"No, don't touch that. Be a friend, not a caregiver."
Larry's remark stopped me in my tracks. We were making a long descent along a pathway in the East Don Parkland and I had instinctively reached out to slow his walker.
I understood immediately. For a man who has been fighting stage 4 bone cancer for almost two years, my intervention was both unwelcome and patronizing. Larry is still Larry despite his neck brace, pain pump, and a host of other aids. And that's what he needs most from me, the recognition of his authentic self.
We chat about everything except the future. We stop when we spot a heron perched on a rock by a stream. Larry wants to get a picture and before I know it, he has abandoned his walker and is navigating precariously through some thick underbrush to get a better look. Halfway in, he turns to see if I'm still his wingman.
"Can you help me get the phone out my pocket? It's stuck in there."
"That's not the only thing that might be stuck," I tease. "Have you got the number of a tow truck on speed dial?"
We both laugh and for the next few hours, we're seventeen again and the natural world is our delight. Even the day's light drizzle couldn't dampen our spirits
As I drove home later, I reflected on the salmon we'd seen struggling mightily to get upstream today, following their natural instinct to pass on the best of themselves to the future....and I couldn't help but think of my valiant friend.
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