Reuben

Last week a friend of mine lost her husband to leukemia. I just met him about a month ago, 8 days after he received his diagnosis, when my English students and I went to visit him. He was on bed rest and exhausted from chemo, but the state of his health did not shadow his glowing, positive attitude and caring, good-natured manner. I remember feeling so confused and sad and angry that this was happening to him, and could only think that he was going to get better – that there was no way he could leave us so soon. The other day I attended the Mass and funeral service held in his honor. Hundreds of people came to mourn and celebrate his life. Visiting Reuben in his house the one day I knew him, hearing the news of his death, attending his funeral and talking and being with his loved ones has filled me with more emotions than I am able to express in a normal blog post. I am not by any means a poet, and in fact this is the first time I have ever written a poem (if you can call it that) outside of school, but the night of his funeral I had an urgent need to write what I was thinking about, and it kind of manifested itself like this:

Never underestimate the power of first impressions.

I knew him for 30 minutes.

Smile so strong you’d never know he couldn’t lift himself from the bed.

He just received a death sentence but made me feel welcome and comfortable in his home (in his bedroom, actually). There was no reason for me to feel comfortable there. But I did.

Chances are the chemo won’t work, but there’s no way the cancer can survive while this father-of-five radiates positive energy so bright. Right?

Then I saw her. Just when I was sure he must be the strongest person in this world, I saw her. Ten weeks ago she gave birth to their baby boy. They thought blessings didn’t come any bigger than those four daughters, but now a son too? Things couldn’t get better. So they didn’t.

Anguish was behind her eyes, but hidden. Not because she felt like she had to hide it, but because it would not defeat her. She was too tough for that, and knew too well the needs of those kdis. She found refuge in her understanding that a Plan had already been made.

Chances are the chemo won’t work, but there’s no way the cancer can survive while this father-of-five radiates positive energy so bright. Right? Right???

One week later they moved him to San Juan de Dios.

I was saturated in doubt. Where’s the power of positive thinking? People’s heads hurt from all the positive thoughts sent to his family.

What happened to the power of prayer? The Buenos Aires air is thick in it, and my knees which never before knew a pew are bleeding after knowing this man. Why isn’t he getting better? I’m willing to forgive everyone and anyone for this horrible, metaphysical mistake, just fix it!

They told me he was in his final moments, but I was certain the good he exuded was too strong to die. When I arrived at Mass, I realized my ignorance. Of course it was too strong to die.

The church was saturated in his positive attitude, his love for his wife and children, the values he learned and passed on to others.

Her dark brown eyes were red from the pain, but they carried his light. Her tranquility was contagious, and put her children at ease. She controlled the room.
Her composure and calm allowed everyone to not only mourn but also celebrate life.

The illness may have taken his body but it was no match for his spirit, for it will remain forever in the hearts and minds of everyone who knew him. And I only knew him for 30 minutes.