Unexpected Perspectives

As we pulled up to Swedish Hospital on the first night of our support group we were greeted by a young, weak, grey man asking us if we were cancer survivors.  I have breast cancer license plates and we had to park in the oncology parking lot at the hospital.  I explained my Grandmother died from breast cancer years ago.  He began to tell us about his struggle with cancer.
He had to stop his chemo treatments because it was doing more harm than good to his body.  His legs had been so swollen they had to cut them open to drain. He had lost all his hair and his cheeks were dark and sunken.  He walked slow and stood unsteady.  I looked at him as he told his story; he just needed to tell someone he was going to die.  The cancer was going to take him and he couldn't do anything about it.  I asked him if I could give him a hug and he said yes.  He held me with a longing to hold someone tight and a relief to get to.  He asked why we were there.  I looked at Sam, then at the man.  I told him we had just lost our first born son weeks earlier and tonight was our first night at a support group.  He stood silent and began to cry, he bent down slowly and put his hands on his knees and breathed deep.  He said "I am going to turn 41 in January.  I know I will have that birthday.  But I had 41 of them.  Your son didn't get to have one." I began to cry and he looked away.  As he walked inside, he said "Wow, I was just coming out to get some air and I have a whole new perspective on my life, God bless you."  My Owen did that.  He brought us to that parking lot, on that night.  He brought a shred of peace to a man whose time left on earth is short.  Owen has the ability to change a dying man's perspective.