Radioactive

About Saint George and the Dragon

On the stereo:Barricades of Heaven: Jackson Browne
In my bloodstream: Pretty clean

The legend of St. George and the Dragon is universal.  There is likely not a country on earth that has not adapted or at least recounted the tale.  He is, I'm sure you know, the patron saint of England.  What is more surprising to me, is that there are icons of St. George in many churches throughout Western Europe.  The story always emphasizes a man's bravery and the inevitable conquest of good over evil.

I have used St. George’s story as a metaphor many times.  Whenever I have the opportunity to discuss my issues regarding cancer with groups or with individuals who might need some encouragement in their struggle, his story has marvelous parallels.

We are told that dragons are not real, but I know they certainly are.

They may not meet your expectations of the monster we have seen illustrated in books, in the movies, or on Game of Thrones, but I know for sure they exist.  They shape-shift and attack us in the form of financial worries, or unpleasant bosses, and most assuredly they assume the countenance of cancer.

The fight that is needed to face a disease that’s sole purpose is to kill you, is immense.  The courage that you must draw from within has probably never been summoned before.  The fear of death and the unknown that lies before you when you are diagnosed with cancer is every bit the equal of what St. George must have felt when he saw his dragon.

We do have dragons, albeit of varying degrees, but none so powerful as that of cancer.

Interestingly, the dragon battle is only one part of St. George’s tale.  There was a monster that he faced and conquered.  But, probably more important, was the character of the man himself.  Here was a crusader who had been away from his family and his home for years.  He was separated by miles and months of travel.  He was beaten down, fatigued, needing only to get home, when someone asked him for help.  A stranger.

Most would continue on their way.  How much fight does one person have?  How much personal time is one expected to give?  He took his time to help someone he didn’t even know.  His journey homeward  would be delayed.  And the larger and more serious possibility was that he might well die, in trying to help someone he did not even know.

Whether you believe this story or treat it as allegorical, I’m sure each of us has been touched by someone or been witness to the total unselfishness of a friend.  This is a wonderful lesson about love and the caring of others over one’s self.  St. George’s legend serves to remind us that when your name is called, you must show up.  When a friend even hints that he or she is in need, there is nothing more important, or as necessary, as your being there to share this moment in their life.  We never regret the times we have helped others.

There have been so many of you that have taken the time to visit, or phoned me, even sent me text or message to make me laugh.  The very idea that someone keeps you in their heart or mind is a blessing.  At one point, while we lived in Fort Myers I was under doctor's orders to keep from moving about as much as possible.  I was basically under house arrest.  I was slowly recovering from brain surgery resulting from an AVM.  (I'll tell you more about this story later).

I had not played golf with the men for a long time and missed seeing them. listening to their lies and laughing at their jokes.  I had been sitting alone all day, watching my friends, those rotters,  tee off behind our house.  Eventually, one of my friends, Doug Dickey, saw me through the hedges.  In the middle of his  game he left  to join me on our patio.   An easy thing to do, right?   Not really.  So when a friend leaves his buddies to sit with you and have a beer, talk with you and keep you company, it is not a trivial act.  It might well be of no consequence to Doug, but to me, it was  a special moment, not to be forgotten.

When I was told that I likely would not live a year, when I was fighting cancer in Tuscaloosa,  Randy Palach called me from Toronto and asked if he and his daughter could come and visit and stay with us for four or five days.  She was off school for a week and he had promised her a short vacation.  I know he probably had to wrestle her onto a plane to go to Alabama.  She might have wanted Disney World, but she made the trip to see us.  She never mentioned her dad's coercion while she was with us and Randy never talked about my health, but you and I both know why he came.  Funerals are too late for a visit.

George, long after his death, was canonized  for his good deed.  He simply did what he thought was right.  We surely don't need to go to St. George's extremes, nor should we expect sainthood, but we always have the option to be a good person.  Someone in your family or one of your friends from some part of your life likely would love to hear your voice, or better, see your face.

Those of us who have struggled at times, with our own misfortunes, cannot give enough thanks to those who have interceded, to let us know we are not alone.

Y'all know who you are.  Keep up the good work.