My friend Jim

Last week I found out Jim was back in town.

I have known Jim since we were kids, his sister was in my class in grade school. Theirs was a family with 9 kids, as I remember. It was Jim that made it possible for me to build my house years ago. I could go on and on about him.

Jim has cancer. He has been battling it for the last dozen years but this time it is going to take him.

He had been in California visiting a doctor friend. He said he would call me when he was back in town, but he was weak and he didn’t want to impose.

I went right over to see him. I only live a few blocks away.

He can’t sleep. He can’t eat. He is on horrible pain medicine that sometimes don’t work. “It is not fun any more, Dave.” He whined, and he definitely is not a whiner.

I stayed with him a while, and later went back a couple of times. He is a good guy, the kind the world needs millions of, but we are going to loose him -- anyway.

Thursday night I baked rye bread. He thought he might like some, he said. If he doesn’t eat it, his wife will.

Next week, and beyond, I’ll stop and see Jim a couple times a day. Dot, his wife, works and I will stop by when she is at work. It is lonely dying. He wants a bit of company to lubricate the hours spent watching the clock or equally boring tv. Hospice stops in regularly, but he needs a friend.

It is the least I can do. I will pay my dues, my turn will come one day.