I had gone to visit old friends of my parents last weekend to say my goodbyes. The husband had been fighting leukaemia, and it was a fight that had gone the distance. He had decided, bravely, to now die with dignity.
The countryside passed me by on the way down to Sussex, and rays of sunshine blinded my view as I drove. I began to think how precious life is. One minute he was having a check-up before Christmas to see how he was doing; within four weeks his condition had declined, and he was planning his final days.
During the 90 precious minutes I spent with him and his dear wife in the hospital, we laughed, cried, and reminisced how good life had been to him. He remarked leukaemia could have wiped him out years earlier, and it was only by God’s grace that he had enjoyed his life to the full. He had moved to Eastbourne some ten years before, and fled the corporate rat race for a life by the sea.
He had come to terms with his illness. However, it was his wife who now had to come to terms with the reality of managing things he had always done; even everyday tasks like ironing her trousers. She said: “I always seem to get creases in them – what will I do without him?”, and tears were now streaming down her face. I felt her pain as she squeezed his hand, knowing she would soon be left holding onto memories and love.
I began to think of all the things my wife does that I haven’t a clue how to – things that I take for granted. As I saw last Saturday, life is fragile and needs to be handled with care.
I’m so thankful for the courage and conviction I saw in my friend’s face, as he faced death in a practical and simple way. I prayed with them before I left and remembered his final hug, and smile.
What an honour it had been to be in his company for one last time.