When I asked what he meant by quality of life, Frank responded, “Enjoyability. Just having more fun in any way you can. Whether it be a day trip, watching a movie, listening to a piece of music, learning new things.” He even “tried to learn how to operate a Macintosh Computer.” His point: “If you are obsessed with what you are not able to do, you will be blind to the new opportunities.”

Throughout my visit, Frank struggled against the adverse effects of the medicine he took to ease his pain. “There are days when it’s rough,” he said. “Two days ago I woke up and felt like I didn’t have any coping mechanisms whatsoever. There are certain unknowns.” Frank hesitated, groping for words. He welled up. “You don’t have much strength. You’re weaker. And you worry.” He stopped and broke down. I did not know what to say to comfort him. Trying to push aside my own uneasiness and hesitation, I reached out and held his hand. After a moment, he continued through sobs, “You worry about how much time you have left. And yet the one thing I try to balance that off with is that there’s no sense of worrying how much time you don’t have left. It’s more important,” he said, “to deal with what you do have left. You could become awfully morose and despairing.”

Frank regained his composure. “No matter how bad things work, there are still things that are good. And to not get stuck worrying that you may be at the end of your life. That you know is close. Probably not as close as you are feeling. It’s close.” He then said, “Do the best you can and the most that you can, because there will come a time when you won’t be able to do that.”

Frank wanted to tell people that the most important possession they have is life itself. “So often I hear a person say, ‘Life isn’t worth a dam.’ I would ask him what he would do if he went to a doctor this afternoon and was told, ‘Mr. Jones, you have two months to live.’ ‘How would you live it?’ I would tell him to think about everything he would like to do, and do as many of them within the possibilities of time and finances. I would tell him to keep living.” I responded, “That’s what you have been doing, Frank.”

Frank also wanted to share with people his understanding of faith. “My life takes its course from an understanding of God as Creator,” he said. “God does not cause cancer. Having cancer does not mean unfaithfulness. God,” he continued, “wants us to live not die. I think God wants us to reach our potential no matter what the circumstances are.” He then said, “I believe that God wants people to be able to forgive themselves for what they may feel guilty about rather than continue punishing themselves. I also think God would want people to walk humbly, love their neighbor, do justice.”

Frank himself gave flesh and blood meaning to the prophetic message of “preaching good news to the poor.” As Chairperson of Social Work for Area 2 of Fairfax County (Virginia) Public Schools, he helped to established a breakfast program for poor immigrant children in one school, which led other schools in the Area to adopt the program. Frank said, “A kid who comes to school with an empty stomach is not apt to pay attention and learn as well.” Frank was making an important point: a full stomach feeds a hungry mind.

Frank saw my writing down what he wanted to tell people as “one of the last ministries I could do. I would like to give people a message of hope,” he explained. “Don’t despair when you are confronted with a debilitating or life-threatening disease. You can go on. The sun comes up each day whether you can see it or not. We can be part of that sunrise. It gives us another opportunity to deal with obstacles.” He concluded, “Not all has ended. I hope that people will be able to find within themselves the ability to see there is a glowing light to tap into that could help them.”

A few weeks later when I called Frank to discuss the first draft of what I had written, his wife, Judy, answered the telephone with sad news. “Frank died this morning,” she said. During a subsequent telephone conversation, Judy talked about a trip Frank and she took three months earlier to the Red Woods in California and Crater Lake in Oregon. She stated, “Frank always had wanted to go to Crater Lake, as it is one of the most impressive sights you would want to see. TWA was offering $99 tickets to San Francisco and Los Angeles, so we went.” She then said, “We drove for eight days in California and Oregon. No matter how sick Frank was, he wound himself up to do that. They said he would be dead in six months,” she went on, “but he was traveling in California and sending post cards back home to people. He got a kick out of that.”

Rev. Franklin W. McGuire, MSW is his real name.

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Bill Alberts is a hospital chaplain at Boston Medical Center. Dr. Alberts is a nationally known writer and an occasional contributor to Counterpunch. In addition, he is convener of the New England Chapter of CPSP. He can be reached at william.alberts@bmc.org.