Awkward Goodbyes With Ketchup

Almost five years ago, my mentor and dear friend, was diagnosed of terminal brain cancer.  His diagnosis happened about three months after my sister died. She was 26 when she died, he was 69 at diagnosis, and I was beside myself at thirtysomething.  It was stunning.

My mentor was told that statistically, he likely had 90 days to live.  Thus, every moment of everyday was potentially the last time he had to experience life.   The big question was, now what? I still often ponder that same question. What if I was told the same thing?  How would life look different? If there was only 90 days left, how would my priorities change and who would I spend more time with?  These questions haunt me to this very day as I get dressed for work. The focus of each morning becomes making each day really matter and tying up loose ends quickly and efficiently.

One afternoon in South Beach Miami, me and my mentor were crossing the street, I asked him why he was still working and how he made sense of his diagnosis.  He said to me, “You know kid, God really loves me.” Once we crossed the street, I stopped and asked him how he came to that conclusion. His relatives all lived very long lives and there was still so much that he wanted to accomplish.  I told him that I’d be overwhelmed, angry and scared. He replied, “I know what’s going to kill me. I have time to prepare for it and my family does too. Not many people have that same luxury, not even you.” You know, he was absolutely right.

My sister died on a Saturday night, completely out of left field.  Nobody would have guessed that a seemingly healthy 26-year-old would drop dead from a series of mistakes in prescriptions.  The shock of losing her and the course of events surrounding her death pushed me into PTSD. My mentor then took it upon himself to cheer me up.  That was before his diagnosis. When his cancer was found, we made a deal. Life was going to be an adventure. Anything I wanted to do with my sister was going to be done with him and we were going to tackle as much on his bucket list as we possibly could without jeopardizing his health.  My personal mission was to keep him alive longer than 90 days, so we can really put a dent in his lists both with trying new things and helping him accomplish more of his goals. With the grace of God, he was able to fight the cancer for three years before it claimed his life.

When ignoring the circumstances, we had a blast.  It was a morbidly magical time. He was the stand in for my sister and I pushed him to experience life in a different way.  Sometimes, when we were having a lot of fun, something would remind me of fate’s hand in creating the events. As much as I tried to ignore his diagnosis, sometimes my eyes would well up with tears over it.  The few times that he noticed my tears, he used to say, “kid, maybe I was served a shit sandwich, but at least mine came with ketchup.”

This week, his commentary on receiving a “shit sandwich with ketchup” kept creeping into my mind.  Aside from the imagery, the concept of finding the silver lining in something horrible was both impressive and graceful on his part.  Tonight, that comment was highlighted even more. When heading out to dinner, something kept slowing me down from leaving my place. It was almost weird.  Then, when finally arriving at the restaurant, it was clear why the universe was slowing me down. A young woman jumped from her window and her remains were all over the sidewalk next to the restaurant.

As the evening progressed and a variety of officials came to the site, my mentor’s words came to mind.  We really don’t know how we will die or when loved ones will die. When the coroner’s car pulled up and the site was examined, all I could think of was the family of the young woman.  They must be shocked and hurt. While I doubt that they have received word about their daughter yet, when they do, that pain will last a lifetime. Maybe my mentor was right. Maybe the ketchup is essential in goodbyes. Maybe that’s the deeper reason why loose ends should be taken care of and life should be savored instead of taken for granted.