Hope At Last

I visited a friend in the hospital recently. Ron is his name. He's the father of a friend of mine. Ron lived in Mimico here and he was a very nice man. Kind. Generous. A great help to me when my leg was broken. Ron was old, and retired from the railroad. His son, Larry, is an engineer like me.

Ron was having trouble breathing last week and they took him to the hospital where he was admitted. After some tests, it was discovered that he’d had a mild heart attack. Doctors also found a large growth on Ron’s kidney, and an arterial blockage in his stomach. The next day, and after more tests, cancer was discovered in both lungs. I went to see him on Tuesday. He could barely breathe. He was getting 80 percent pure oxygen, Ms J, but still gasped for air. He could scarcely speak.

Poor old Ron was dying. I last saw him at Larry’s fiftieth birthday party a few months ago. Now, he was dying. Every minute was a struggle for Life. I knew he would not come home.

Meagan woke me gently at 11:00 that night.

“Dad. Dad? Dad. Wake up, Dad. Larry just phoned. He wants you to call him back.”

I had been sound asleep. I blinked my eyes in the semi-darkness and tried to dispel the mental cobwebs.

“It’s the middle of the night, Meagan,” I replied groggily.

“It’s not the middle of the night. It’s only eleven o’clock. Larry’s dad is dying. He wants to talk to you. You’d want someone to talk to if your dad was dying.”

She handed me the phone but I couldn’t see to dial it without my glasses. I gave it back to her and she dialed Larry’s number.

We talked for about ten minutes I guess. Poor old Ron had taken a turn for the worse. He’d actually died and the doctors had revived him. Now he was comatose and on Life support.

“It’s my fault,” said Larry. “I forgot to tell the hospital that Dad didn’t want to be resuscitated. Now he’s ...”

The phone was quiet for a minute and I knew my friend was trying to compose himself. I told him not to blame himself and suggested that things were proceeding according to plan. God’s plan, though, and not Larry’s.

After a minute or two, Larry’s wife took the phone from him.

“Larry’s having trouble talking right now, Dale. I’m going to let you go, OK? Thanks so much for calling.”

I pressed the OFF button on the phone and lay there staring into the darkness.

“Please God,” I prayed, “Be gentle when you take him. Don’t let him be afraid. Don’t let him thrash about and struggle. Take him gently. And take him soon.”

Two hours later, Ms J, he was gone. He was 77.

---

I am unhappy at work. Every shift is stressful. I worry constantly about making a mistake and getting fired. The topic of Bombardier trainees and the spectre of losing our jobs on the GO trains is ever-present. We’re all worried, Ms J. Everyone is afraid and angry. The atmosphere is tense and filled with dread and hatred. Life seems so difficult lately.

I was thinking of this today and suddenly Ron came to mind.

“He’s lucky,” I thought. “He’s gone now to a place free of worry, free of tension. He’ll never know fear or hatred again. All that remains of Ron is Love.”

I took comfort in that thought, Ms J. I felt myself relax. And for the first time in weeks, I felt hopeful.

Hope. It's what makes the waiting bearable.

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