As family and friends left through the cemetery gate, I looked back to see Harry’s grand-children saying their final farewells. They were throwing hard and dry clods of clay down the hole, laughing and shouting, ‘bombs away’. The thuds of rock like clay hitting the pine coffin sounded like wood splintering.

If Harry could have seen his grand-children, he would have delighted in their enjoyment. 

There was no priest at this funeral. There were long moments of silence and contemplation with a few words of appreciation spoken as well as tears. 

Harry was sent from hospital on morphine, a year before this day. He was sent home to die and had been told that it was a matter of weeks. 

I sat  by his bedside and we chatted through a haze of opioids, “I don’t want any more of this stuff”.  He picked up the bottle of Morphine and limply threw it on the floor. “Come and see me tomorrow”. The next day Harry was a bit chirpier. 

“I have two things I want before I die and I want your help”.  He gave me no time to reply. 

“First, I want to be able to walk up to the dairy a couple of times under my own steam, sit on the bench outside it and chat with some of the old folk up there. Secondly, I want to get to know my daughter Beth. I haven’t seen her for years and now I’ve come to die on her.  I want to hold her, have her hold me and know that the past is healed. I want her to let me love her and I would love it, if she’ d love and cherish me before I go. I’ve been a bit of a bastard you know. And I have a lot to apologise for”. 

Well, this seemed like a tall order. Harry’s cancer was terminal, his prognosis was against him and he was very thin. He did not look good.  

“Harry tell me what I can do for you”.        

“First, I want you to help me organise a diet. Then I want you to arrange some vitamins and mineral supplements. Then I want some Laertrile and IV vitamin C.”

I told him I didn’t know too much about what he was requesting but I could find out and get things started. 

“I am going to begin getting up and in six months or so I’ll be up to that bloody dairy. You’ll see.  In case you are wondering I have been studying all about Laetrile, diet and supplements.”

Laetrile was a controversial subject. Enquiries and arrangements were made to import it. His family organised a diet with carrot and wheat grass juice, herbs, plenty of greens,  no meat or dairy products. Harry swallowed bottles of vitamins and minerals. Along with his shots of Laetrile he had mega doses of vitamin C IV. I was basically following his and his family’s orders with a little help from an alternative medic.

It was a slow process but bit by bit he put on a small amount of weight and spent less and less time in bed. His colour improved. He began reading and drawing. The dairy he wanted to walk to was a quarter of a mile up a slight gradient.  

“Well doc, how do I look”? Harry was sitting on the bench outside the dairy. I sat with him. We rolled and smoked a Drum together.  

“Harry, it’s almost six months to the day since you left the hospital. Is this the first time you’ve been up here?”  

“Nope, yesterday was the first. I’ll be coming a few more times. Beth and I are talking out the past. She is still angry with me. Mind she has a right to be.”  

Harry looked like a kid with an ice cream. For a dying and thin man he looked pretty good, well a bit better than a few months back.  

A month or so later, I called in on Harry and Beth one evening on my way home. They were sitting in front of an open fire. Beth sat snuggled up to him on a sofa. They had their arms around each other. They looked at ease and at peace.  

“My dreams have come true doc”. He indicated for me to join them. He pulled me into him and hugged me. “Thanks for helping”.  Beth gave me a sweet smile – what gifts.

We sat in silence, for a while, warmed by the fire in an atmosphere of tenderness. He got up and made me a coffee and poured a shot of brandy into it. As he gave it to me, he winked and grinned.  

He died a week later. For a day he lay in an open coffin. In his right hand was a packet of drum and in his left a lighter. Lying on his chest and tummy were some filters, yellow zig zags and lots of potato crisps, These were parting gifts from his family, friends and mostly the kids. A party was being held and Harry was there.  

I walked out of the cemetery with Tish, my wife. We held hands. A warm and lovely feeling flowed through me. Harry had been a teacher and I was grateful to him, Thanks Harry. 

         commentary  

Harry was the first miracle I witnessed. Yeah! I know he didn’t end up cancer free but he made a decision. He set himself a couple of goals; and he asked for help. He succeeded against the odds. 

I was to see and hear of many others fail in their wish to fight and beat their cancers. Miracles or as we doctors call them ‘spontaneous remissions’ do happen and they are rare occurrences. What is the mechanism?

A decision, a stated purpose with the will to carry it out, a productive attitude and the willingness to ask for help can sometimes make a difference, it seems. This was Harry’s message for me. 

He didn’t ask for guarantees. He didn’t ask me if it might work. He told me what he was going to do. If I’d denied him, he would have gone elsewhere. He didn’t see me as the authority. He saw me as a person with resources that he needed. He asked for my cooperation. He put no responsibility on me. He gave me the freedom to help or not. 

Even though Laetrile was controversial, I had no hesitation in getting it and giving it to him. I knew that even if he didn’t succeed neither he nor Beth would be using me as a whipping post.

I have come across folk who complain they don’t get help and cooperation from doctors. I suspect this is sometimes due to who is being held responsible for any future success or failure. I have heard of one particular cancer specialist being praised for his willingness to bend and help by some and railed against for being an authoritarian stick in the mud by others. 

On radio talk back the other day one woman phoned to say that the people in her area were rude and unfriendly. Five minutes later, another woman phoned from the same area and spoke about the friendliness of the people. It seems our attitudes can attract or repel.

Harry’s goal was not freedom from disease. It was to establish a loving relationship with his daughter. He needed time and a certain level of health to do this.  He was a straightforward and trustworthy man. He was honest. Blame was no longer part of his hidden toolkit. It was a pleasure to help Harry.

Harry opened my eyes to the impossible becoming possible. He increased my vision. He was the agent in our relationship. I was a helper.

2019

Seems to me some of the necessary ingredients for magick, for moving the impossible to possible, possible to probable and probable to actual are as follows. This is my fumbling theorising attempt. What do you think?

An acceptance of what is true and actual, to allow what is to be as it is without resistance, something tangible to aim for not just the absence of something, a willingness to hold something as possible when all the evidence says it’s impossible, a willingness to accept uncertainty, no demand for guarantees, a willingness to hold oneself accountable, no blame held hidden as a trump card for failure, an ability to allow others to help, a willingness to let love in and be changed by it, a willingness to explore hidden beliefs and attitudes, to get to know the nasties within, a willingness talk with loved ones in new ways, to forgive and be forgiven, determination and conviction.

Pretty tall order when in bad situation. These and whatever else may be needed can not be imposed. They need to arise. Positive thinking is not the same as wishful thinking. It is not a matter of forcing. It seems to me that some fundamental shift in perspective is required out of which much of the above will arise.

What are the doorways to insight, creativity and the resulting refreshing newness? I’d love to know.

And of course there is one brutal fact, no one can ignore, we are all going to die.