Letter to a Dying Friend

Bob is dying. Bruce (the FBI) told me. The doctors told Bob that 'at his age, there is nothing that can be done'. That's medical-speak for 'there is no cost benefit to society if we try to save you'. You can fool yourself with the romantic notion that doctors save lives. They don't. They carefully weigh a bunch of factors to determine if your life is worthy of treatment. And if you aren't worth saving, they blame it on your age. Funny how doctors assume the position of God when they want (say, to save a life) yet they will relinquish any responsibility to God when they decide that it's His fault that you are too old.

I have lost enough people in my life to know that the worst part of the grieving process is the 'I shoulda said' regrets. It's common to hear "I wish I had more time with so-and-so" or 'if only I had told them how much I cared.". Yet one of the most common things people say to a friend with a terminal diagnosis?

"I don't know what to say."

If I were dying and someone said that to me, I'd smack them in the face. Maybe not literally. But mentally, I'd bitch slap the shit outta them. Say something. Say anything. Say it's not fair. Say you are angry, sad or scared. There are so many things in the world that go unsaid. I won't be reading how much I meant to you in my obituary. Say it now.

I wrote a letter to Bob. I told him that I was thankful that I got to know him, even if it was only for a short time. Told him that I took comfort in the fact by knowing him, I still have hope that society might have a glimmer of civility to it because he showed me what a gentleman is, what a good guy does and that chivalry lives. I thanked him for making me smile. Told him that I was grateful for the conversations and the memories. And I wished him peace.

I didn't know what to say when I sat down to write the letter. But dammit, I said something.