It was Sunday evening and I pulled up his number from my
Contacts and called. We had not talked
for months, or even years. But the email
I had received from his wife hung in my thoughts like a bad dream that I had to
dispel. Apparently, my friend Art had
been losing weight, was excessively tired and his skin had taken on a yellow
tint. The doctor immediately sent him
for blood tests and a CT scan. The
verdict; Art’s pancreas and liver were filled with tumours. The unspoken but expected diagnosis; cancer,
likely the aggressive kind.
Over the phone Art sounded like he always did. I have known him since we were boys, a few
years apart in age, growing up in the small unincorporated district of
Coldstream, British Columbia. Our lives
had intersected numerous times since we had both left the rural life for a more
fast-paced existence in the Vancouver area.
We had lived together in a large residence for several years in the
mid-seventies. He married a fellow
alumnus of Trinity Western College (as it was then). We had shared a number of key life experiences
like each of us going through the pain of a private adoption that fell through
and having to return those babies after they had become a part of our
respective families. In every circumstance of life Art had remained consistently
positive, with an infectious laugh, a playful nature and a strong faith in God. These are all being tested.
As we talked we found that, although his potential cancer diagnosis
and my now 10 year old Parkinson’s disease diagnosis are incredibly different, we
shared much in common. Although we had
been healthy and active before, we now both had to face the frustrations of
being confronted with our mortality.
Medications, doctor visits, treatment options, symptoms and side effects
were now a part of living with our respective physical ailments. Uncertainty and its consumption of the future
was a reality we both experienced daily.
But as I listened, I realized that we both spoke convincingly
(perhaps to reassure ourselves, or those within earshot) of living out our lives
as positively and purposefully as we could.
We found that the Christian faith we shared gave us strength and assurance
of meaning amid the sense of impending loss.
We each had a hope not so much for a medical miracle (although that
would be just fine) but for the ability to make the right choices in what we
say to those we encounter such that our remaining days or years will
communicate faith and love.
Art and I found ourselves agreeing on the phone that evening,
making a sort of silent pact. We choose
to enjoy the days ahead, not just endure them.
We will not let the difficulties of the future crowd out the wonderful
memories of the past. We will seek
significance through and confidence in the challenges of the present rather
than succumb to fear of what may come.
Each day will be seen as a gift to be opened with a sense of wonder and
expectation. We will live life as a
series of opportunities for inspiration rather than just constant threats of expiration.
As I hung up the phone I felt warmed and encouraged by our
time spent talking together. I realized again
that it is in the crucible of life’s most threatening times that we can experience
a peace that cannot be explained, the depth of being fully human and the
richness of relationship.
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