A friend of mine has been fighting for his life for over seven months.
He’s a peaceful guy. An artist, a fisherman, a reader – soulful and relaxed. Picture a guy fishing by the lake under a clear blue sky showing a child how to tie a fly, not a care in the world, and that is Jack. He’s the guy who, when you speak to him, he really hears you, really listens. He’s not distracted by his phone or work or anything else. He’s the kind of guy you envy and then wish you hadn’t. How can you envy someone so kind? He has more friends than anyone but is also the most modest fellow you can find.
Since his diagnosis, one he dealt with nine years ago as well, he has had to leave his job, be admitted to the hospital again and again, spend Christmas surrounded by noisy machines and cold floors, suffer through a myriad of medications that caused confusion and nausea and pain, and see his wife and daughters deal with uncertainty and fear on a daily basis.
His plight has been long with no end in sight. Recently, he made the decision to stop. He cannot take any more poking or prodding, more unfulfilled promises. He’s been moved from a hospital bed to a hospice bed to spend the rest of his days at peace.
I was thinking about how hard that decision must have been. To say, “I give this to God now, I surrender.” How many thoughts must rustle in your head as you ponder the next steps for you and your family. As far as I’m concerned, he is the bravest man I know. My friend, my comrade, Jack.
