We shook hands as I entered his home.
“Went to see the doctor yesterday,” he said.
Which I knew. This was years ago and he had told me the prior Sunday at church that he was going to see a recommended physician. An oncologist. As his pastor, I was visiting to see how things had gone, and to provide support.
“The doc was an okay guy. Didn’t ya think so, honey?”
Honey was his seventy-something significant other. Both had been married before. Both had gone through the deaths of spouses they loved. Both had told me, when I arrived a year before as their new minister, that they were sorry they weren’t legally hitched, but getting married might mean losing some retirement benefits. They couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
“We just shack-up together,” he had said with a shrug and grin. She—his honey—rolled her eyes.
He had been in combat in Korea. Didn’t talk about it. She loved to chat about her grandkids. They owned a tidy modular home in a retirement “village,” pinched their proverbial pennies, and clearly adored each other.
Now he had cancer.
“Got me a little issue with bad tissue,” he joked.
In their cramped kitchen area, with a view of the vegetable garden she tended, he told me what kind of cancer it was, and then what the oncologist had explained. Read More →by