I spoke with an old friend last night who’s standing in the shadow of eternity. He’s been fighting a battle with cancer. While the fight’s not over, he’s taking the time to reach out to his many friends, not looking to be comforted but to share love and peace.
The phrase “quality of life” was repeated more than once, in an attempt to explain the decision to forego further surgery and treatment.
He’s not old, but the voice on the other end of the line was almost unrecognizable. Frail and ravaged, it was a voice that still found strength to whisper his thankfulness.
We took time to remember the many miles, the many songs, and the many fellow musicians with which we made our noise. The memories were good ones, but it was all I could do to not break down.
Pardon the language, but cancer is a cruel bastard to strip away years from this man. At some point, words of faith will be intoned and accepted as the only choice, rather than raging against the dying of the light.
For now, we rage and pray and laugh and remember until the days of dried tears.