A Wreathe of Friendship

The room was well lit for the occasion, perfect lighting gushed through the window, the long wavy curtains gave way to the enlivening rays of the sun. The rays ricocheted on our brows giving each one a golden glow. A rendezvous of three pals. We sat in the middle of the room as if poised for another scene take. We wore no make up to hide any marks or expressions on our visage. Coco and Rick gave a long stare at each other and then, as if in an epiphany turned to me. I wondered what transpired in a moment's look. Did I have low intelligence quotient for non verbal cues? They seemed to communicate in tones audible only to those with apt minds, it seemed. I dared for a moment not ask why the meeting was called for, but the silence that had permeated the room taunted me to speak. I knew Rick and Coco had voices tamed for singing, great vocalists. I, on the other hand, had not much of a voice to sing, save to talk-a lot at times. Nonetheless, I had a few tricks up my sleeves, or rather up my fingers with the guitar. So perhaps we had gathered to make some impromptu music. Coco soon pulled the cable, the tense feel was swept away . She had apparently arranged for this meeting. with the usual million dollar smile on her face, and a commanding yet mollifying voice, she took charge of the moment. She broke the ice. It was all clear when she uttered a few lines, 'I requested us to get together and have a little talk. We have something in common. We have all lost a great part of us.' Coco had lost her papa early on in life, Rick and I had suffered the same loss about a month ago.
For an instance, the scene changed-and that so abruptly. It seemed we had embarked on a whole new train. Where bright smiles stood, now rested creeses of a somber mood. Eyes begun to water up, and the once glowing cheeks were now lined by tear marks.  I dared not let any tear row down mine, for 'men don't cry' ,or so I thought. Well, I managed to maintain dry cheeks, yet the drooping somehow got my nose running. Efforts were made to abate the new scene. We somehow managed to swallow down the drip,and wipe away our tears, yet eyes still remained injected.
Coco's dad had had gastric cancer. He had sought medical services for quite a while before he was diagnosed with the dreaded malady. He demised soon after. Coco didn't put us in a dirge, nor did she gloss over her ablity to handle such a blow.
Rick's dad on the other hand had come down with prostate cancer. His life was quickly waning. The once strong manly frame was losing hold. Strength was sapped from him as in the heat of summer. All efforts to stay the scourge in his body proved futile. He lived just long enough to see his young lad reach 6th year of medical school.
On one Monday even time, after my daily rut of activity on the hospital ward, I received news that dad had just been rushed into theater. An exploratory lap'. Every patients dread. At dawn, at the first glimmer of light, a friend and I drove to the hospital. A few biopsy samples were obtained during the surgical procedure. I took the samples to the pathology laboratory. My medical erudition flooded my mind with many a postulation of a possible cause of his ailment. A portion of the 'ileocecal junction' (part of the small bowel) had been resected ,in addition to another sample from the stomach. I awaited the results for a gruesome fortnight, perhaps like Noah when he sent out the dove to survey the depth of the flood waters. During this period, it seemed his body was beginning to put up a fight against the offending insult, dad was starting to regain vigor. Mom, at his bedside was ever so tearful. Tears of apprehension interlaced with tears of hope for a better day.
The pathology results were in. I dared not venture to conjecture on the possibilities, for my mind somehow, like a campus  needle that always pointed northward, always ventured on the terrain of a worst case scenario. An acquaintance sent me the results. I quickly rushed to the report conclusion. It was normal tissue-no malignancy. Whew, a sigh of relief. I could now reduce my differentials to amenable conditions. However, much to my dismay, I was sent another report, which had, apparently, been left out mistakenly. Like a constant dripping on a rainy day, every statement I read was suggestive of a horrendous outcome. I felt like I held in my hands my dads sentence after trial. Gastric malignancy-widespread! And there was no court of appeal. The evidence could not be refuted. There was no amnesty. I recoiled, wondering whether it was appropriate to shade a tear, or somehow intellectualize away the diagnosis. In my coat, not of many colours, of plainest white, I strolled through the corridors,waded down staircases with my chin held high. I feared a low face or stoop would let loose the cords that held firmly the Pandora's box of tears.
I could not bare to tell him the lab report , so I carefully folded them and gave them to mom. I retorted, "all will be well." It was easy to clerk patients and spill out the diagnosis to them, of course in the kindliest way possible. Yet there was not an easy way to spell it out to the old man who lay before me. Paleness had begun to gather around his face, yet he spoke in tones accompanied by a faith so latched on to life, so incomparable to mine.
Dad was discharged. Had he found a balm so potent? He was scheduled for another date, about two fortnights away, for further examination and possible course of action . I had braced myself. Thoughts of a good outcome were entertained.
I needed some time to recuperate ,and what better to do so than heading out into the great outdoors. All packed up and ready for the voyage, a team of youths ventured out for a three day's  campout in the outskirts of a nearby town. Just what the doctor ordered!  The beautiful scenes of nature were a balm to my wearied soul. The site was complete with a hot spring-replete with ' A healing touch-a healing stream'. My lads and I couldn't let go of the opportunity to take a brisk bathe in it after a long day's hike in the open lands and thickets. How sweet it was for friends to be together, at peace. We prayed, worked and played, we laughed and we loved. As we were coming to the end of our little errand, a dark cloud hung over us. Rick's dad who had long been in hospital died. A sad turn indeed. our condolences ran out to him, yet the pain was felt deepest by him. We soon  returned to campus,   but like a quake that that could rip through the Richter scales or seismograph's measure, before his appointed date, dad passed away. Just about a day after Rick's dad. A dual tragedy. The curtains had dropped on both. Silence stilled the moment. Wreaths were laid, the dust settled, yet heavy hearts we bore still.
Now in the room, in the silence of the time, Coco wobbled her hands into her hand bag. She reached out for a lovely leather-back pocket sized book. A bible. She read a few verses from holy writ. Comforting words. In a turn of events, the air was soon permeated with a sweet fragrance as we found solace in each others company. Calamity is the sternest thing that may come our way, yet sometimes, in its trails may be found cords that weave lessons so precious in our lives.