I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. Philippians 1:20 (NIV)
Husband’s friend is dying. We went to see him at hospice. Friends since late adolescence, the two of them had a falling out about ten years ago and hadn’t been together since. I can’t go into reasons why here, that’s their story to tell, but the reunion was sweet. Forgiveness was offered and tears spilt over time wasted. His friend said, “Let’s not dwell on that. Let’s just enjoy the moment we have now.” At first the conversation was awkward, what do you say to someone who is dying? We chatted about children and marriage, work and passions. His memory of the past is firm, and he remembered names and stories as we recalled them together. He enjoys history and biography so we talked a lot about books he has read and is still reading. He was particularly taken with the stories of Henry Ford, Thomas Edison and Harvey Firestone, winter neighbors in Fort Myers, who not only were friends, but challengers who spurred each other to new inventions and experiments that brought great prosperity. He sighed, “They were just like you and me and our other friends. Sitting around, discussing things. But, they were changing the world.” He added, “My wife was the one who challenged me. She kicked my butt and got me to do the right thing.” Never one to hold back on his opinions, husband’s friend admonished him to not let another moment go by without telling me how much he loved me and appreciated me. I was a little embarrassed and even more so, when he turned to me and said, “I didn’t realize how beautiful you were.” I told him it is because I am happy now. In the days when he and husband were close and our small young families vacationed together, I was in the middle of some rough times. Trying to be perfect, intent upon making everything right and failing right and left to control our happiness, I spiraled into depression and misery. I told him that I have learned to let go and be content. That recently, the children and nannies in Guatemala helped me to understand the word’s true definition and I try to live a life of service now. He nodded and agreed. “It’s got to come from the heart,” he said. We talked more about spiritual things, about how what’s in the heart dictates who we are and what we do. When it came time to leave, he asked me to write down some of the references I quoted. “This medicine makes me forget things,” he said. “And I do not want to forget this.” I have always been afraid of death. Not my final destination, but the process of dying. What will it be like to struggle for my last breath? To say good bye? To make sure I have left the legacy I want to leave? I think husband’s friend has much to teach me about both living and dying. I am a willing student.
Husband’s friend is dying. We went to see him at hospice. Friends since late adolescence, the two of them had a falling out about ten years ago and hadn’t been together since. I can’t go into reasons why here, that’s their story to tell, but the reunion was sweet. Forgiveness was offered and tears spilt over time wasted. His friend said, “Let’s not dwell on that. Let’s just enjoy the moment we have now.” At first the conversation was awkward, what do you say to someone who is dying? We chatted about children and marriage, work and passions. His memory of the past is firm, and he remembered names and stories as we recalled them together. He enjoys history and biography so we talked a lot about books he has read and is still reading. He was particularly taken with the stories of Henry Ford, Thomas Edison and Harvey Firestone, winter neighbors in Fort Myers, who not only were friends, but challengers who spurred each other to new inventions and experiments that brought great prosperity. He sighed, “They were just like you and me and our other friends. Sitting around, discussing things. But, they were changing the world.” He added, “My wife was the one who challenged me. She kicked my butt and got me to do the right thing.” Never one to hold back on his opinions, husband’s friend admonished him to not let another moment go by without telling me how much he loved me and appreciated me. I was a little embarrassed and even more so, when he turned to me and said, “I didn’t realize how beautiful you were.” I told him it is because I am happy now. In the days when he and husband were close and our small young families vacationed together, I was in the middle of some rough times. Trying to be perfect, intent upon making everything right and failing right and left to control our happiness, I spiraled into depression and misery. I told him that I have learned to let go and be content. That recently, the children and nannies in Guatemala helped me to understand the word’s true definition and I try to live a life of service now. He nodded and agreed. “It’s got to come from the heart,” he said. We talked more about spiritual things, about how what’s in the heart dictates who we are and what we do. When it came time to leave, he asked me to write down some of the references I quoted. “This medicine makes me forget things,” he said. “And I do not want to forget this.” I have always been afraid of death. Not my final destination, but the process of dying. What will it be like to struggle for my last breath? To say good bye? To make sure I have left the legacy I want to leave? I think husband’s friend has much to teach me about both living and dying. I am a willing student.
Beautifully said.