I have this friend. We have known each other for 37 years - since I tutored him at university. He was the student who came to us from the Army; a "trained killer" as he jokingly called himself. He left the Army soon after his time at our university. He used to blame me for his change in life. Again, with a smile. He had no regrets about his decision.
Over the years he took on a number of challenging roles - father, traveller, author, male model, general manager, entrepreneur and more. He was outgoing, clever, articulate and always focused on the wellbeing of those around him. I remember meeting up with him in London many years ago when he and his first wife were backpacking across the world. We had some outrageous times - he was always good for a laugh, and moral support when it was needed.
I lost touch with him until the 1990s when we met up again in Sydney. He and his second wife took me under his wing and re-connected me with the city - I had been away for 15 years. Just when I thought we were going to have a few continuous years as friends they announced they were going for the "seachange" and they up and migrated to Broome in Western Australia. Just like that. Sold up everything. Left their established lives behind. No regrets.
They have been there ever since. The two of them have become part of the local scene. He very cleverely found a way into the hearts of the cautious Broome community by writing not one but three books about them. He told their stories and in return they took him in as one of their own. He worked with all the locals with his unique skill set of mentoring, facilitation and community building, especially with the aboriginal people of the region.
I went to see him a few weeks ago. I had not seen him in two years. He was diagnosed with cancer a while ago and his travelling and talking have been very restricted. The cancer was the kind that lives in the jaw and mouth. He has finally declined to get any more treatment for the condition - no more radiation and chemotherapy. It's about his quality of life, he says. He does not regret his decision, even though he knows it will kill him sooner rather than later.
We were having dinner in a warm Broome evening before I flew back to Sydney, and he and I discussed a question that has been "bugging" me ever since - thus this blog entry. He said that he was not happy about his health situation, and the real possibliity that he will die soon. He said there was so much left undone, so many things left for him to do. He is in the process of editing three books for local authors. He posed the question: how do we leave this life with things left to complete? I had no idea what to say to him. It all seemed very unfair.
The next morning it came to me. I figured it out. We were asking the wrong question. The right question was: if I died tomorrow, would I have any regrets? The best answer is the one given by Edith Piaf. My friend should have no regrets either. He has lived a full and amazing life, with people who have loved him. If the books he is currently editing are important, someone else will finish the job for him. If they are not important, who cares? What's done is done. What is not finished does not matter. What matters is the moment of our passing, and the dignity of our life as we leave it.
THE MOVING FINGER WRITES: AND HAVING WRIT, MOVES ON: NOR ALL THY PIETY NOR WIT SHALL LURE IT BACK TO CANCEL HALF A LINE, NOR ALL THY TEARS WASH OUT A WORD OF IT.