The comment I hear most consistently from people who have heard about my brain cancer and then see me is “You look good.” They say this because I don’t look sick, and most often I don’t act or feel sick, the latter part of chemo week perhaps being the exception due to fatigue. And I am not sure how much the fatigue shows to people who are not around me all the time.
The question I sometimes ask myself when people tell me I look good is “Compared to what?”
Actually I think I know what is usually meant. Compared to many people with other kinds of cancer, I do look good. I haven’t lost weight. I don’t look haggard. My facial features have not changed. When my father died of stomach cancer, he looked like he had cancer, he looked ill, he did not look like himself. People are relieved that the cancer is not decimating me. They are encouraged, and they are seeking to encourage me when they say I look good.
So my “Compared to what?” is mostly an internal exercise for me, a reflection on what has been and what eventually will be.
Compared to when I was young, I don’t look as good as I once did. Young adult daughters of friends, seeing pictures of me in high school and college years, say “You were hot.” Well, maybe. But nobody has said that about me for years. And the person I picture in my head that is “me” has not matched the man in the mirror for a long time. Compared to how I looked in my youth, I now look like I have moved beyond my middle sixties. My looks remind me, as my diagnosis does, that I am growing older. And the end of my life on this earth is significantly closer than it used to be. I wonder how many people are willing to reflect on our mortality with both honesty and peacefulness. I think every person could benefit from such reflection. And I wish it as a blessing for you.
Such reflection might also help us think about how personally important it is that Jesus said “I am the resurrection and the life.” And that John said “The one who has the Son has life.”
And compared to what I believe I will one day look like in heaven, the statement that I now look good can only be made from ignorance or lack of imagination. In heaven, when the perishable has put on imperishability and the mortal has put on immortality, we will all look so much better…far better even than when we were “hot,” if in fact we ever were.
I learned this first from a middle-aged seminary student that I was dusting library books and shelves with as summer employment while in seminary. Clarence was far more interested in browsing the books than dusting them. He had thick glasses and not a particularly noteworthy face. But he said “Dale, you won’t recognize me in heaven! I won’t have these glasses. I will be handsome. You will say ‘Clarence, you look so good!’”
A few years ago, a decade after my father died, my mother had a dream. She and Dad were together, apparently in heaven. She was saying to him “Shorty, look at me. I’m so young. I’m so…firm.”
Even C.S. Lewis believed this. He said that we cannot begin to imagine how glorious in heaven will be even the plainest person here on earth. If we could see it now, he suggested, we would treat each other so differently.
Maybe anytime anyone says “You look good,” the question should be “Compared to what?” and the answer, at least for those with some ability to see into heaven, should be “Wait until you see what I will look like.”
Well, I’m going to tell you this because you haven’t heard it in a long time and it’s the truth: You are HOT! And I can’t wait to go to heaven where I’ll be hot and you’ll be even hotter!
I love Kathy’s response. It is too bad that you think people say you look good because they are comparing you to someone with a different form of cancer. I can honestly tell you that you look great , compared to what? Compared to most men in their early 60’s. Having been to a couple class reunions and not being able to recognize the face but knew the voice, I can say that you haven’t changed a lot since the First Pres days. A few gray hairs but so does my son in law and he is in his early 30’s. For some reason I don’t think we will be considering how we look when we are in heaven. Jinny, forgive Kathy and I if we think your husband is still hot, I’m sure you agree.
Dale, You look(ed) good – though not compared because of cancer – but because you are still – you. I’ve spoken with a few of the ‘guys’ and to a person, all said you ‘look good’. I don’t know why they think so, just why I think so… So remain ‘you’ and allow the rest to be taken care of by powers greater than ourselves.
Although not one of those young daughters of your friends, I have remarked on your old photos. I do believe my comment was a shocked, “Damn, Dale! You were hot! Uh… what happened?”
But what has attracted me (and countless others) to your side has been a different kind of “hotness”, one that I believe Bob is refering to.
It’s one of being comfortable in your skin, of having a tender heart for humanity despite your proclivity to cynicism. It’s your determined faith and absolute dedication to a God who called you long, long ago and has the nerve to continue to do so today. It’s your indignation at injustice and your passion for information.
I could go on.
But I won’t.
I wouldn’t want to spoil my reputation.
Sure hope you’re right about heaven – I suspect you’re right. Griff