Before it's too late...

For those of you who think death is morbid, AND, don't like to talk about it. You might just want to stop reading right now. Actually, maybe not. Maybe YOU are the ones who really need to read on.

I'm not afraid to die. At least that's what I think.
I didn't say I am not afraid of death. I said: "I am not afraid to die."
I am terrified of death. I absolutely detest hospitals and completely hate wakes and funerals.
I've had my fair share of visiting hospitals and attending wakes and funerals though, but the dislike for them never seems to diminish.

About six months ago, Jessica's cousin, who was in his 30s tragically passed on, in a work related accident. There are truly no words that can describe the passing on of a 30 some year old person. During his wake, we were playing cards one night to while away the night. Jessica had just told me she was going to the car to nap. Not even five minutes later, we heard a loud bang, almost like a car crash. Most of our cars were parked illegally and the first thought that came to my mind was that someone had crashed into one of our cars. I was worried about Jessica. The people I was playing cards with, all got up to check out what the loud sound was but they only walked along a path and stopped when they saw a few cats scattering away. With my mind on Jessica's safety and still thinking it was a car crash, I continued in the direction of the car.
But, before I reached the car...
That's when I saw her legs. I panicked and ran back towards the rest of the people at the wake. I never saw her face. I am glad I never saw her face.
From what I know, she was a 16 year old girl who had just jumped from the building next to where Jessica's cousin's wake was being held. The loud sound and the vision I witnessed still play very clearly in mind. I do not know what drives people to do this. I am terrified of death.

But, that's not why I am writing this post today.
This post acknowledges we are all going to die someday... it's the before, the celebration of life, that I am going to talk about.

Back in 1992, when I started working for Kowloon Restaurant in Eugene, Oregon. I got to meet this man named James Burke. He was the dishwasher for the restaurant. A scruffy odd dude. He seemed to constantly be in a bad mood. He was always yelling at the cooks and at the waitresses, somewhat like Gordon Ramsey (Hell's Kitchen fame). Except that Gordon Ramsey is an executive chef and James was... a dishwasher. Not very likeable person, I remember thinking back then.
James, unlike everyone else who was not a minor, rarely drank at the bar after he got off work. I did wonder why and soon found out that our boss, the owner, had banned him from drinking at the bar because he would get unruly whenever he got drunk, which was almost every time he drank. Gosh, this guy is truly a piece of work, I thought.

During my first year or so working there, I never got to see him drunk. He was still loud and rude to the kitchen and wait staff but I never saw him drunk. He was friendly to me. I remember him telling me that he had visited Singapore when he was in the Navy and they made one of their port calls there. I had also learnt that he was actually resident to the restaurant. The restaurant had a basement with offices/rooms and one of those rooms was converted into living quarters for him. I had also met his Mother, who was a really nice, gentle and soft spoken lady, very much unlike him. Back then, to me, he seemed like that deliquent child whose mother absolutely loved him, but couldn't control him and therefore was left to "foster" him out....

One night, several years after I first got to know him, someone told me that James had returned to the restaurant and was absolutely drunk. I remember it was a Friday night, I was working in the bar that night and it was absolutely packed in the bar. I had a very short conversation with him advising him to go to his room, but he kept blabbering on about someone attacking him and they were outside and he was gonna get them back. I partially ignored his blabbering and again told him to go back to his room. I also sent a bouncer to the parking lot to check if there was anyone "waiting" there for James. The bouncer returned to say that there was no one in the parking lot. I thought no more of it as James had proceeded down to his room. Not a few minutes later, I was summoned by the bouncers.
James had re-emerged from the dungeons with an axe!! No, I am not kidding... a real axe.
I honestly had no idea what to do. Dave, the head bartender at that time, and I, tried talking him into giving up the axe but he wouldn't let go of it. We both finally convinced him to return to his room... axe still in hand. While he was in his room, the bouncers and I tried to find a way to secure his door so he couldn't leave his room and the commotion that followed when he discovered he couldn't open his door.... it was indescribable. I half expected him to axe down the wall and come flying through it. I remember thinking to myself that if he grew tired of chopping up his room, he would lay down and go to bed and tomorrow, it would all be fine. Any other scenario, especially that of him leaving the room, would be horribly ugly. The commotion went on for what seemed like forever but eventually, my prayers were answered and the banging and chopping stopped, the door and wall were still intact... and that incident led to a ban from drinking forever, not only at the bar where we worked and also not at any other bar in town.
This post could possibly continue to be interesting but it does not get more interesting. It does not get more interesting because James, when sober, actually thinks normally. And he kept to his ban on drinking, for the most part... enough so there were no more "interesting" incidents.

