I have this friend, he is a priest. He has asked me to help him with a project that is making me ponder life on a deeper level. Although we just began, the past couple days I find myself staring into oblivion, thinking about things he said.
Let me back up. Fr. Stu was introduced to me by my cousin, Jake, a few years ago. He was ordained a priest five years ago and I am sure God laughed as there was never a more unlikely man to become a priest. Now, he is dying. I cannot remember the name of his disease, but I know it is similar to ALS in its progression and end result. Last week he asked me if I could type.
"Slowly," was my response.
"The bishop has asked me to write some things down and I need someone to type as I cannot do it myself."
He can no longer lift his arms, spending his days lying in his recliner or propped in his wheelchair, but able to move his forearms, hands, and thumbs a bit.
Thinking of all my commitments I suggested he dictate and I type his thoughts up at home, more at my leisure. "No," he responded, "I want you to come to the nursing home and we can sit and type them together."
"Great," I thought, "like I have time for that." I promptly called a couple people to see if they would like to assist me in the project, each of us taking turns to get this project completed and off my plate. I thought I'd begin so I could get a feel for what he needed, then would pass along instructions to whomever else could squeeze in an hour or two sitting with him.
Shannon was more understanding, more insightful. He suggested we begin right away. We started our session off with me feeding him a tuna melt. It makes my heart ache to watch him eat, the effort it takes for a single bite, compounded by the fact that he is having difficulty breathing. Then, we began writing. My tendency is to edit anyone's words, not that mine are perfect, just more of a habit after correcting my kiddos' papers. But I didn't this time. I wrote down every stilted fraction of a sentence just the way he said it, even inserting our banter occasionally. As the evening progressed I realized, through tears, that I would complete this project alone. Remembering Theresa's final days, the time spent with him is more precious than a clean house, laundry done, a perfect dinner. Yes, I have a family to care for, and they will be cared for, but this is important.
For me. For him.
He is one of my close friends and his time is finite. He gave me a gift and I almost threw it away.
He tried to quit a couple times, but I prompted him to continue. He was forcing his thoughts it seemed. I knew there were much deeper thoughts. We sat and talked about death for a while, about what it would be like. This was so healing for me. Having avoided the topic of death with Theresa before she died, this almost seemed a second chance had been granted. After getting some thoughts off his chest, he continued. We didn't get a lot done, but it was a beginning........
To be continued ~
