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I friend of mine died of colon cancer on Saturday. He was 55. He had advanced colon cancer that had spread to his liver over the past two years. I know now that he knew he was dying. He was getting chemo every two weeks on a Monday and had negotiated with the Docs to let him have a pump for the next two days so that he could get two of his three days of chemo "on the road". The chemo as for maintenance, not for cure. I think he was well aware of that but never discussed it.
He was an activist, an environmentalist, a tireless advocate for working families. He spent most of his time crisscrossing the country, meeting with labor and the organizers that he had cultivated in several states. He was on the phone constantly and when he wasn't on the phone, he was answering hundreds of e-mails. He talked very little unless it was to settle a personnel problem in a given state or to buck up a discouraged staff person. He took the chemo with all its lousy side effects to keep himself going, to keep doing all of these things.
He had a wry sense of humor about politics...saw it for exactly what it was but was never discouraged by what he saw. He was in politics for many years so he knew what that life was all about. He took his knowledge of politics and used it.
I think he was fatalistic about his future but he never lost hope in the goodness of this country. He never gave up on peoples' capacity to see what is right and to act to make things right. He did and did and did...right up to the last week of his life. The last week!
When he was here, we would walk in the woods. Those walks were about the only time I could pry him away from the telephone or the laptop. And he knew the name of every tree and its history. He knew the names of all the plants and the birds. He's gone now, as with many good and valuable people, they leave us too soon. But he left me with one unmistakeable lesson, less talk, more action and action in the face of terrible hardship.
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