| October 07 '06 |
|
| Volume 540 |
|
Cancer
Victims Friends - Terminally Ill
Most of us live our lives with little
thought of dying unless circumstances demand we consider the risks of various
forms of travel, the dangers of certain recreational sports, or engaging
in adrenalin-filled activities such as parachuting out of a perfectly good
airplane. For some of us, thoughts of dying come our way due to health reasons.
I know that to be true in my case, as when I was diagnosed with prostate
cancer and later suffered a heart attack, I considered death a real possibility.
I don’t expect to live to be a hundred, though I’ll be disappointed
if I don’t survive another twenty years. I took a test the other day
and discovered my real age is a lot greater than my chronological age, about
sixteen years older to be exact. But, I declare, I don’t look eighty.
I realize I eat too much of the "wrong foods," don’t exercise enough,
drive faster than the speed limit, and have had surgeries for a heart condition
and two forms of cancer, but I suspect the test is flawed, because I was
promised my "real age" could, by Christmas, be lowered to 66.5, if I followed
the recommended guidelines for diet and exercise and slowed my highway speed
about five miles per hour. I’ve not committed to any of the above, but
I did eat more fruit last week than I’ve eaten in the last month. As
I see it, if I don’t do anything different, my real age might reach
one hundred long before my chronological age does.
Given my druthers, I hope to die in my sleep, but if death comes by another
means, I’d prefer something quick and sudden. Yet, I won’t be surprised
if my worst fears are realized and my death is a "drawn out" affair (no,
not drawn as in drawn and quartered) where I become a burden to my family
and my life savings are required for end-of-life health care.
Of course, I’ve skipped over the possibility of being diagnosed with
a terminal illness where life expectancy is gauged in months instead of years.
I don’t know if short-term terminal illnesses are becoming more common
or not, but I hear of them more than I once did. In the past two weeks,
I’ve learned of two individuals, both of whom I’ve worked with
in the grocery business, who are terminally ill. If there’s an advantage
in knowing how little time one has left to live, surely it’s in being
able to get ones affairs in order.
Rex Terry, formerly of Pontotoc and now living in Tupelo, worked with me
in the meat department at Sunflower in Pontotoc back in the seventies. John
Carter was one of my first meat supervisors in 1963 back when there were
Sunflower Food Stores in Tupelo, MS. In the course of two weeks, I learned
each of these men have terminal cancer. Rex was diagnosed with pancreatic
cancer in early July, and John discovered in late August that he has brain
cancer and lung cancer. Rex has been admitted to the Sanctuary Hospice House
in Tupelo and John expects to remain at home.
I heard about John Carter’s health situation from Becky, one of his
four daughters, whom I previously knew only through correspondence relating
to this newsletter. She left a message on my home phone, which I promptly
returned upon hearing it.
Becky told me her dad had undergone radiation treatments for the tumor in
his brain and was scheduled for chemo-therapy.
"He wants to go to the mountains, one last time," she shared. "We’re
looking at October 19th."
I told her that Barbara and I would plan to visit John prior to his going
to the mountains. Later, Barbara and I compared schedules and decided on
Saturday, September 30, to make the trip to Nashville.
"I think we should plan to visit the Carters Saturday afternoon, spend the
night in Brentwood, and drive back home the following day," I proposed and
Barbara agreed.
I checked the Internet hoping to find the motel we stayed at when Brett got
married but couldn’t remember the name, only the general location. I
finally reserved a room for us at the Hilton Suites which was about a half-mile
from the area we had previously stayed.
I phoned John a day or so after hearing of his poor health and spoke to his
wife, Jean, before she handed John the phone.
"How’s my oldest son?" he asked, referring to his affectionate title
for me.
"I’m fine, but what’s this I hear about you?"
A number of years ago, John and I worked as consultants for a number of stores
in west Tennessee. John had supervised the meat operations of these stores
for a long time, but mine was a new face to the market managers. John developed
the habit of introducing me as his son. Most were skeptical of his claim,
but a few took him seriously. Ever since then, John likes to refer to me
as part of his family. And, I really don’t mind, as John has done a
pretty decent job in looking out for my best interests since we met almost
forty-four years ago. I can thank John and another meat supervisor, Bill
Jett, for influencing their boss to promote me to meat specialist back in
1982. Without their help I might still be cutting meat in a retail store.
While that would certainly be a job I would enjoy, the work is more physically
challenging than my current job which involves retail technology.
Barbara and I were able to visit John and Jean for a couple of hours last
weekend, as we had planned. John was in relatively good spirits, though his
diseases have rendered him quite weak. Still, we had a good visit, reminiscing
and remembering old friends with whom we worked for many years.