I got to know James a lot better when I had the closing shift. From 1995 to 1997, I had to close the restaurant and bar. Especially in the winter, things could get boring after 9pm and we only closed at midnight. It was during those 2 years that I began to "understand" James a lot better. He was in his 30's but had the mind of a teen (oftentimes thinking and talking about sex, strip bars and strippers). He was in his 30's but craved for the attention of a 5 year old. He was in his 30's but had the innocence of a baby. He was in his 30's but never acted his age. He did not have a single mean bone in his body, when he was sober. He seldom harbored ill feelings in his heart. He acted tough only because he was attention seeking. He ACTED, only because he was attention seeking and didn't know how else to get attention. He was actually a kid in a man's body. He would go out of his way to help you out. In fact, his helpfulness was sometimes deemed as unwanted attention, especially by the teen girls that used to wait tables at the restaurant. He was just helpful. To those teen girls, if he had offered to shelter you to your car because it was raining, he would do it for me too. It was just him. He offered to walk you to you car after your shift not because he was hoping to jump into your pants the moment you opened your car door... he did it because it was the gentlemanly thing to do. For everyone who though ill of his actions, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

After I left Eugene, I continued to visit, especially during the college football season. Every visit, when we finally landed up at the restaurant or bar, James and I talked as if I had just left my shift last night and was coming to work the next morning. He was never a Duck because... he was attention seeking. But, I bet, in his heart, he IS a Duck. He was always a Beaver because... he was attention seeking. He was an avid Minnesota Viking fan because... you get it, he was attention seeking. Why? Because it is not common to be a Viking fan when you live in the Pacific Northwest. If you are not a Seahawk fan, then you probably support one of the California teams or one of the more "successful" teams, like the Cowboys or the Packers. If you are a Viking fan, you are bound to get attention, negative attention somewhat, but still attention in general and that is what he craved.

James acted tough. But, he would not even harm an ant. He used to threaten his landlords' (aka the owners and his "foster parents") cat, saying that he would shoot it, kill it, whatever. But he truly absolutely loved all their animals, cats, dogs and all. He talks a lot about harming people and animals but he really doesn't have that in him. In his younger days, he also used to talk about harming this person and that person in the kitchen. He has NEVER laid a finger on anyone in the kitchen/restaurant/bar. Tough talk is another method of garnering the attention he desires. He is but harmless.

Fast forward to two weeks ago.
Two weeks ago, when I spoke to Mr Landlord, I was informed that James had gone to the doctor's for a check up. White spots were discovered in his x-ray, whatever the hell that means.
Three days ago, I spoke to a friend in Eugene and he told me that he had just spoken to Mr Landlord. James has been diagnosed with throat cancer in a very advanced stage. His only chance of recovery is to remove his voicebox. And that too isn't 100% as the doctor does not know how much the cancer has spread.
James turned down removing his voice box and has been given 2 months to live.

In the beginning of this post, I said I was not afraid to die. This next portion is a real lesson on what it means to not be afraid to die.
In the last 10 days, James has planned his last days with the people who will be setting up hospice care at his mother's home. And true to his spirit, he even commented that the nurse who will most likely be looking after him, is cute. James has been baptised. James has gone through his belongings and has stated how they are to be distributed. James has gone to the bank to ensure that titleship is ammended to ensure continuity. James has apologized to Mrs Landlord for all the trouble he has caused. According to Mrs Landlord, he seems at peace with what the future holds for him. He seems as though he has accepted the news and is ready to move on. It seems as though he "is not afraid to die".

I have 2 regrets. One, I do not have any pictures to post. I can't seem to find them. Two, I won't get a chance to say goodbye to him, should he really only be around for only 2 more months.

James, also known as JB to many of you who will be reading this, we all know will be going off to a better place. Ever since I found out about this, I have prayed every night that he will get better. However, that is not my choice. So, I pray that if He decides to take him on a different journey, may JB's last days on earth be happy and free of any pain. At the moment, JB is not on any painkillers and says he is not in any pain. I pray it remains that way and that he will begin his next journey... peacefully. I also pray that when I say I am not afraid to die, I will be able to handle it with the strength that JB has shown. JB is 49 years old.

(**I have been soliciting photos to add to this post. I will add them as I get them. If you have photos and don't mind sharing them, please feel free to email them to me.)

And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
Its length? A minute's pause, a moment's thought.
And Happiness? A bubble on the stream,
That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought.

And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn,
That of its charms divests the dewy lawn,
And robs each flow'ret of its gem—and dies;
A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn,
Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise.

And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound?
That dark mysterious name of horrid sound?
A long and lingering sleep the weary crave.
And Peace? Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave.

Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise,
A thing to be desired it cannot be;
Since everything that meets our foolish eyes
Gives proof sufficient of its vanity.
'Tis but a trial all must undergo,
To teach unthankful mortals how to prize
That happiness vain man's denied to know,
Until he's called to claim it in the skies.
(John Clare)