A Gift from a New Friend Who has Cancer

Today, while working out at the gym, I spoke with a new friend of mine. I met him a few weeks ago while wiping the sweat off of the leg extension machine. He's a strong, tall guy with a warrior's build and swagger and the kind of smile that puts you at ease immediately. It's what led me to introduce myself to him. We talked on and off for weeks after that initial introduction as we crossed paths. A month ago he was sporting a full head of hair; last week he came in with his head shaved. After giving him some grief about it and asking why he did it, he said, "I've been diagnosed with lymphoma. My mother died of cancer in her 50's. My brother died of it at 57. I'm 51 and now I have it. I just had my first round of chemo and went ahead and shaved it all off before it falls out. But, I'm here today. I'm living this moment. The odds are against me genetically. I have to choose to live now."

If you have lived a while and seen much suffering, that kind of news from a living person 'hits' home. It actually 'hits' you. Here was a real man, a new friend of mine, somebody's father and husband, telling me that his family history fades to black when they arrive in their 50's and he's now fighting the same battle against the ending of his life. I used to feel the weight of this kind of news when I was younger, but not like I do now. It shakes me, causes me to actually bleed in my spirit. It's becoming more normal as I get older. I don't want it to be 'normal'. It makes me afraid of the eventual loss of more of my loved ones.

My new friend has been fighting this disease with a valiant determination and optimism. He is still working out, and he is still smiling, but not because he's in denial. I think he really understands that each moment is all he has and he is now making the most courageous stand of all...to live...to open wide his eyes and drink up every drop he can while he has life in his body. He gave me a gift today. He let me walk with him and carry a bit of his pain. As we stood talking alone outside the workout area, I said, "(Friend), every time I see you, I know that you are standing on the edge between life and death and I don't want you to be there. I don't want you to be there alone either. Damn it, (friend), I want you to live, to go on." In that moment, he chose, once again, to embrace that moment of living as well...with courage and beauty and honesty. "I don't want this to happen. I don't want to stop living. I love living, life!" We were on holy ground. Fighting back the tears, he just stood there, leaning into the dark storm where he finds himself. "I love living; I love life." Words of a man who is coming to grips with the potential loss of it and who is choosing to 'live into' the full spectrum of experiences that his new condition brings.

My new friend is choosing to live...and doing it beautifully by embracing all he can get out of life, including both the desire for it to continue and the fear of it coming to an end soon. And, I am trying to make the same choice as he. My choice to live is leading me to stand with him, to stay as close as I can to him through this journey because I want him to know I care, to know I am with him. There is some kind of mystical union that occurs when I choose to embrace life when that choice brings me beside someone overlooking the precipice of his own death. You embrace a little of their journey, very little of it, but enough of it to lose a bit of your own life, your own security. You are choosing to live by choosing to be a fellow-traveller with your friend through whatever that choice brings. Today was painful for him...it was for me. I am glad it hurt me. It means I am WITH my new friend, not merely observing his fight. One day, when I get that kind of news about my own failing condition, I will be glad for the friends who choose life by choosing to live WITH me through that part of my journey as well. We choose to live and this brings us alongside friends facing life's possible end. Similarly, people choose to live with us, to journey with us through it all. I, hopefully, will choose life in this way for my friends and they will do the same for me. This makes choosing life worth it...even when it is painful and leads us to face the end of it...together.