Jean shared that she and her daughters had talked among themselves and decided
to ask me to conduct John’s funeral service. I would probably have agreed
anyway, but when I was told the family only wanted a graveside service, it
made my decision easier. I explained that I might have some difficulty keeping
my emotions under control, but I felt I could get through the service with
the Lord’s help. Jean expressed relief in my accepting and thanked me
for my willingness to help. Jean gave me a poem she wanted read and stated
the scripture I had used for a eulogy earlier this year was also a favorite
of hers and asked I use it, as well.
"Will you go in and talk to John?" she asked. "The girls and I haven’t
mentioned this to him."
"I can do that." I replied, before considering what I might say to John.
"I’ll go with you," she continued, "If you need me to."
"Thanks, but I think I can manage."
It wasn’t an easy task, informing an old friend that his family wanted
me to conduct his funeral, but we talked about the inevitable, and I mentioned
I wouldn’t have my feelings hurt if there was someone else he’d
prefer for the job, then, through teary eyes, he gave me his blessing with
"I think you’ll do fine."
Afterwards I met with Jean and the family members present that afternoon
and shared the results of my time with John and my willingness to serve their
need as requested. It was a tearful time for most, but I felt the strengthening
power of Christian love permeating the room.
Doctors of the terminally ill are quick to point out they don’t have
a crystal ball and can’t accurately predict someone’s death date.
An educated guess is the best they can offer. My old friends, Rex Terry and
John Carter have a rough idea when they may expect to depart this earthly
life and that’s more than most of us are granted. We should be so lucky.
Addendum: John Carter died Friday, October 6, 2006.
The Soul Of
Dixie Mississippi - The Garden Of Eden
While Alabama claims to be the Heart of Dixie, Mississippi is the true Soul
of Dixie. While researching the state's history recently, I came upon evidence
that leads one to suspect, if not believe, its history is far older and of
greater import than previously thought.
Could the grand state of Mississippi be the original Garden of Eden? Surely
her beautiful verdant cloak and rolling hills and flowing streams would
constitute prima facie evidence. But let's stick to the facts. As Sgt Joe
Friday would say: "Just the facts, ma'am!"
To begin, the Garden as faithfully, and I believe, literally described in
the Good Book was in the land of Mesopotamia, between two rivers, the Tigris
and the Euphrates. The combination of name similarity and geographical siting
gave me pause, yea even startled me.
Could Mississippi be a latter day mispronunciation of Mesopotamia? Might
the mighty river to her west be the Tigris, as evidenced by LSU's selection
of a mascot - a tiger of the species Bayou Bengal? Then, Glory Be, I found
an old Corps of Engineering plan for the Tombigbee Waterway, on Mesopotamia's,
I mean Mississippi's, east side with a revealing marginal notation: "Eur.
Freighters," an obvious attempt by an engineering type to spell Euphrates.
I believe it is no coincidence that the land to the east of Mississippi is
the Land of Nod. It is described as being east of Eden, and is probably a
TLA, three letter acronym, for No Obvious Distinction.
All this evidence is compelling by itself, but let's turn to the story and
main characters. Let me refresh your memory. The Good Lord planted a garden,
then male and female created He them, then pronounced it good. Next He told
Adam to tend the garden, thus making gardening the world's oldest profession.
Sometime later He returned and pronounced it not good, saying that man should
not be left alone or something close to that.
Jewish mythology postulates Adam had a first wife, Lilith, who left him after
an argument over, well you can guess, thus giving the Good Lord reason to
pronounce things not good. Look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls Dictionary
or online at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lilith
My personal opinion: Adam, like many men I know, was not as diligent in
housekeeping, or gardenkeeping as he should have been; there was no Lilith;
and Adam clearly needed a wife to tidy things up. Thus was Eve created. I
suspect her first words were: "This place is a mess!"
Originally they wore no clothes, until that unfortunate incident with the
serpent and the original urban myth he sprung on them. Afterwards they stitched
together fig leaves for clothes. I imagine Adam wanted Eve to wear smaller
leaves of the Celeste variety while she insisted on the large leaves of the
Brown Turkey variety for herself. She most likely nixed the small leaf outfits
knowing that would simply not do at a family reunion.
To me this is further evidence for local siting of the Garden of Eden, since
both fig varieties bear fruit and leaves profusely across the state. By the
way, the five second rule was a full minute in those days for when one might
drop a fig and still be able to pick it up and eat it.
One other observation; it did not rain in the Garden of Eden. All indications
are Mississippi is returning to that state. Ask any farmer.
While my research is not conclusive, it is compelling and deserves further
research by the great institutes of higher learning across our state. Who
knows, perhaps the petrified wood near Canton, Mississippi, is the Ark?
By Carl Wayne Hardeman, Collierville, TN
Bodock Beau A
Woman's Poem
He didn't like the casserole
And he didn't like my cake.
He said my biscuits were too hard...
Not like his mother used to make.
I didn't perk the coffee right
He didn't like the stew,
I didn't mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer
I was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and whacked him hard...
Like his MOMMA used to do.
Shared by Carl Wayne Hardeman
Copyright © 2000 - 2006 RRN
Online.
