by Donna Hamlin

Created on: November 26, 2007

I Swim for Jack

I step into the pool area of the YMCA, goggles in hand, and look first to the jacuzzi and then to the lap lanes. The pool is not crowded. There is no need to share a lane. I debate with myself: the pool first or the jacuzzi? I've never resolved which is easier - going in the hot water first so the cold water feels refreshing or the other way round. Still unsure, I vacillate. Some days hot, some days cold first. Today, I choose the cold splash.

My goggles feel snug and I plunge. The breast stroke is my stroke of choice, as I read somewhere it uses the most number of muscles and balances the body. True or not, it seems the best stroke for this silent mile of meditation. Half-way down the lane, I think of Jack.

My friend and colleague, Jack is extraordinary. A handsome, tall, way-cool black male, Jack has not been the dating kind. We females jokingly call him Jack-what-a-waste. He has always been fun to be with, a careful and thoughtful listener with a twinkle in his eye to make you wonder what he knows about you that you've not yet discovered for yourself. As an organizational development professional, he has worked with all types of people and has done magic where others fail.

When he left his regular job to set up his own private consulting practice, he handed me his new business card during our monthly drinks-after-work rendez-vous. His silver-black-and-white card announced only his name.

"Jack," I asked "how will people know to reach you? There is no phone number or address on this card."

"Donna, if they need me, they will find me."

Jack never hurt for business. I call him the master of idiosyncrasies. If you have an employee in a room with a gun who needs talking down, Jack knows how to go in and get the person out safely. If you have three teams who don't know how to cooperate and get a major task done, Jack knows the right words and tricks to make the teams hum. His secrets are his own. His gifts are for all the lucky people who get to know him.

Seven years ago, Jack was diagnosed with a tumor in the back of his brain. He had surgery to remove the tumor. The surgery did not go well, however, and the results were dire. Now, he see double. He cannot swallow and has a trach in his throat, which a nurse must clean every half hour. He is fed by an intravenous drip. Speaking is nearly impossible, so he uses a board with letters to point and spell, although seeing double makes his guesses a challenge. When Jack's personal money ran out, friends chipped in to ensure his room at a care facility. As much as he loves visits from his friends, 15 minutes wears him out.

"What can I get you, Jack?" I asked during a visit. He pointed to the the letters on his board. "A good mystery story, some wine and a dip in the pool" he spelled. I nodded, considering all the things I take for granted.

I bring him mystery stories on tape. I wonder if it would hurt to bring a vial of wine and wet his lips.

We all react differently to calamity. Chris, my friend who first introduced Jack to me, cannot fathom the meaning of his tragedy.

"Jack is such a beautiful person. I don't understand what possible good can come from this for anyone," she laments.

The unpredictability of life shook her to the quick. Taking perhaps a drastic step, she resigned from her job to spend more time with her teenage son. She wants to be sure she can and will. With three daughters, I appreciate Chris's goal. Yet, work is a necessity for our family.

So, I make a different choice. Each day, I come to the pool and reflect on Jack, life and how to better live with purpose, love, gratitude and compassion.

Because he can't, I swim. Up and back, I swim for Jack.

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