This is part three of a series about Loyal who was admitted to hospice with lung cancer. Loyal was slender-built with silver-gray hair combed straight back. His typical dress was a solid-color oxford dress shirt, tucked into his khaki pants, held up by suspenders. When I asked Loyal what it was like to have cancer, he replied, “I feel like I’m out of the stream of life. People don’t handle that word cancer very well, so they don’t handle you very well either. But I used to be in the stream of life. I owned and operated my own produce company. I had several trucks and drivers, and we transported produce from the south to the north. When I was in my prime, I was a prizefighter in St. Louis, and I fought back when you fought every Saturday night for ten dollars a fight. And I’ve been knocked down, but I’ve never been knocked out. I’ve always thought that life wasn’t very interesting without a challenge. But all my life I looked for challenge in all the wrong places, and it cost me my first wife and my children. I wasn’t saved until I was seventy, but since then I’ve found that there’s nothing like trying to understand the heart, mind, and will of God. I get a kick out of it! I only wish I’d known sooner. I’ve learned so much, but now there’s no one who wants to listen. I don’t blame them, but knowledge isn’t supposed to be lost; it’s supposed to be passed on.” I assured Loyal that day, “I’m here and I’ll listen! And I’ll pass it on.”
A few weeks later, in mid-conversation, as if suddenly remembering something, Loyal abruptly stood up, clutched his walker, and said, “I’ll be right back.” He slowly and carefully hobbled across the living room floor. He held onto his walker with his left hand and pulled back the curtain to his bedroom with his right. He disappeared behind the curtain and emerged about five minutes later with an old book, with a tattered black cloth cover, tucked under his arm. He held it out and said, “I want you to have this.” The hardback cover was held together on the inside by strips of transparent, yellowing packing tape, and on the inside cover page was written, “From Loyal.” The title of the book was “The True Vine and Its Branches”, by Rev. Edward Leen. Loyal said, “I think you’ll appreciate it. You’ll find yourself coming back to it time and time again. I have. Now the fellow who wrote this book may not be of the same persuasion as you, but don’t miss the gems by disqualifying the source.”
A few weeks later, Loyal became bedridden, and even though we both knew that his days were numbered, neither of us came right out and acknowledged it; we didn’t need to. I’ve observed that when people know their days are numbered, they frequently become real and transparent. After all, there’s no longer any reason to play games or pretend. Loyal reflected upon his life, confessed some past sins and asserted, “It’s all true. Then he suggested, “So I guess you’re probably going to write me off now, aren’t you?” It can be disarmingly uncomfortable to watch tears run down a seventy-six-year-old man’s face. I shamefully admit that I was somewhat taken aback and disappointed, for I had concocted an idealized figment of my imagination of Loyal as a man, as a person. After a time of awkward silence, I responded, “No, I’m not going to write you off. I’m not going to miss the gems by disqualifying the source.” After all, who in the world am I to cast the first stone (John 8:1–11), and who am I to judge another man’s servant? (Romans 14:4).
Loren Hardin is a social worker with SOMC-Hospice and can be reached at (740) 357-6091 or at lorenhardin53@gmail.com. You can order Loren’s book, “Straight Paths: Insights for living from those who have finished the course”, at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.