Dying Without Passing Away

It was an averaged sized box wrapped in bright red paper with my name scrawled across it. It came from Father Ed, a friend and a patient. I asked my secretary if Fr Ed came by and she said that it was left by one of his brother priests. I was a little disappointed as I was looking forward to seeing him.

He was diagnosed with rectal cancer a few years back for which he underwent surgery. An opening on his abdominal wall called a colostomy was created, where his feces can pass into an attached bag.  Although chemotherapy and radiation were suggested, he opted not to receive any. He felt well, according to him, until he started having foul smelling bloody discharges from his anus and was told by his doctor in Cebu that his cancer came back. It has now spread to the surrounding lymph nodes and has invaded his urinary bladder as well. He was advised to undergo chemotherapy and thus came to me. 

Barely a week before the day I received the package, I had Father Ed confined in the hospital because he was unable to pass out feces for several days despite the laxatives I gave him. He complained of abdominal pain and bloating.  

“ You might be having an intestinal obstruction father either from the cancer or from post operative adhesion," I told him in his hospital bed. “Either case, you might need another operation. I need  to refer you to a surgeon for evaluation. ”  

He could only respond with a nod, obviously in distress.  

The following morning, when I visited him, his face was all lit up and he reported with such excitement that he was able to pass out feces.

“  It was like an erupting  volcano!  My accompanying priest had to clean everything up. Feces was scattered everywhere!”. I laughed as he demonstrated how the priest panicked trying to wipe all of the feces as it spluttered out of his colostomy. 

That was the last time I saw him…

 I looked at the package and opened it.  Inside was an oblong white stone set in a frame, two loose crosses and a letter. My attention was caught by the rather peculiar ivory stone. Why would Fr. Ed give me a stone?

“ Does it hurt Father?”, I repeated the question believing he did not hear it the first time. 

He was sitting across my table on the donut hole pillow he brought with him to help ease the pressure on his buttocks. 

“ Do you want me to give you pain relievers?”, I asked. The tumor has spread out of his anus and must be encroaching on the surrounding nerves in that area. He  must be in pain.  

He took a deep breath and replied, “ I am sorry I could not answer you immediately. I had to ask myself that question now" 
He looked at me and smiled, " You see, I often feel that I am already outside of my body.”

That was the time I knew he was not just an ordinary patient…

Why would Fr. Ed give me a stone? 

He was leaving, he wrote in the letter accompanying the package, quite hurriedly, thus could not say goodbye to me personally. 

The stone was a fossilized clam which dated 250 million years ago. He was giving it to me to remind me that the love of God existed even before the clam and His love will be there long after.

“ I had an argument with God last night”, Fr Ed was standing across my desk. 


Sitting down was becoming too uncomfortable for him now. He has lost considerable weight in barely three weeks. His clothes loosely hanged on his frail body. He took the pain reliever samples I gave him but stopped after they were consumed. He occasionally experienced pain but it was bearable he alleged. 

“ Why would you argue with God?”, I asked.

“ I told God to shut up! I told him I did everything he told me and more but what did he give me in return…?”, He gesticulated to his body and said..”THIS!”

We looked at each other and chuckled. Somehow, we end up in a funny place amidst the morbidity of moments like this and find ourselves laughing.

I was imagining Fr Ed, short and feeble waving his fist at God. Probably he knew I was imagining that too and that made him laugh. 

“ And did He answer you back?”. I asked. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

“ Why of course! He said to me…" Son, my grace is sufficient for you!”"

Father Ed set the fossil on a picture of what he said were Irish mystical symbols.  I stared at the picture of twirls and curls in silver, black and gold looking like intertwining tree branches. These, he wrote,  represent the paths of our lives. Each path is created purposely by God. Nothing happens in our lives that is not willed by Him. Nothing happens in our lives that is not willed by Him.

“ You know what was the most painful experience I had in my life?”. Fr Ed was lying on his hospital bed while I was preparing his chemotherapy. I just finished debriefing him on  what I will be doing and what to expect during the treatment. 


“ This will not hurt father,” I assured him. “ Not a bit..” 


We laughed. In a certain way I must have sounded like a mother assuring a kid whom she calls father that his boo-boo will not hurt.

“ You know what was the most painful experience I had in my life?”He went on , “ I was in Ethiopia and more than a hundred children in the camp needed intravenous fluid but only around 50 bottles arrived. The nun asked me to decide who should receive the bottles first.” His voice cracked.

“I had to make the painful choice of who should live or not. ”. His eyes barely held back the tears. 

“ You had to do what you had to do at that time father. Because of you, lives were saved.”I said.  

“ Yes. While many lived,  many also died.” He forced a smile, “ I will not will it on anyone, not even to the most dreadful person in the world, to be placed in the position I was in.”

That was the first and last time I saw him cry. 

I removed the necklaces which he wrapped around the picture frame. The pendants were silver crosses with inscriptions that looked unfamiliar. The necklaces,  Fr Ed wrote in his letter, were worn by Christians in Lalibella Ethiopia. It was a symbol of their faith.  If it were gold, he wrote, he would ask me to wear it on my neck but since it was not, he suggested I use it as a key chain instead. This made me smile. Did he think I was that vain?

“You know doctor, I was once called by the Pope in Rome. As I was waiting, a couple of vicars paused to ask my business and they were surprised when I talked to them in Italian.”

“You speak Italian father?” I was amazed. 

“Oh yes, as well as French and decent German” And he proceeded to talk something in French but refused to tell me what they meant.  Instead, he continued with his story,

 “ I was ushered in the office of the pope.  When the pope came in , I was prompted to stand up...I refused.”He knitted his eyebrows and crossed his arms in a defiant manner. 

Surprised, I asked, “ Shouldn’t you have stood up as a sign of respect father?’

 He smiled, “Yes I should. The problem is, I was already standing up” And he laughed. 


Father Ed was barely 5 feet tall.

A few days later, I was informed that Father Ed died but for me, he has not passed away.


Until now, I can recall quite vividly our conversations. His wit was impeccable! I can still picture his laugh and the mischievous twinkling of his eyes. 


I will forever treasure the gifts he gave me but I received from him a priceless package…. HIMSELF.