This article is personal – it’s about living well and dying. It seems, the more people we grow close to – the more we increase the likelihood that we will walk with them through some good times and bad ones. This is what comes from having caring relationships.
Last October I hosted a small group of Black and Brown fly anglers here in Spokane. I wrote about the amazing time we had in a previous issue of this paper. Even though we were meeting for the first time, it instantly felt like a family reunion.
We spent days and nights together on the north side of town. We stayed up late like teenagers, played board games, laughed until our sides ached and poked fun at one another. We even shed a few tears during the weekend. One in the group, in his mid-40, was particularly playful and we often laughed out loud at his silly antics. We all have unforgettable memories of him smiling and having the time of his life. There is one picture in-particular of him diving into the unexpecting arms of some of us standing in the front row of a group photo shot. He was surprisingly caught by the first three people in line. He was the life of the party!
On one occasion he went philosophical on us by leading us in a deep conversation about the importance of each of us living a “river bug’s life” – the kind of river bug fly anglers, like us, observe when streamside and try to artificially imitate. River bugs have a very short lifespan, some only living a few days once they become adults. What if, he said, we, like them, knew that we only had 72 hours of life. In that short span of time, we must learn to fly, find a mate, lay our eggs and die. Bugs, he posed must live a purposeful life. They live well, never taking the life they are living for granted. We should, like bugs, he suggested, live purposeful lives. Thankfully after that bit of heart felt sharing, he was back to his playful self. Those philosophical moments live on in me and in the others who were there. That was October 2024.
Early winter 2025. While everyone in the country was dealing with the shocking reality of who is back in the White House, our fun-loving brother and his family received heartbreaking news. Their news was the worst kind: his medical lab results came back, stage three/four pancreatic cancer! Of all the cancers out there, this one is the most difficult to beat.
The news and shock spread among our new extended family like wildfire. Aggressive treatment began almost immediately as they discovered that the cancer had spread beyond his pancreas.
This past April I caught a direct flight from Spokane to his home in Minneapolis. We met for lunch within blocks of where George Floyd was killed. The police station in the neighborhood, scorched by flames, has been boarded-up since. There are other scorched buildings and empty lots nearby where thriving businesses once stood.
He greeted me with a half-smile and cautioned me not to hug him too tight. He was noticeably thin and had the look on his face of an exhausted warrior fighting for his life. It was just the two of us seated in this black run restaurant.
He has to force himself to eat because the drugs suppress his appetite, but food helps fend-off the constant nausea. The conversation was awkward at first. I did not want to be the one to bring up the obvious. Fortunately for me, he did. It was hard to hear. We sat in silence a lot.
After the hard stuff was sufficiently covered, the conversation took an anticipated turn. Remember, we met through our mutual love for fly-fishing and for spending time outdoors. Secondly, we share a passion for being outdoors with others who look like us. After a slight pause, the question he raised was not a total surprise. “Bob, do you want to fish tomorrow? I’ll pick you up in the morning and don’t worry about the gear. I’ve got plenty.”
I told him before the trip that I was packing light, which translates to, I’m not packing any fishing gear, in-spite-of-the-fact that I know how important river time is to him. Fly-fishing and spending time outdoors saved his life once and he’s hoping that it will do it again. Hell yes, was my response!
After about an hour’s drive, we pulled into a parking lot next to one of his favorite stretches of river. One of his black fly-fishing buddies was waiting for us. This day was going to be about three brothers doing what we love to do, where we love to do it. It was going to be about living well and not dying. The three of us rigged up our fly rods and stepped, one after the other, into the Rush River and started casting.
Dr. Bartlett is a retired educator. He retired from Gonzaga University in 2007 and Eastern Washington University in 2020.