Doug

I heard Doug the other day. Every now and again, his song comes on the radio. I crank it up and sing along and somewhere during the verses that we pretend have nothing to do with illegal recreational drugs, I always say, "Hey Doug. Glenna's doing fine. She's doing just fine." And then, I finish out the song, loud and proud.

His song came on all the time, it seemed, right after the funeral. I couldn't go a day, for a while, where it didn't come on at least once. And, since it came on so often, I figured it best to say hello and let him know how his wife was doing. I didn't know what to tell him about his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I didn't know any of them too well. But, his wife, I knew. And, I knew that she was getting along as best she could. And, I knew that her well-being was what he had been most concerned with there at the end.

Colon cancer is hell. It strikes fast and hard. It snakes its way through the digestive track and clings to the very walls of the colon. It is terribly painful and brings with it some of the most uncomfortable side effects of all the cancers. Doug's December diagnosis was met with a fist-in-the-air fight song of beating the odds. After a March surgery to see what was removable, the doctors gave him 18 months to live, assuming he underwent chemotherapy. Forking over the money to pay for those chemotherapy pills hurt worse than the side effects of the actual treatment. Doug's hair stayed firmly in place, he rarely got sick, never felt the exhaustion you read about. He continued to work and fish and play with his grandchildren as if there weren't some foreign growth in his body silently killing him.

His physical decline became noticeable in mid-August. He stopped joining the group for lunch after church. He stopped meeting up for the movies. He stopped caring about fishing lures and treble hooks. He stopped being able to stand for as long as any activity would require of him. He started needing around-the-clock care; Glenna took the wife-shift - she was never far from his side.

Late one Sunday night, Doug seemed agitated, fitful, uncomfortable. He thrashed around in the bed, making a mess of the sheets and blankets. Glenna was handing over the reigns of night-watchman to Doug's sister in hopes of some much-needed rest. Before she left, she sat on the bed and told Doug, "I'm going to be fine. If you need to go, you just go on and go. I understand. I'm going to be fine." His thrashing calmed. He had the permission he needed. He died not an hour later.

And amid all the planning that loved ones do to occupy the time that seems to stretch like a life-sized rubber band between death and grieving, and living again, someone remembered that Doug had mentioned wanting "Spirit in the Sky" played at his funeral. Doug liked a good joke as well as the next guy, so there had to be a chuckle when this notion came up of actually playing the song at his funeral.

But, you can't very well argue with a dead man. Not one that had spent his life wanting very little other than for his wife to be happy, his children and grandchildren to be close by, and some good fishing weather every now and again. He asked for a specific song. What could they do?

So, after the kind words, healing Scripture, and loving prayers had been said, the familiar opening chords rang out as we all got to our feet to file out and view the casket. It was hard not to bob your head a little. And, by the time we young people on the back row made it up to pay our last respects to Doug, we were all but dancing. It was what Doug had wanted. That, and to make sure his wife would be okay.

And, she is doing fine, Doug. Just fine.

"Prepare yourself
you know it's a must
Gotta have a friend in Jesus
So you know that when you die
He's gonna recommend you
to the spirit in the sky."

-Norm Greenbaum
"Spirit in the Sky"