Losing our dear friend

August 5, 2004 almost dawn

During the break in my journaling, I attended two funerals. One was a former church member we didn’t know as well but we admired the family. He found out he had cancer and was gone within a few weeks. It was a shock. His wife always a quiet shy individual bravely stood at the back of the church to shake hands and give hugs to everyone who came to her husband’s funeral. It was a touching gesture of thanks on her part.

At this same time we were also dealing with our dear friend of twenty years that was living with terminal colon and liver cancer. Each time we visited him we were shocked at the effects the cancer was having on his appearance but amazed at his spiritual journey.

One time when he was hospitalized we went to visit him. We hadn’t seen him for over a month. We easily found his room number and knocked quietly. Someone said come in. I opened the door slowly and immediately saw a patient in bed. I looked back quickly for the room number to see if we had gotten the wrong room because I didn’t recognize the patient or his visitor. I was certain we had made a mistake. I was ready to apologize for my intrusion but before I could, I recognized a family member in the background. This was our friend. Each time we saw him he looked older and thinner. He was wasting away. The only recognizable character about him was his voice and his personality. It broke our hearts to see his steady decline. As each visit progressed, we would recover from our initial shocked reaction and focus on the aspects of the dear friend we knew so well.

He was hospitalized only a few times during his seven-month battle with cancer. We were with his wife and family when he went to surgery for a blockage in his colon. The doctor came out to inform the family that the liver was encased in cancer and predicted only a matter of a couple of weeks left. This news and the pain it was costing the family devastated us. His wife had been partnering with her husband in a nutritional approach coupled with spiritual emphasis and believing in faith for healing. It broke our hearts to see his elderly parents who never imagined their son would be so seriously ill but were facing it bravely nonetheless. Watching their son and daughter with their young babies and realizing these grandchildren were going to miss out on knowing a wonderful grandfather was also heart wrenching. We watched his sister and her daughter filling in the needed places of comfort in the family.

But that bleak moment was replaced by a new memory the next day. We went back to the hospital to visit and our patient was doing surprising well. His spirits were up. He was sitting in bed eating breakfast. He had an IV with pain medication readily available whenever needed. He had IV fluids going throughout his body to hydrate him well. It was the best condition we had seen him in a long time.

I stopped in his room the next day too, since I had a doctor’s appointment in the same hospital. This time I was able to walk the halls with both of our friends. It gave me a little bit of time to reminisce about some of the funny things that had happened over the years. All of us always enjoyed joking around with each other. I really wanted to go further and tell him how much he meant to us. But it would sound too much like a statement of finality. Besides, I think he knew how much he meant to us without us saying it out loud. This hospital visit was the best connection I had since the diagnosis of his illness. His personality seemed like it had completely returned and it almost made me think the doctor could be wrong about his prognosis.

Our friend outlived the doctor’s prognosis of time left on earth by a few extra weeks and then our dear friend went to be with the Lord. He began declining after a couple of weeks of perked up health. He suffered in pain the last two weeks of his life. And especially the last two days were very painful for him and those that loved him so.

My heart felt like it was wrenched out of my chest when my daughter told me our friend had died. She had called me at work and asked me if I was going to stop over at her house on my way home. It was one of the few times I have declined and said I would go home because I had been feeling unexplainably depressed all afternoon. She said she had something to tell me but not over the phone. I immediately sensed what it was and did not ask any questions. I said I would come right over. I cried all the way over to her house. I knew what she was going to tell me. When she saw the obvious signs that I had been crying, she asked me if someone one had called me with the news. I asked what news. She said, “Ken died this afternoon.” I sat down on her front porch step and sobs from the depths of my being wracked my body. I was grieving the loss of our friend, all the times we would never have with him again, and the unbearable loud silence his absence would make in the lives of those who loved him.

My husband and our other long time friend were two of the pallbearer’s. It was certainly a privilege to be asked to share in the last moments of honoring the well-spent life of a friend. It was also very sad to see my husband carrying the casket of his friend. The last earthly deed he would do for his friend. Very sobering.

I stood as close as I could to the canopied seating area that sheltered the family from the hot sunshine at the graveside. I wanted to be as near as possible to my friend, the grieving widow. She was thin and frail looking. She must have been near physical exhaustion from the many months of short nights of sleep and all the energy it took emotionally and physically as the main caretaker. She gave him excellent care, support and was such a faithful blessing to him. The only time I ever heard him choke up with emotion after he found out he had cancer was when he told me some nights he would wake up and see his wife praying for him. He said she was the Biblical example of the virtuous woman.

We miss our friend but know he is with the Lord and pain free. His missing place in the family unit is painful to see. And the grief and loneliness that his wife and family are experiencing makes us feel helpless. We can’t take the pain away. It is a process that only time can lessen and a process they must go through. Only our prayers for comfort and healing will avail much.

So now I will say the final goodbye I wished I could have said to Ken. Ken, we will miss you so much. I think of you whenever I see a corvette. I remember our funniest outing when we were cracking up laughing at Gula’s like a foursome of crazy teenagers. You had a quick wit and I loved your one-liners. I remember how you gave Vance the perfect gadget gift one Christmas, The Clapper. Everyone knows he loves gadgets and The Clapper was a big hit. I thought the two of you would wear it out in the first hour after he opened it. I remember when you encouraged Vance to get into some ‘cool duds’ to go out on our outings. You gifted him with a pair of khaki shorts and a nice polo shirt. Your family was one of the few families we ever took trips with besides our own family. Our trip to Chicago was one of the most memorable in Vance’s newly acquired Chevy suburban. You nicknamed it the Wally World Mobile. I later changed it to the Green Machine. The trip to the Biltmore house for the weekend was a blast. Especially since we were in two cars and we followed you around turn for turn while you got us lost. And all the time we were filming you and making comments. Later we made you a videotape of our trip and you enjoyed a good laugh off our comments. You were so persnickety about your vehicles and kept them up so well. But the irony of it was one of your cats wet in our car when it was parked in your driveway. We had stopped to pick you and Carolyn up to go to a Brave’s game and we’d left our car door open for a short interval. We all suffered smelling a good dose of cat pee most of the trip. We teased you about setting us up with that cat of yours as payback for the hamster we gave you that ended up with only one eye after you got it home. We still insist that it left our house with two eyes intact. How about the time we followed the church bus Vance was driving for the youth to a camp in Mentone Alabama? We traveled the dusty bumpy road back to camp about 5 miles an hour, trying to keep a great distance to keep from choking on the dust the bus was stirring up and not rattling your car too pieces. We did all this just to eat at the charming little restaurant in town and of course, to bring Vance back home and leave the bus at the camp for a week. We enjoyed our Awana outings with you and Carolyn too. All those overnight camping trips in the cave we did. You were always particular about your hair and fussed as much over your hair the next morning as all of us women did.

I respected your spiritual victories and the evidence of it in your life. You were always a faithful friend. When we were not attending the same church anymore and fell into the habit of getting together less often, we still knew our friendship was solid. You were only a phone call away, always a friend who could be counted on.

We desire to be friends that can be counted on for your wife, your children and the parents you left behind as they adjust to your absence. Who would have ever thought, you, the health nut of the four of us would be the first one to go? It still doesn’t seem real. But we can look forward to a reunion with you someday. You just got there a little ahead of us. See you later, Ken.