Thanks, Jack

I'm thirty years old, happily married, I have a gorgeous young son and have just recently proven myself fit enough to participate in one of the most gruelling races in the country.  The most odious malady I can lay claim to is a bit of asthma.  Both of my folks could probably circumnavigate the globe with the amount of air miles they've accumulated from the varied guilt trips I've sent them on for smoking through my youth.

All told, I'm a very fortunate man.

Which is why I cringe a little bit thinking about Jack.

Jack was a coworker of mine.  We spent almost two years on the same construction site up north: he a foreman and me an office monkey.  We saw very little of each other but he was easily the most pleasant and personable of the field workers with whom I associated on an infrequent basis.  A construction site in the hinterlands of northern Alberta is not prone to attract those of a more genteel nature, so Jack's persona was a welcome one.

Just shortly before the project started to wind down, we threw him a retirement party on site.  He had just turned 65 and the end of the project was also going to mark the beginning of his retirement.  The lunch trailers were packed with our entire complement of staff that day and we all partook of the cake that was brought in.  An apron was foisted upon him to wear, broadcasting his age and his retirement.  When he flipped up the front of the apron, it revealed a dangling cock and set of balls affixed underneath.  Something about his imminent emasculation now that he was going home to cook for his wife.  His laughter was the loudest.

After coming back to Edmonton, he agreed to lend a hand with a small job we had on the west end.  It was close to home for him and, given its relatively short duration, would help to wean him off work instead of literally quitting cold turkey.

This scenario reminds me of that really bad cops and robbers story line where the senior detective, just days/weeks/hours before his retirement, is paired up with the hot-blooded recruit for 'one last case'.

Unfortunately, Jack's one last case resulted in him having his arms ripped off last summer.  Just over a year ago now.

He was trying to untangle some wire rope that had gone slack from a piece of equipment and then, when the slack was taken up rather unexpectedly, he was caught under the arms by the rope, which served the dual purpose of catapulting him bodily over the equipment and tearing both arms off; one at the elbow and one at the shoulder.  His quick-thinking co-workers and the response time of the air ambulance were the only things that saved his life.

His recuperation was remarkable.  A chance to reattach one arm was abandoned after determining that there was too much tissue damage caused by the tearing action.  But a couple months later he was almost ready to go home.

Jack's stoic demeanour and optimistic attitude played no small part in his convalescence.  And his time in the hospital allowed for his home to be retrofitted to accommodate some of his new needs.  With Jack's input and some admonishment.  It was proposed to include an air-drying chamber in the main bath for his use after a shower.  Somewhat incredulous, Jack countered with a hook.  He'd ask his wife to hang a big towel on it and he'd rub himself dry.

Jack came back into the office a couple of times and bragged about having lost weight (other than the arms, he'd grin), and never feeling better.  I gave him a big hug and he in turn body-checked me.  I saw him again across the room at this past December's Christmas party.  That was the last time I saw him and probably the last time I will.

I spoke with his daughter last week, who also works for The Company.  I inquired congenially after Jack, not having heard of nor seen him in quite some time.

"You haven't heard?"

"Uh, no..."

"He's got cancer."

Shit.  A very brief discussion, which his daughter was reciting by rote at this point, revealed an incredibly rapid onset of stomach cancer which spread throughout his internal organs and now has him in chronic pain.  His family is with him and he's waiting now, over the next couple of weeks, to die.

A part of me cries out at the horrible unfairness of it all.  A man's life irrevocably changed by an incident that should never have happened and then beset by a terminal disease at the dawning of his twilight years.  But life isn't fair, is it?  Shit happens.  And as bad as it makes me feel, I can only imagine what must be happening for his wife and children. 

Not to have him suddenly snatched from them, but to be dangling from a cliff, looking up into their faces, and all of them full of the knowledge that soon his grip must slip.  His hands will grow weary and the inexorable pull will finally take him. 

I don't know which I'd prefer, the sharp jagged tearing of an unexpected loss, or the slow extrusion of a terminal disease.  Each day spent with your loved one tainted by the knowledge of the impending end.  Or would that also then amplify the love and gratitude for each moment spent together?  Again: I don't know.

I do know that my wife and son are going to be appreciated just that much more now.  And I have Jack to thank for that.

Comments

[Paul]

To have experienced such a horrendous accident, and rather that rolling over, standing up to the world, and living large, and showing everyone how it is done, and then to be struck down in this way...
TANJ!

[Tina]

I've had examples of both kinds of loss in my life, and opinions on each. My father dropped dead at 52, of a massive heart attack, in my mothers arms. She said that as unexpected as it was, she was glad not to see the love of her life suffer a long illness. My father-in-law died of cancer, and my mother-in-law said those last few months, while hard for both, were some of the happiest and closest times they had together. Two different deaths, two differing opinions. Tina

[Jenn]

I think that's the hardest part of life to comprehend: why tragedy seems to dog some folks, while others (seemingly) skate through the world untouched.

[wil]

I failed to glean why you are unable to visit Jack from the entry?

Believe me, it would only need be a short 5 minutes or so, but I can say categorically he'd appreciate it and it will help chase the guilts away for you. I'd even suggest taking the mini-Me along for the visit.

[Simon]

Wil,

Jack was quite far along in his affliction by the time I found out about it. Which is not to say that he would not have been receptive to a visit. And it is now, unfortunately, a moot point. He passed just before the weekend.