Letter to a Friend with Terminal Cancer

Hello Kathy,

 I’ve only in the last 24 hours heard the news about your cancer.  My dear, dear heart, I wish I had words to comfort you and your family.  We humans are so feeble when it comes to giving solace.  But we must try.

 I’m an odd duck sometimes.  The things I wished for as a kid were a bit different.  While everyone I knew wished they had super strength or X-ray vision, I wished for two things.  I wished I could fly, and I wanted my super-hero power to be the power to heal people magically.  OK, so I went through a very short phase of wishing I could Jeannie-blink my eyes and put more attractive clothes on people who were dressed badly.  But, I’d be very bad at that super power.  Heck, I can hardly dress myself in the mornings.

 It’s taken me quite a few years to realize it, but I do have this healing super power.  We all do.  We all touch people in our lives we come across in profound ways that we mostly don’t even realize.  A kind word.  A job well done.  A child nurtured.  A simple thank you or a little unasked favor.  There are so many ways we heal each other. 

One of life’s pleasures I’ll have missed out on is having a family.  Over the years, I’ve found myself channeling my urgent paternal streak into shepherding colleagues along their career paths.  Even today, I find myself doing this.  I’ve been in Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts, and I’m surrounded by a lot of youngsters, quite honestly.  I’m “grandpa” in the class pretty much.

 I’ve always thought the key to a good relationship is learning to speak the language of the person I’m relating to.  There’s a young fellow in my class who must surely have had a challenging life.  He’s so full of bravado, drops the F-bomb at every turn, and is quite the yuckster .. always trying to poke fun at people, loud-mouth around the kitchen and all.  I’ve pulled him aside and counseled him about how he appears to others, and tried to help him understand what it means to be grown up.

 He’s changed a little in the last couple of weeks.  I started speaking his language.  I asked him one day, “Sam, what size pants do you wear?”.   He looked at me a little blankly, but answered, “Size 37.”  

“Ya know, Sam,” I said, “if you’d just let all that hot air trapped inside you out in one, big gasp, you could probably wear a size 32.”

 I know Sam didn’t really appreciate the dose of his own medicine, but it sunk in .. just a little.

 My point in this tale, Kathy, is that I wish I could have focused all my tutoring, nurturing, teaching and other positive influences on just a couple of other people.  Like you have.  I have no doubt the influence you’ve had on your family is a treasure I shall always be envious of.  A treasure that will live in their hearts, and all the hearts of everyone whose lives you’ve touched.

 I’ll never forget my last day at Costco Travel.  It seemed like it took hours to say goodbye to everyone.  The steady stream of people into my office was a bit overwhelming, but I’m awfully glad I was allowed that privilege.  I particularly remember you coming to my office, your tears matching mine in volume.  I remember you said something along the line of, “You can’t go!” and were fearful of the future.  I remember assuring you that everything would be fine.  But, I was touched to feel so validated.

 You touched my life, Kathy.  You healed me that day.  Just a little.  And just a little was perfect!  You are a Super Hero, my friend!

 With Love,

 Jeff Calley