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By Phil Callaway
ONE MONTH before Christmas, Ed heard the news. At the age of 49, he had colon
cancer.
The doctor’s words struck him over and over like a baseball bat: “It’s very advanced, and it’s highly unlikely your body can fight it more than six months. I’m so sorry.”
As one of Canada’s most successful oil executives, Ed was accustomed to controlling things. With
a spacious office high atop a skyscraper, everything he could ask for was
waiting to be summoned.
But outside of work, things were not well. How would he tell his wife? They’d hardly spoken all week. All year, for that matter. But as he told her the
diagnosis, she broke down and wept.
After a sleepless night, Ed called the office. For the first time in 17 years,
he’d be playing hookey. His work meant everything. What would he do without it? He
could have retired long ago, but it kept him from facing a string of broken
relationships.
How would he tell his three children? They were strangers, really. And what
about the grandchildren? Would they even remember him? Would they care? Each
year, he had his secretary mail them birthday cards and Christmas gifts of her
choosing – but he’d never been able to get their names straight.
Should I call a minister? he wondered. But church hadn’t been a part of his life since his wedding day. He hadn’t the time for it. Besides, who would he call? What would he say? Was he a
Baptist or a Buddhist? He hadn’t a clue.
Thankfully, Ed was wrong. His children were devastated by the news. For the
first time ever, they heard the words he’d never told them: “I love you.”
That night, an old friend from college called. He’d heard the news. He was a minister. Could they go out for breakfast? How did
eight o’clock sound?
The next day, after their steak and eggs, Ed and his wife booked 12 tickets to
Mexico – enough to take their children, their spouses, and all the grandchildren for two
weeks.
It was a Christmas like no other. Though the doctor had done a painful
colonoscopy, Ed had the time of his life. Surrounded by family, he began to
wonder where he’d been all these years.
He watched them frolic in the surf. He even went hang-gliding. “Best two weeks of my life,” he told me. “I didn’t start living until I found out I was dying.”
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Back home, he went to see his doctor. He had never been ushered into a doctor’s office so quickly. The doctor’s face was the colour of a snowball.
“Ed, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we . . . uh . . . got the files mixed up. You’re healthy as a horse.”
Ed was speechless. Finally he lurched to his feet and started to laugh. “You’re wondering about a lawsuit, aren’t you, doc?”
“Um . . . uh,” stammered the doc, “Yes we are.”
“How could I sue?” Ed grinned. “You see, doctor, the only thing I valued was money. Then came your diagnosis. It
changed everything. I made things right with my kids. I know my grandchildren’s names now.
“I’ve made things right with God, too. I’m going to church again. I’ve never been more alive in my life. The worst news I ever received turned out
to be the best.” Then Ed grabbed and embraced the most surprised and grateful doctor in the
history of medicine.
Health is a gift, to be sure. But forgiveness, reconciliation and a new grasp on
what’s truly important in life – these are gifts we can unwrap together, for years to come.
Phil Callaway is a best-selling author and speaker. Drop in for a visit at
laughagain.org
October 2009
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