A good friend — Ken — found an end to his earthly suffering today, losing his battle with mesothelioma.
I’ve known members of Ken’s family much longer than I’ve known him, so it feels like I’ve known him forever. In reality though it’s only been about 15 years or so. Ken is a few years my senior, and has been retired longer than we’ve been acquainted. He’s not exactly an official mentor, but he has mentored me on many levels, usually unintentionally. Such a great guy; quiet, humble, honest… Seems like they don’t make men like anymore, or at least not as often.
Ken’s mesothelioma diagnosis came long before I was diagnosed with DLBCL, but we somehow ended up on the same rotation for chemotherapy; I counted him as my chemo-buddy. Mesothelioma is a much different and more aggressive cancer than DLBCL, and his fight was simply for a little more time; there is no cure, and the chemo only slowed its advance until it outsmarted the drugs. He had explored lots of treatment options in the last few months at Sanford Cancer Center and at Mayo Clinic, but the doctors said there was little more they could do for him and he wouldn’t likely see Christmas. I really hate it when they are that right.
The last time I saw Ken was two weeks ago this Sunday; Ken was admitted to the hospital a week earlier, and Yvonne and I stopped to visit, staying much longer than we had intended. I’m glad we had that time with him. Ken looked good that day, alert but a bit sleepy from the drugs helping to control his pain. The cancer had spread to his abdomen and had formed several tumors which were collecting fluid and causing a lot of pain. He and Harriet were so grateful for and hospitable to every visitor; the embodiment of graciousness. The strange thing was that only three weeks earlier at our last chemo session he looked great and was in no pain at all. That was five weeks ago, and today he’s gone. I just can’t wrap my head around that.
But Ken was well grounded in his faith in Jesus Christ, and there’s no doubt he’s in a better place now, free of pain and worshiping at the Throne. It’s hard though, knowing I won’t see him again, and knowing how difficult this will be for his family. Still, I envy him just a little… But I know it’s not my turn yet; God still has a job for me here, so I wait patiently for him to call me home, and try to become what he wants me to be.