Songs of Joy
My big brother Chris is 47 years old. His best friend Fritz died of cancer when they were both 43. When our family moved to Minnesota, Chris and Fritz met in school, and they stayed friends through high school, college, and beyond. They played basketball in high school together, and they wrote a sports column for our school newspaper with one other friend each week entitled "The Blonde Bombers." Fritz hung out at our house a lot, and by the time he and Chris were in senior high, my junior high friends and I started to develop crushes on their group of friends; I, of course, developed a crush on Fritz, who was tall, blonde, and blue-eyed. Unfortunately, the crush was never mutual. I was too much like a "little sister."
Though he was over six feet tall, everyone in our small town called Fritz "little Fritz" because his dad was "big Fritz," the large-bellied owner of the German bakery in town. My mom was always glad to see Fritz at our house at night because he would bring some of the day's leftover bakery goods, all of which we readily consumed. Fritz's mom was a dear soul and still spoke like the true German she was.
When Fritz was first diagnosed with cancer a number of years ago, my brother kept us all connected with him through weekly and sometimes daily e-mails. He sent updates of Fritz's treatment, from the first radiation to the last experimental chemotherapy, and then to his worsening physical condition at home. But there was a wonderful side to these e-mails. Chris told of the strong faith in God and deep love for each other Fritz and his wife, Lynn, had; of what I would call Fritz's deep joy in life. It sounds odd, of course, to speak of joy in the midst of the situation. But joy it is what I heard through these e-mails, even joy amid pain, suffering, sadness, and questions.