Yesterday morning I received word that my oldest friend, Ryan Jensen, whom I have known since kindergarten, had taken a serious downturn in his fight against an invasive bladder cancer. I have seen him as recently as May and, although not completely well, he was relatively strong and was able to do almost whatever he wanted to do. That has all changed in the past couple of weeks. He has been moved to a hospice near his home in Portland. So I booked a ticket and, along with my high school buddy Frank, we flew up to Portland last night at 6:50pm. We arrived at the hospice at about 8:30. Ryan was mostly asleep, but had a few lucid minutes where we could engage him. He is so gaunt it is hard to believe it is my friend. His body has been ravaged with this disease. I could see traces of the friend I have known, but it is not easy. Still, there was no where else I would rather have been. We spent time catching up with Ryan's dad and one of his Portland friends. When it became clear Ryan needed to continue to rest for the night, we headed off to bed. The hospice has a guest room that we stayed in and that was ideal--it definitely beat staying in some faceless freeway motel. This hospice, by the way, is an amazing environment. They care greatly for the patient, but the grounds and warm interior also provide a lot of support for families and friends. A very peaceful place. Although we were only going to be in town for a short time, I decided I would get up early and get in a run--try to clear my head a bit and process this experience. I headed out a bit after 6am in the warm Portland morning under partly cloudy skies. I ran a couple of miles around a neighborhood and stumbled on a nearby high school that had a nice track. I wanted to move my legs a little bit and I thought the repetition of the track might give me some focus. I ran 2 x 1 mile--5:23 and 5:25. Then some jogging and back to the hospice. Ryan was still sleeping after I showered so Frank and I spent some time wandering around the facility, talking. When Ryan woke up we got to have some very good quality time with him. The pain management slows the mind considerably, but we were able to communicate, just keeping things light. Ryan's wife and his dad came over and we spent a few more minutes with them. Then, too soon, it was time for Frank and I to head back to the airport to come back to Salt Lake. I had a moment alone with Ryan and shared a thought or two with my old friend. His parting words were "I'll see you. . . " as if it were nothing at all.
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