A life – moving on

This morning I drove 6 hours from Phoenix to Los Angeles to spend a couple of days with the most beautiful human being I have ever known.  He is an elderly, British gentleman, a Royal Chaplain (meaning he was once assigned by the Archbishop of Canterbury in England, to take charge of a small chapel in Wales which is still under the “protection” of the Crown), a Franciscan Friar, and my friend.

A week ago he was diagnosed with stage 4 liver cancer.  At 84 years of age, after two previous battles with cancer, he is too frail to undergo a strenuous attempt at fighting it off one more time.  So he has decided it’s time to move on.

I first met him when he came to give me Holy Communion (we’re Episcopal, not Roman Catholic) while I was recovering from major heart surgery. In spite of a 20 year age difference we became fast friends.  It’s largely due to his loving care and advice that I am still alive.  I spent several months caring for him and another sick brother, during his last bout with cancer in 2009.  Recently, while deeply depressed, I said something about quitting my heart meds and letting nature take it’s course.  He took me by the shoulders, turned me around and looked me sternly in the eye and said “You’re a bit young for that sort of thing” – young?  I’m 60 years old!

And now, he has chosen to return home from the hospital to his Friary, in a poor part of East Los Angeles, to end his life among the brothers who love and revere him.  There is not one jot of fear or panic in his face.  He can barely speak.  I spent the afternoon just sitting beside him, holding his hand, while messages of love came from his brothers and family in England, his former parishioners in Trinidad and a group of former inmates he ministered to while a chaplain in the California prison system.  I have never, ever, not even once, heard a bad or negative thing said about him.  And when he criticized, he never denigrated.  He only spoke the truth.

Tall, thin and with beautiful blue eyes, we once sat on the front veranda of this shabby house in East L.A. trying to understand how an English gentleman, who is a friend of the Queen’s cousin, HRH the Duke of Gloucester, ended up ministering to the poor Latinos in this neighborhood.

So now, he is on his final journey.  A man who survived the blitz in London during WWII as a small child and, even though he became  a US citizen, he is still staunchly proud of his Queen and her dedication to her country.

He doesn’t have long.  He looks and responds like Mom did during the last week or so of her life.  He doesn’t consider the journey he’s on as an ending or a giving up.  He’s simply moving on.

When he does move on, I really don’t know what I’ll do.  He got me through Mom’s death…..now……….

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep.  Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.