Remember what the world was like in August 2011?  For many, it marks a period of time before "9/11", where terrorist attacks and threats were not the subject of everyday news stories.I had just graduated with my MSW, and was preparing for a much-needed trip away with my husband to Mexico.  (Does anyone really "need" a trip to Mexico?  Yes.)Passports, check.  Bathing suits and sundresses, check.  27 pairs of shoes, check.  Sunscreen, check.But before I boarded the plane, I needed to make one more trip out to see one of my favorite graduate school professors, Dr. Rick Lane.  He was a highly educated and respected social work professor and PhD level psychologist. Somehow that mattered to me that he had both, he was really brilliant.He was a mad scientist type of man with a rambling thought process that was a bit of a mental workout to follow at times (hmmm....wonder why the two of us got along so well?  With the rambling thoughts, wait where was I again?) One of the first assignments in his class was to watch the movie "October Sky" (If you haven't, I highly recommend!), write a paper on family dynamics represented in the true life movie, and of course have follow-up discussions in class as we social workers all LOVED to talk!Homer Hickam, the main character, grew up in a small coal mining town in West Virginia.  Miss Riley is his teacher who inspires him.  You have to see the movie to see the true life, amazing story.  Rick was "Miss Riley" to me and countless others, inspiring us to see beyond our small corners of the earth, and dream big!Our paths met again during research and statistics.  Ahhh.....statatics.  He loved the subject!  Really loved it!  Try as I did to joke that I'm a social worker for a reason (meaning I'm not good at math), he refused to take that as an acceptable excuse for poor performance and pushed me to get an "A" in the class.  And I did.  He believed in me, and forced me to believe in myself.  I now understand the value of research in my profession, and have conducted research projects post-graduate degree.  More importantly, I can read/understand research from other fields in an educated and informed way.  So, there really is a reason a master's level social worker DOES need to take several stats and research classes, sigh.....he was right.So where does our role switch and student becomes teacher?In the course of the program, Rick gets sick.  Unbeknownst to all of us, he was born with a genetic condition that caused tiny tumors to form throughout his entire digestive track.  They start benign, and can be removed surgically, without serious harm.  However, literally hundreds form, and it is an impossible task to keep up on these tumors to prevent them from turning malignant (cancerous).  Somewhere during my last year, they metastasized (spread) all over his body, eventually to his brain.For nearly 14 years of my life, I worked at Gilda's Club (a free cancer support community for men, women and children with all types of cancers & their family members and friends.)  Rick joined as a member, and there our connection moved beyond the classroom, and I was now the one helping him.He struggled with taking meds, for fear of what they would do to his quite honestly brilliant mind.  Instead, he fumbled with what was in his mind less harmful medications in forms of pain patches, and was in almost constant pain.  He would call me at work and talk about random things, and I would just listen, support, and encourage him to come to Gilda's to meet with others in group.  He refused, he just wanted to talk and know someone else was listening.  Often, that was me.We talked about research he wanted to help me with at work, how we wanted to help write grants for some sort of computer connected program to reach out to others (it was getting increasingly fuzzy by this point), and we talked about what would happen to his son and his wife when he died. He was terrified, and willing to try almost anything if there was a chance he would get into some sort of remission.We discussed pain meds, his concerns for his son and having him tested for this same genetic condition, and end of life care and hospice.  All those things that others were avoiding but he needed to talk about.  I felt such a sense of honor that he was willing to talk to me, and that I could help him in his time of need.  Proud that I was able to "teach" him, after all he had taught me.Early August 2011, the doctors said they could offer no further treatment, & Rick resigned to entering an in-patient hospice program.  He started his transition from this life.  He was placed on morphine, the drug he vehemently was opposed to for so long, and sat for a large part of his days alone with his laptop in his lovely room.I would go to visit him, asking what I could do for him, my teacher, to help him in his transition, he would tell me he just wanted me to help him find peace.....We would talk, we would sit in silence, we would look at the birds outside in the court-yard, some days he would sleep and I would just sit and pray.He was an analytical man.  Social work for him wasn't about the "practice" of it like it is for me, it was about the analyzing of data and therapeutic models.  Analytical stuff came easy to him.  But inside that brilliant mad scientist professor before me now was a scared, and very sick friend I needed to help.  I believed there was a purpose in our meeting, and in our friendship.I asked him if he would trust me to try a therapeutic exercise, to help him find peace.  I "think" he rolled his eyes as if not to fully buy into my idea, but he agreed to try.  I gave him a hug good-bye and said I'd be back in a few days.Flash-forward....packing for trip.  check.  Go see Rick....I entered his hospice room, with my cd player and my guided imagery scripts books.  Rick was sleeping, but opened his eyes and smiled to see me.  I turned on the music, and began to ad-lib a guided imagery (meditation) for him on finding peace in his journey in death.  It was one of the most profound experiences I've ever had.  He lay there motionless during most of the time, and gently opened his eyes, mouthing thank you as I ended the guided imagery.  We sat for a few moments, in silence.  Quietly, I then gave him a hug, and said I'd see him soon.I left for vacation the next day.While I was gone, he died.When I returned, there was an email from him.  It simply stated "I never thought it would be so soon."  11 years later, I still have the email from him.This blog isn't about me.  Rather this blog is about honoring the memory of one man's journey towards finding peace in the end of his life.  In the end he was strong, he was graceful, he was loved, he was respected, he was brilliant, and he was at peace.Quote of the week...."Be calm, God awaits you at the door" (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)When we believe that no matter what, God is with us, we no longer fear, and peace can enter our lives.I understand my writing can be dark, and subject matter heavy, and maybe that isn't what everyone wants to read about during the happiest time of year.  But when I think of Rick, when I think of the tremendous journey he made within himself, I can't help but be filled with joy!  We can't always control everything that happens in our life, believe me, I TRY! (no comments people) but we can control how we react to it.  We can find peace, even in our darkest of days.  Peace, Hope and Joy are always the answer.Peace and Happy first week of Advent.