Paul's gifts

“The winter solstice has always been special to me as a barren darkness that gives birth to a verdant future beyond imagination, a time of pain and withdrawal that produces something joyfully inconceivable, like a monarch butterfly masterfully extracting itself from the confines of its cocoon, bursting forth into unexpected glory.” (Gary Zukav)

Paul is dying.

In the month since Thanksgiving, when he wasn’t feeling well, doctors removed his colon and diagnosed him with stage 4 cancer. And the cancer had spread.

Paul 1974

I learned this Monday.

On Tuesday, Paul chose to enter hospice. According to his niece, Shannon, Paul was “at peace with his decision.” She added that he “stated that he has lived a good life and that God allowed him to live a much longer life than he should have after beating cancer the first time.”

I first met Paul in our high school Latin I class. He was a freshman, I was a sophomore. The classroom was a small room off the Library, and we sat six to a table to fit in the confined space. Paul’s calm, easy manner, and his earnest desire to not let Latin defeat him in spite of his lack of confidence, made him all the more endearing.

One day, most of the class couldn't seem to use Roman numerals when writing our exercises on the board. ‘Magistra’ Milne was clearly frustrated with our lack of focus and went to the board determined to keep our lessons on track. As she was writing sentences for us to work on, Paul leaned across the table and whispered, “Look, she’s not using Roman numerals.”

Indeed, she wasn't. I whispered back to Paul, “Say something!” He just shook his head and mouthed ‘no,’ not comfortable criticizing others. Our fellow students were feverishly copying down the sentences. Only Paul had noticed.

In my best impression of Ms. Milne’s earlier frustration, I broke the silence. “Do I see Arabic numerals?” Our teacher froze mid sentence. Her arm dropped to her side. Without turning around, Ms. Milne’s ominous alto declared, “Ken, you die!”

He never took the credit, but, thanks to Paul, we all got 100 bonus points that day.

Paul and I also had Concert Choir together. This is where Paul clearly excelled over me. He eventually made his way into the Madrigals. I had always hoped to get there, but finding a good tone, the right pitch, and the same key as everybody else was often as elusive to me as successfully conjugating Latin verbs was for Paul.

Paul the trendsetter

While I didn't have a word for it at the time, I thought Paul likely was gay. I was struggling with my own sexuality (had been and would be for a few more years), so this made him all the more interesting. Eventually, we all came out, and Paul introduced me to his friends. Thanks to Paul, I learned sexuality is certainly a spectrum and we were definitely a rainbow.

About the age of 20, Paul had surgery for testicular cancer. I think that was when I noticed Paul’s habit of using humor as a coping mechanism. By lightening the moods of others, he shielded himself and others from the pain or discomfort of the situation. It only made me marvel at his compassionate awareness all the more.

In work, he helped mentally challenged, young adults transition from high school to independent living and working. It was good for them, satisfying for Paul, and great for me.

After my dad was fully within Alzheimer’s clutches, my siblings and I would stagger our visits to Colorado Springs to check on him and occasionally spend down his account to ensure he continued to meet the requirements for continued care. On one visit, I decided to purchase, among other things, new slippers for my dad. The problem was I couldn't remember his size and he was wearing his old slippers. As I stood there thinking how to go about getting his shoe size, Paul walked up to dad and knelt before him. “Hey, Mr. Larsen, those sure are some nice slippers you have; can I look at them?” And in one quick moment, he had removed the slipper from my dad’s foot, gave me the size, and replaced the slipper. In that moment, Paul had taught me that the shortest route to a solution was through simple, direct, respectful confrontation of the problem.

I don’t know if I ever loved him more. Well, maybe there had been one time several years earlier.

Paul and I were returning to his family’s home after lunch. As we passed Evergreen Cemetery, I asked Paul if we could turn around so I could visit my mother’s grave. He turned the car around immediately. It had been 20 years since my mother had died, and I hadn't been there in the years since. So much had already happened in that time; things many parents get to experience but I hadn’t been able to share with her. Needless to say, the emotions flowed in a torrent. I was embarrassed being this vulnerable in front of Paul, but if he sensed that, he didn't let me know. He held me, rubbed my shoulders, and when I had calmed down, he left me alone with her for a few minutes. When he returned, he gave me a few flowers to put next to her stone. True friends will steal flowers from other gravestones and make a bouquet for you to give to your mother.

Paul, your example has helped make me a better person, if not a better singer. (You see? You had so much more to do.) When you leave us, I will weep for me as openly as I will celebrate you. And, if it comes to it, I will steal flowers, too.

Paul, forever adorable

December 27: Paul passed away peacefully at 3:20 p.m. MST. His family was present and he was surrounded by the love of family and friends around the world.