Assuming that the all-you-can-eat label was too good to be true, Raul believed only one trip to the buffet would be permitted, therefore he had carefully and efficiently built a rather tall pyramid made up of a great variety of his favourite foods, complete with dessert at the summit.
True story.
As an engineer, Raul had the kind of mind I couldn't get enough of; often fascinated by what I considered mundane and quick to find solutions I could never have conceived. It was truly a complimentary friendship, ours was. For many years we worked side by side and shared of life's ups and downs the way you're supposed to, with someone you feel comfortable with. He would walk in every morning and sing "Good morning, Maestro!", in his pleasant accent.
One morning, Raul came in walking with a limp. He stopped briefly by my desk and casually explained that he had pulled something in the hip area, doing martial arts or so he thought. I nodded with an empathetic frown. Days turned into weeks and my friend could not shake the limp, visiting several doctors and therapists, while providing updates every morning as I searched through my own extensive list of past injuries for a match, or at the very least to help him reduce his stress over what was clearly now a concern.
It wasn't long before a doctor sat down with Raul to have a talk I myself had tried to forget. The big C.
"At least you finally know what you're dealing with... You saw me cope with it... I seldom missed a day of work... You have a nice head shape. You'll look good bald, for a while. You'll be alright." ...I found myself spouting the same things I had found to be particularly unhelpful, years before, as a patient. But they were helpful to me now, as a friend.
Not only did Raul have the big C, but he was diagnosed with the same kind, and later the same sub-type of C that I had faced. A less than 1/1000 chance, given it's rarity. This was good news, we thought. "You have a perfect, living case-study to base your expectations on. I'll give you all the information you can handle..."
We would spend precious time together as both the disease and the treatment deformed his body and challenged his will. We talked of purpose and faith as I offered a defence against his curious yet often resistant views to a reality beyond that of the senses.
Raul mistakenly believed that his analytical worldview prevented him from fully enjoying the kind of belief, he admired in me. He insisted on making it a set of rules, or a system of proper living. Something algebraic and fully grasped by our lowly human wisdom. I stood, not in total opposition of him, where faith becomes a nebulous, feel good, make your own truth, kind of mumbo jumbo, but closer to a place where all that is good and worth pursuing has been embodied by the very author of the creatures who discuss His existence.
With mutual love and respect, we discussed and experienced life together in that time of need. I recall one Sunday evening when Raul found out I had skipped a formal worship gathering to spend time with him. We had talked about "the rules" and how, at the core, there are really only two; love God and love people. He was thankful for my time, and as we parted, he apologized for the fact that I had only "loved people" that evening, and that he was sorry I missed my gathering. It was a perfect opportunity to correct his misguided reason. "No, my friend. I loved God tonight. And I did it quite well.", I told him as I jogged into the night.
I wish I could say that Raul made a full recovery and is still gracing the planet with his quirky confidence. But he is not. He left us after a brave fight and a life that was too short, according to my incomplete and selfish perception of reality. But not before I found a secret weapon...
Raul had always been academically proficient, even as a young pupil. He was proud to have his name be found at the top of his class more often than not. Well... There was this other student, who annoyingly, often stole his spotlight. Someone who was his scholastic match to such a degree that several decades later, he still recalled it with emotion...
Somehow, somewhere, I met Rita. She had also immigrated to Canada and was indeed all that Raul had described, and more. Rita was sharp, driven and accomplished. Cut from the same cloth as Raul. Yet she had come to have personal knowledge and a committed relationship with her unseen Creator, not in spite of her intelligence, but because of it.
One cold night, Rita and I made our way to see Raul. As soon as we arrived, it was clear to us that no patient in this area of the Hospital was expected to walk out on their own strength. We found our man, lying still, with only the sounds of the machines hooked up to him confirming his presence in the familiar container that was his body. We prayed and sang songs as we held his unresponsive hands. Loving both man and Creator.
As we were about to leave, and to let Raul leave us, he opened his eyes, looked at us and smiled. "Thank... you...", he said, with every syllable leaving his mouth like the last few steps of an excruciating marathon. He repeated himself, as if to reassure us that he finally understood, and he closed his eyes.
I trust that Raul will be enjoying the greatest buffet ever.
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