Actually, Nick E.'s "hit him with a pie" suggestion is a good one. Humor helps, and people don't lose their sense of humor when they're dying.

I think I've told this story before. I was at the Getaway in September, 2000, and my friend Jim left me a voice mail, simply saying, "I guess you've heard I'm terminal." Well, I hadn't even heard Jim was sick. His wife told me that Jim had lots of buddies through clogging and his interest in Corvettes, but that I was his "heart friend" - and he wanted me to go with him on his journey to death. I had never spent time before with a person who was facing death, but I made a point of visiting Jim every three weeks or so, from late November until he died the following April. We'd sing and chat and laugh much of the time, and it was good - and not too challenging. Three weeks before he died, Jim was different. We sat on a park bench in the garden, talking and singing. I was noodling around on my harmonica (I still don't play it well). Jim borrowed my harmonica, and played a wonderful rendition of "I'll Fly Away." I made up my mind right then that I'd sing that at his funeral.

Then we went inside, and Jim, a former officer in the British Army, wanted to make me a proper cup of tea. He was shaking pretty badly by that time, and having some trouble breathing. His wife gave him some morphine to help him settle down, and helped him make the tea. Then everybody disappeared, and I was left alone with this man who was clearly getting close to death. He was having trouble speaking, but I understood that he wanted me to watch out for his wife Christina and his stepson Josh - and if anything romantic should happen, that would be wonderful. I told him I'd watch out for Christina and Josh, but I doubted anything romantic would develop.

I saw Jim once more, three days before he died. There was a dramatic change in him in just those three weeks. By that time, there was nothing left of him but skin and bones - and his bright eyes and big smile. He couldn't talk, but he wanted me to hold him up. I held him for three hours, and talked to him about what a wonderful person he was and what a difference I'd seen him make in the lives of Josh and Christina. I sang to him 'til I ran out of songs, and I sang him the two other songs I had chosen for his funeral - Bob Franke's Thanksgiving Eve and Alleluia, The Great Storm Is Over.

That last day, I got tired of holding Jim for three hours, and I finally dropped him when I was trying to put him down. I felt so bad about hurting him when he was so sick, but he didn't seem to mind. He died peacefully three days later, a man who had lived life as a wonderful adventure.

I did sing those three songs at Jim's funeral, and they went well. His widow Christina took me on a wildflower hike in the American River Canyon. I had known her before Jim even met her, but on that hike I was moved by her gentle depth and her love of nature, and by the fact that she knew all the flowers*. Within two weeks after Jim's death, I proposed to her - knowing I had Jim's blessing. We were engaged for ten months and got married in January, 2002. It will be ten years this coming January, and I think Saint Jim continues to bless our marriage.

So, gnu, spend time with your friend. You won't regret it.

-Joe-

*I found out later she made up names for some the flowers, and didn't actually know the real names of some of them.