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Trying to mask my reluctance, I accepted the task. How I wished I had not been asked. Fiona was taking treatments for cancer, and her husband John was recovering from an operation after suffering a heart attack. What could I possibly say to my neighbours? How hollow my mere words of sympathy would sound in the face of such overwhelming tragedy.
Yet, when I rang the doorbell, a cheery voice from the living room insisted that I come in for a visit. Fiona, neatly dressed, was seated by a side window. Sunshine was illuminating her frail body. John's welcome was warm also, despite his lined face and weary eyes.
I felt awkward until Fiona put me at ease in a gentle, very matter-of-fact way. "I have cancer, you know, and with this damp weather I seem to have rheumatism too. But I can still get our meals, and John is wonderful about seeing to the little chores around the house."
With that, she dismissed the whole subject of ill health. We spoke of church, of mutual friends, of my children and hers. The latest books were beside her chair, and a musical score was open on her piano. Her Bible was also close at hand, as I would have expected, because she was a sincere Christian and a former Sunday school teacher.
What did surprise me was the title of one book. It dealt with proper nutrition and good eating habits, to ensure a long life. I felt great admiration for her courage. Here was someone who was indeed living each day to its fullest, taking life as she found it.
Later, when I prepared to leave, John rose slowly to his feet, despite my protest. "I wish now that I'd never had that operation," he observed ruefully. "I can barely straighten up."
Fiona smiled and shook her finger at him. "Now, now, you know we've agreed to do everything we should to improve our health. You needed that operation, and you will be fine." Her smile was warm and gentle, and her complete acceptance of their situation was almost tangible in the comfortable, sunlit room.
I feel that I was privileged to have seen their courage and confidence. How foolish I had been to dread that encounter.
Had there been similar occasions in the past when I might have gone to see ailing friends and derived inspiration and faith from the visit if only I had been willing to risk emotional involvement? Fiona had shown me that the sick, the disabled and the dying often have an inner strength, firmly based on the rock of their acceptance and insight.
My friend's attitude had demonstrated the importance of strengthening my own faith and convictions. How thankful I am that I carried flowers to Fiona.
Margaret Bunel Edwards is a freelance writer from Rockcliffe, Ont.
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