I didn’t want to be a volunteer. I had gone on the board of Palliative Care Victoria in 1994 to do my civic duty once a month at the board meetings, have a little fun and then go home.

I could not, however, say 'no' to Verna Curtin when she asked me to take the course and become a Palliative Volunteer. Verna came to regret having me in her course, as I think I was the only male, have always been a “centre stage” kind of guy and engaged in several loud discussions which some nights made the meetings go longer than Verna had dictated.

I was ready to quit the course out of fear of the dying. Then one day I was in my car (I spend half my life in my car), and I was listening to my favourite interviewer, Peter Gzowski, on CBC Radio and at the same time, carrying on the inane conversation with my God and myself (I love to talk to myself) about whether I should stick it out in the course. Peter was interviewing a man who was the “skip” of the Canadian Men’s Curling team. What I caught of the interview was that the most important person on the team was the “sweeper”. The sweeper helps the skip make life easier for the rock. No one knows exactly when and where the rock will stop. An image formed in my mind of God being the “Skip” the palliative client being the “Rock” and I being one of the “Sweepers”. My job was not to heal. My job was to sweep.

Perfect analogy for men, who like to “do” things.

I sweep.

When the rock stops, I can stop sweeping.

Then comes the day Verna phoned me with details of my first client. Verna told me he was a Dutch Orangeman (I’m Irish Catholic) whose name was Charlie. Charlie had “Cancer of the Everywhere That Had Metastasised to the Who-A-Ma-Jiggy” as if I really cared. So I went to the hospital to meet Charlie, who was about to be discharged to go home to DIE.

I tiptoed into the room and no one was in the bed. There was a very large man sitting in the easy chair, who said in a booming voice “Hi, you must be Paul. We have something in common.” “What’s that?” I said. “We are both dying” he said. “And we’re both living”. I was immediately relaxed and thus began the beginning of a long and close friendship. Charlie was 84, his wife Mae was 82. They lived in an apartment in town, had been farmers all their lives, were very spiritual people and after supper every evening they would both sit in their living room and knit. Yes, the manly art of knitting!

As happens to someone with terminal cancer, Charlie’s health and well being seemed to slip away. In September, he asked me if I would do him a favour. Normally. Charlie doesn’t ask for things. He tells you what he needs. “Change the washer in the tap, fix the shower for Mae”… that kind of stuff. This day he asked me if I would take him “Yard-Sailing” on Saturday. You should know, I wouldn’t take my wife “Yard-Sailing”.

“What do you need, Charlie? I’ll get it.”

“No” he said. “I have to get this myself. I need to buy Mae a goose-neck lamp so she can see her knitting better.” I knew from his low tone of voice that this was one job I couldn’t do for him.

So Saturday morning found us in the pouring rain (my luck) going all over town looking for a gooseneck lamp. Finally, when I was sure either Charlie or I would die of pneumonia, Charlie found the perfect lamp. Asking price was $10.00. Charlie offered $5.00. For half an hour the owner and Charlie argued over $5.00.

Now I am an important person (just ask me) and my time is far more valuable than five bucks an hour. Oh, how I wanted to slip the vendor five bucks and call it a day, but I couldn’t. Finally they sawed off at $7.50 and Charlie and the lamp and I went back to Charlie’s place. He literally beamed with love and joy when he showed Mae his gift.

When Charlie died, he and Mae had been married over 60 years. I know why. Charlie loved Mae. What did love cost? $7.50. Verna had told us in the course not to get involved too much with the clients. Sorry, Verna. I screwed that up too. When Charlie died, I went from “Sweeping” to “Weeping”.

Now when a client dies I drop the “S”.

– Paul Cameron, Palliative Care Victoria, Lindsay