looked like he was going to beat this beast and win the fight that he battled through so valiantly and get the miracle that he never once gave up on. Those were the moments where everyone smiled. Those were the times that everyone was hopeful.

But there were also the times when you could tell the disease was taking its toll on him. Those were the moments when fear crept into our glances and settled on our hearts.

Simon hated that. He didn’t want anyone to be down when they were around him, because he wasn’t going to be, so he made it his personal mission to make the world a better place and uplift everyone he met no matter how hard his own fight was. Everyone needs to have a little joy, he would always say.

The last time I got to see him in person — September 5, 2014 — that was the last thing he reminded me of.

“If I can’t fight this with a smile on my face, then what point is there in fighting anymore?” he asked me that night. “I’m going to keep smiling, because it’s the best medicine I’ve got. That and faith.” He looked up for a moment at that point. “He knows what’s going to happen. I just have to trust in that.”

“But at the end of the day, if that means I take flight from this life … don’t cry when I do. Because I won’t be. Smile because I’ve gotten my miracle and hold onto everything we’ve shared as friends. Because that’s what life is all about, and that’s what I’m going to keep trying to tell people until I don’t have another breath to take.”

That was when I understood. He got this little thing called life that even now, I’m not sure if I understand. But I understood more about it that day.

Lessons Learned

At 11:27 a.m. on Tuesday, Simon got his miracle.

It didn’t take the form that those of us who are still here were hoping it was going to, but it was the moment that allowed him to leave his burden, his pain and his suffering behind.

When I got the news, I cried. It hurt. It still hurts. Knowing that we have to live life and not be able to see that million-dollar smile that he provided so, so often just one more time … that was the toughest realization to come to terms with.

He was an inspiration to so many people throughout his fight, but to me, he was that before he was ever diagnosed. He was like the little brother I never had, but instead of me looking out for him, more often than not it was him looking out for me — I just didn’t realize it at the time. He pushed me to be my best and to never give in until I reached my dreams, and for that I will be forever grateful.

As I’ve had the past 36 hours to reflect, it’s made me realize how many things Simon was actually able to teach me — things that I will carry with me the rest of my life and things that I will use to carry on the legacy of joy and wisdom that he left each of us he touched along the way.

He taught me that it doesn’t matter how dark the day may seem, there’s always some vestige of hope within it if you look hard enough … there’s always something to be thankful for.

He taught me that regardless of what you’re faced with, a smile really does make everything better.

And he taught me more about what it means to truly have faith in something that’s bigger than you can ever make it on your own and having courage and strength in the face of adversity than anyone I’ve ever met, inside or outside of this sport I love so much.

That kind of courage is what it takes in this sport to handle and go through what we do far too often, it seems like. But its been a valuable lesson learned.

Simon can be a lesson for all of us that there is no fight too big to handle with poise and determination. That’s why I’ve shared his story here, for all of you, because I feel that if it helps one person who reads this — then he would be proud that his mission is still being accomplished even now.

Be Thankful For What You Have Had…And For All That You Still Have.

So as I sit here early on Thanksgiving morning, typing the final sentences of this column and reflecting one more time on those we have lost this holiday and those who are still fighting, I add my voice to all those who are offering prayers of support, words of encouragement and thoughts of peace and uplift to the families and friends who are hurting and fighting today.

To the Pollex and Truex families, we are thinking of you.

To the Robinsons and the Cains, we are here for you.

And to the Oaidas and all those who have lost loved ones and are struggling because of an empty chair on this day, that ache inside that throbs a little harder, your friends and family love you and have our arms wrapped around you in every moment. We will be there with you on the road, because there is no place we would rather be.

It will be hard to think about what we have lost on this day, yes. But as I’ve learned from Simon — what we have gained is so much more.

In true Buddy Baker — and Simon Oaida — fashion, I will not cry today because they are gone. Instead, I will smile because they lived, and because I was privileged enough to have had them, among so many others, as a part of my life for the time that I did.

Those that have left this life, no matter how big or small, have changed mine for the better and I will be forever stronger for having known them and learned from them.

To put it simply, I have been changed … just as so many others have been … for good.

In closing, I feel led to remind all of you race fans and readers out there of one of the many lessons that I’m holding deep in my heart today.

Be thankful for what you have and for what you have had. Don’t leave any words unspoken or any feelings unexpressed. Time is too short to wait for another chance, because you might not get one in the end.

And above all, no matter how hard it may be, carry a smile with you … because it truly will make everything a little bit better.

Godspeed to all.

And Happy Thanksgiving.

The opinions expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the views of Race Chaser Online, Speed77 Radio, the Performance Motorsports Network, their sponsors or other contributors.

About the Writer

Jacob Seelman is the Managing Editor of Race Chaser Online and creator of the Motorsports Madness radio show, airing at 7 p.m. Eastern every Monday on the Performance Motorsports Network. Seelman grew up in the sport, watching his grandparents co-own the RaDiUs Motorsports NASCAR Cup Series team in the 1990s.

The 21-year-old is currently studying Broadcast Journalism at Winthrop University in Rock Hill, S.C., and is also serving as the full-time tour announcer for both the United Sprint Car Series and the Must See Racing Sprint Car Series.

Email Jacob at: speed77radio@gmail.com

Follow on Twitter: @Speed77Radio or @JacobSeelman77

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