PARTING WISDOM

 At the risk of spoiling the festive tone of my recent blog posts, let me share a visit I had with my dying friend Larry yesterday at the hospital. 

Yes. he's still hanging in there; his voice continues to be steady and sure. I felt drawn to visit him, a final farewell over the phone just wouldn't do.

We play cribbage for a while, then I help him with his lunch.

"Here, have some salad, Mike?" he insists. "Try some croutons but leave me the green stuff. I'm supposed to eat healthy for some reason." 

His sense of humour is still intact but his body is crumbling now that he's stopped his cancer meds. Though on intravenous hydromorphone, he now needs an injection of something even stronger every hour or so to beat down the discomfort in his back.

I help him finish up his noodle soup and eat part of his muffin, a shared last meal perhaps because as we're eating, a nurse comes in to say he'll be moving to a different hospital that afternoon, a hospital that would require Larry quarantine for the next two weeks.

"It's all part of the plan,"  she insists. 

Not a good plan, I want to yell.

Larry was just getting comfortable with staff and routines here and it seems unconscionable to isolate him from his family at this late stage of the game.

Moving closer to Larry now, the nurse continues, 

"Sir, I'll give you a Covid test and if it's negative, you'll make the move in about two hours."

Larry is accepting of his plight but his daughter, when called about the move, drops everything and says she be there as quickly as possible to spend some precious time with her dad.

I pack up Larry's things and say a few difficult goodbyes. I'm not good at goodbyes.

As we wait for his daughter, we have a conversation I'll never forget. Out of the blue, Larry asks me about my volunteer work.

"Do you still visit kids at that hospital?" he asks.

"You mean Bloorview. No, I had to give that up because of Covid."

"Tell me about it, the facility, the kids, what you do there."

I spend the next few minutes describing my experiences from rocking  babies, to bedside interactions with toddlers, to Lego play with 3-year-olds.

"You know," Larry reflects," if by some miracle, I was to get better, it wouldn't be so that I could play more tennis or pickleball. It would be to do what you're describing. That's what I'd like to do."

I will forever treasure Larry's wisdom. Through all his pain and suffering, his loving spirit continues to shine as brightly as the Christmas Star.