rsclosson
Tele-Afflicted
Bob was one of my best friends and greatest mentors. He was only 15 years older than me and was one of thw wisest people I ever knew. He could say more in a short sentence than most of us can say in a thousand words. Without getting religion into this, we share the same faith and saw each other regularly in our place of worship.
During his last few years, he was fighting cancer of the blood, which eventually spread to his bones and ultimately took his life. The last few months kept him wracked with pain that, eventually, even high doses of morphine during home hospice care were virtually ineffective. Even then he would call me, as well as others in the congregation, to see how we were doing. I never once heard him complain or express any bitterness about his condition. He would often quote Revelation where it says, "Amen. Come lord Jesus."
He could always tell when I was down, and his words of wisdom were an indescribable source of strength and encouragement. I often told him that when I grow up, I want to be just like him. That always got a laugh from him.
In addition to our spiritual brotherhood, we had a common interest. I have always been a casual collector of pocketknives. He was a not so casual collector. He had a business selling cutlery and his collection was awesome.
About two weeks before he died, he called me. He said, "I want you to do my funeral talk." Even now, I am choking up as I write this. Somehow, I made it through the funeral talk and others said that the love just poured out of me as I spoke.
Well, last night after our midweek meeting was over, his wife gave me a package. She said, "Bob wanted you to have this." When I got home, I opened the package and there was a beautiful wooden presentation box with six vintage, Weidmannsheil German made pocketknives. Two of them are gorgeous Damascus folded steel. There is probably a knife expert among us that knows the value of these. I don't feel a need to research their value, because to me, they are a priceless gift from a highly valued friend.
During his last few years, he was fighting cancer of the blood, which eventually spread to his bones and ultimately took his life. The last few months kept him wracked with pain that, eventually, even high doses of morphine during home hospice care were virtually ineffective. Even then he would call me, as well as others in the congregation, to see how we were doing. I never once heard him complain or express any bitterness about his condition. He would often quote Revelation where it says, "Amen. Come lord Jesus."
He could always tell when I was down, and his words of wisdom were an indescribable source of strength and encouragement. I often told him that when I grow up, I want to be just like him. That always got a laugh from him.
In addition to our spiritual brotherhood, we had a common interest. I have always been a casual collector of pocketknives. He was a not so casual collector. He had a business selling cutlery and his collection was awesome.
About two weeks before he died, he called me. He said, "I want you to do my funeral talk." Even now, I am choking up as I write this. Somehow, I made it through the funeral talk and others said that the love just poured out of me as I spoke.
Well, last night after our midweek meeting was over, his wife gave me a package. She said, "Bob wanted you to have this." When I got home, I opened the package and there was a beautiful wooden presentation box with six vintage, Weidmannsheil German made pocketknives. Two of them are gorgeous Damascus folded steel. There is probably a knife expert among us that knows the value of these. I don't feel a need to research their value, because to me, they are a priceless gift from a highly valued friend.
